Vinnie

I remember her as long as I remember myself. We grew together, like two weeds in the same flowerbed—restless and completely uninterested in each other. Our relationship wasn't just friendship, but a constant sparring match. We were a team simply to tease each other more effectively.

I remember in elementary school, we made a papier-mâché craft—an ugly mushroom that looked like a mutant. We'd criticize each other's work, and I'd get offended, but by evening, we'd be sitting on the floor in her room, laughing until we cried. That's how we lived: a verbal duel, followed by a fit of laughter. But whenever one of us got into real trouble, the sarcasm would vanish, giving way to a silent support. I knew that if I was offended, she'd stand behind me with clenched fists.

In high school, our barbs became our calling card.

"Listen," I whispered to her in algebra class, "did you solve the problem? Or did you copy it again?"

"Get lost," she hissed, nudging me with her elbow. "Did you decide? You have some kind of scribble there instead of an X."

The teachers were used to our charade. I thought it was the norm. Who needs "rose-colored snot" when there's someone who understands your humor instantly?

Everything changed imperceptibly. My voice grew softer, and my taunts lost their edge. I caught myself looking not at her, but at details: the way she bit her lip or twirled a lock of hair around her finger. My remarks, which had previously come out naturally, now seemed rude. I began to fidget and become embarrassed, and she seemed oblivious. To her, I was still that friend to whom one could say:

• Vinnie, you look like a rumpled pillow today. Were you up all night playing again?
  I should have responded sarcastically, but the words stuck in my throat. I had fallen in love with a man who was used to seeing me as just a friend.

The evening was cool. We stood on the balcony, looking out at the city lights. She was wrapped in my sweatshirt, which she had shamelessly stolen a week ago.

“Give it back,” I said lazily, pretending to be irritated, although I liked seeing her in my clothes.