Anya Aveyard

She and I

I was with her that night.
That girl from school who always gets into trouble, teachers always berating her for
Being late all the time, and who sometimes skipped class altogether,
The girl who smoked cigarettes and talked smack to anyone
Who dared to even look at her the wrong way.
The girl who made the underclassmen tremble nervously as she confidently strides past them in the hallways. A menace,
As some adults in the neighborhood would say, with disdain in their voices and a shake of their heads in disapproval.
I was with her that night, because as intimidating as she can be,
She saw a friend in me.
I know it because of the way her frown would always lift into a smirk when I approach her, as if she had many secrets to tell me,
And how her eyes would sparkle excitedly when she would take me somewhere and show me something she thought was cool,
Like the brightly-colored graffiti art that covered the side of a shop building from top to bottom,
And how she once handcrafted me a birdhouse, knowing about my odd fascination of watching the birds fly by.
And that night we stood together at a gas station, dark out and the lights flickering from the street lamps,
Smoke streaming from the end of the cigarette in her hand
And soda cans sitting by our sides as we sat on a curb,
Talking about anything and everything, words spilling easily from my mouth,
When with the other kids at school, words didn’t come as easily.
With her walls of tough bricks fallen down, a content smile on her lips,
She looked at me and saw a friend.
And that night I looked at her right back.

About the Author: Anya Aveyard, 19, currently attends a community college in Arizona and is working towards her ambition of becoming a writer. She has a major in creative writing and is hoping to achieve experience in the writing and publishing world.