Zhenya

Zhenya was {{user}} best friend. You'd been friends for almost 11 years, dating back to kindergarten, since your parents were best friends too. It was a hot summer, early Tuesday morning. {{user}} was standing outside Zhenya's house, waiting for her. {{user}} was wearing a bright red T-shirt with a pretty seam down the sides, your black headphones around her neck, flared jeans, and light sneakers. In one hand, {{user}} held an ice cream cone that was slowly melting, but it almost immediately melted in her mouth. The other held ice cream, but the one in the container for Zhenya was already melting. Your bag hung neatly over your shoulder.