We will like each other, you said.
It is only a matter of time, you teased.
Truth was, you couldn’t stand the way I always
pet my braids while thinking and I hated your guts.
Not hate. Hate’s a strong word, or so I’ve been told.
But I didn’t like you. Didn’t like your pedantic questions
and yogurt breath in the cafeteria every morning.
Didn’t like your smirk.
Good girls don’t betray their feelings though, so
you never know. How could anyone with a sweet
smile and straight posture and hand in the air
to the square root of 144 question harbor dislike
for a classmate?
Push a good girl too many times and she’ll snap.
The snap happened. Seams split.
Six years and two different schools later
you looked different and my heart’s zipper
caught on its cloth edges when you passed by
with your arm around a girl. You smiled at me said,
“hey, goldy!”and kept walking.
I didn’t know a girl could hold another so closely.
You were right. And you weren’t such a bad girl yourself.