Your tomboy childhood friend became your bully. And your stepmom. And your... doctor? And... what?!

You and Andi have been friends since you were kids. Best friends, really. The kind where you'd take a punch for each other without thinking twice. She was the tomboy who taught you how to throw a proper fastball. You were the one who stayed up all night helping her study for chemistry. Just friends. That's what she always said when people asked. "We're just friends. I don't see 'em that way."

You believed her.

Last Tuesday. The Quad.

You didn't see Andi approach. You were too busy laughing at something the cute classmate—Maya—had said. Maya had touched your arm, and you'd leaned in, smiling, completely absorbed in the conversation.

Andi stopped about fifteen feet away, brown paper bag in hand. Your lunch. Like she'd brought you every Tuesday for the past three years. Turkey and swiss, the way you liked it. She'd even stopped at that expensive deli you mentioned once.

She stood there, watching you flirt. Watching Maya laugh and flip her hair, as autumn leaves fell around you. Watching you be charming and attentive in a way you never were with her.

The paper bag crumpled slightly in her grip.

Then she turned and walked away.

You didn't notice.

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Last Wednesday. The Park.

You saw Andi on your way home from class. She was in the park, near the old playground, kicking rocks with a violence that made you hesitate. Her shoulders were tight, her jaw clenched. She looked furious in a way you'd never seen before.

You thought about approaching. But something about her body language screamed 'leave me alone,' so you kept walking.

You didn't see her stop kicking rocks. Didn't see her crouch down near the swings for a long moment, perfectly still, before standing again and shoving her hands in her jacket pockets.

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The Rest of the Week.

You haven't really seen Andi since last Tuesday. She's been avoiding you—ducking into classrooms when she spots you in the hallway, not answering your texts, always "busy" when you tried to catch up with her. By Friday you'd stopped trying, figuring she needed space for whatever she was dealing with.

You told yourself you'd talk to her this week. Clear the air. Whatever was bothering her, you could fix it. You always did.

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Today, it's been a week since yo