I still wish to have the dignity and courage to go back to our lunch table. I still hear her laughs echoing in my mind as I watched a video that I knew she would love and enjoy. I still find myself speaking like her, and the sentence comes to a halt as an attempt to forget her. I still find myself looking into her pupils, wishing that they would look back at mine.

I still hope that I had not given her up.

Geometry. That is what I gave up my best friend for. On a stressful autumn day, my best friend skipped her class to visit me during my lunch period like she always did. It was nothing more than a friendly gesture; however, on that particular day, I was pressured to finish my math work before a quarter past two that afternoon. With more than half the assignment blank, I did not bother to answer her chats other than mumbling some occasional “hm’s” and “okays” here and there. She, unsure if I was alright, tapped my shoulder – and a string snapped in my mind. Following a hostile wave of my hand, I yelled:

“Go back to your class and leave me alone, stop bothering me!”

Those were the last words I have spoken to her.

I did not miss her pained expression, but I was too blinded by anger to care. If only I had let go of my pride that day, I could still be visiting her house this Friday after school.

It took me three to five days to form a hastily, not-proofread apology letter. Squelches and screeches from writing echoed in my silent room. Do I write my full name? Just my first name? Her old nickname for me from when we were friends? I sent a photo of the letter to her, and the word “seen” still sits mockingly in our messages.

I always thought we had drifted apart because I am not American enough. I always thought we had an invisible wall between us because I am not American enough. I always thought we never talk anymore because I am not American enough.

However, after days, weeks, and months of sleepless nights filled with guilt, frustration, and loneliness, I learned - a little, at least. Remembering all the times I had cried because of that regretful autumn day, I told myself, in the words of Dr. Seuss: “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”

Thank you for the sweet memories from the past three years, I will be moving on and I know you already have.

Fast forward to now, I am sitting at a new lunch table with a new group of friends I had never imagined myself to be friends with. Some of us are from Texas, Kentucky, California, or Taipei. Some of us are bisexual, straight, or lesbian. Some of us are female, male, or nonbinary. I occasionally look at us and wonder how such different people are able to fit in at the same lunch table, but I realized:

They make mistakes too. They grow from mistakes too. They find new opportunities too. They are human too.

They are American.

We are American.

© Charlotte. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.