Essay on Alice And I Are Sitting On Her Bedroom Floor
“Happy Birthday, Alice!” I say to 8-year-old Alice, handing her a bracelet. She smiles.
“Best,” she tilts her head, looking for more. I show her the other bracelet, trying not to smile. “Friends.” She hugs me and I hug back. “Thank you, Rosemary!” She says as she squeezes me. I try to tell her I can’t breathe.
“Rose,” I open my eyes. “We got to go.” I stare at the bracelet on my wrist before following her out of her house. We head to Horizon Middle School. I rather hang out at the park than go to school, but I go because Alice goes. I turn my head, looking at the highway.
“Why don’t we use the overpass anymore?” I ask. We stopped using the overpass over three months ago. I wanted to ask before, but I knew Alice wouldn’t want to talk about it.
“My mom doesn’t want me to use it because of the accident.”
“It’s not like you’re gonna get run over by a car.”
“She doesn’t want me going anywhere near the highway.”
The day ends and as we go to Alice’s house, we hear something in the distance.
“Alice!” Multiple voices call out. We turn, spotting her friends from school. I let out a loud sigh. Alice hides in a giggle.
“Hey, Aly,” Madison says, taking Alice by the arm. Alice looks at me. “Let’s go to my house,” Madison says. Everyone crowds around Alice, leaving me to follow behind. They talk about high schools. I wish she’d stop talking, nobody cares.
At Madison’s house, they sit on the carpet, turning on the TV. I…