I’m sure everyone has at least one person in their life that they regret becoming friends with. One can’t be held fully responsible—I mean, how is one supposed to know whom to avoid? Still, I’m ashamed to admit: I used to be best friends with Fruit Fly. You probably don’t understand the weight of that statement, but I’ll explain. (You’re also probably asking why I call her “Fruit Fly”? Unfortunately, that comes at the end of this story. Just hold on. :] )
Fruit Fly is the epitome of fakeness. (Artist rendering below.) She always wanted to be something she wasn’t and couldn’t. She had this irrational obsession with cheerleading; it took all she could muster to do a sad, half-assed cartwheel. I never decided if I should pity or laugh at her. Usually, she’d tell you one thing, and then tell another person something completely different, not giving it a second thought. She’d always call my house her “second home”. Once, we both slept over at a mutual friend’s house, and at dinner, I heard her say in that whiney, phony voice of hers, “You know, this is like my second home!” I suppose she forgot the fact that this was the first time she’d been in that house and—oh, yeah—didn’t she already declare that title elsewhere? But things like that didn’t matter to her. Friendship didn’t either.
After a rocky summer of on-and-off friendship, she still claimed I was her best friend and we started our sophomore year of high school. There was a new guy, which is rare—even rarer that he was funny and good-looking. This was Norwegian Model when he was a junior—in his pre-model days, before he went mad. :] (That name will also make sense a little later…)
To be truthful, it took me a while to like him. I thought he was arrogant and ignorant—the latter being a trait I can’t tolerate. But a few weeks into school, I began to see he was actually smart—still arrogant, but I could handle that.
One day after school in early October, I called Fruit Fly. I told her decidedly I liked (Is there a better term for that? It’s too…juvenile…Haha.) Norwegian Model. She said something like, “Oh, yeah, I think I know him…” and we had a giggly conversation about it, blah, blah. The End. Right? No?
Maybe two weeks later, during Homecoming week, I was sitting in computer class, and Juliette comes up to me and says,
“So, I guess you and Fruit Fly are having some problems?” and after staring at my blank, “I have no idea what you’re talking about”-face, “You like the same guy! You didn’t know that?”
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
I didn’t know that. I had no idea. But thanks for telling me, because Fruit Fly sure as hell wasn’t going to.
I went home that night. I didn’t go to the bonfire.
The next morning I walked into the school building, and Fruit Fly was waiting by doors for me.
“We need to talk.” Hah, yeah, we do. “Remember when you called me and told me you liked Norwegian Model? Well, I should’ve said ‘I like him too’.” Yeah, that’s probably an important thing to mention in a situation like that. “So, we were both at the bonfire last night…” Shit. “And, at one point, he grabbed my hand. The whole time I was thinking like ‘What about Summer?!’” Like hell you were. “But I didn’t want to pull away.” Of course you didn’t. “So…I wanted to tell you that.”
We decided we weren’t going to talk about it until after Saturday because that’s when the dance was, and we’d been looking forward to that dance for months. I’d found an expensive, lovely, and expensive dress so I wasn’t going to let this ruin my plans. Norwegian Model wasn’t going to be there, either–I think he thought himself to be too “alternative” to go to school dances… *rolls eyes*
Anyway, skip to Saturday: We walk into the dance and Norwegian Model’s sister comes up to us.
“He’s picking me up at midnight; he wants to talk to you then.” (Talking to Fruit Fly, of course.)
Fast-forward through the dance. We all were going to the “after-party”, so we told Fruit Fly to catch up with us after her conversation with you-know-who.
When she finally did catch up, she was wearing an oversized jacket and I stupidly asked whose it was. You know that answer.
I had to sleepover at her house that night; it still qualifies as the most awkward sleepover ever. And after that Sunday, we never spoke to each other again and she deleted me off her MySpace.
Okay, Fruit Fly, I get the hint. x]
She and Norwegian Model will celebrate their 14thmonth anniversary this month.
Oh! But I still haven’t explained the names! Well, shortly after they started “going out”, Norwegian Model began to wear eyeliner, straighten his hair, and then dyed it this horrible shade of platinum blonde. Therefore, Norwegian Model. Basically everyone thinks he’s gay now—for so many reasons I can’t even go into right now—and “Fruit Fly” is a term for straight girls that are into gay guys. So, self-explanatory, right?
Fun Fact!: One day in class Jacqueline and I overheard someone talking about Norwegian Model: “He wears his girlfriend’s pants!” Their friend replied, “Well, that’s okay because she’s fatter than him.”
