It was just one of those lazy boyfriend situations because I was bored while Becca was off starring in the school musical, and Davis was always around. “Dude, that’s like me saying, ‘With my ovaries on your uvula.’” He was always listening to misogynistic rap songs with ridiculous lyrics, like, “With my nuts on your tonsils.”

But there was something about him that turned me off. Maybe if I’d had sex with him, he would have called sooner. Davis and I didn’t talk until two days after the news of my dad went around. We had only gone out for a month before my dad was killed in a cab on his way home from the airport. It’s not like he was my one true love or anything. And I knew I’d forgive her for screwing Davis. And the time freshman year when she accidentally shredded my twelve-page English essay because she thought they were pages of my pathetic attempt at a vampire novel she needed to rid the world of.īest friends forgive each other. I also forgave the time she announced I had my period in sixth grade by asking in front of the alpha girls if that’s why I took so long in the bathroom. I quickly learned I preferred being behind the scenes, anyway. After that, the entire play went drag, and Becca was hailed the class comedian. Just like I forgave her for stealing my thunder as Mary Todd Lincoln in the fourth-grade play by accepting the lead male role of Honest Abe. All of the above seemed unforgivable at the times of occurrence, and yet she forgave me. In junior high I managed to leak the fact that she stuffed her bra when a tuft of tissues fell out of her shirt, and I yelled down the hall, “Becca! I think one of your boobs fell out!” And just last year, even though I swore everyone already knew, I let slip that she lost her virginity to her second cousin the night of her Bat Mitzvah. Kind of forward-thinking of her for a third grader, although it was probably her mom’s choice after the Lice Crisis of Room 143. In third grade, I announced in front of our whole class that she would never make the lead in the school play because she had boy hair. It’s not as though I haven’t done shitty things to Becca. Still, I allowed myself the entire summer after the trampful event to be mad at her. Becca didn’t, which was the one thing that redeemed her. THE ONLY THING WORSE than having my best friend sleep with my boyfriend the night of my father’s funeral would be if she killed my dad herself.

The f it list by julie halpern