I try to give her advice. “Becky,” I’ll say, “Don’t let them get to you. The more upset you get, the more they’ll pick on you.” Or I’ll tell her, “Becky, I know you want to be their friend, but, they’re not very nice anyway. Wouldn’t you rather be my friend?”
Nothing I say works. It seems to go in one ear and out the other.
Then I have Ellie, my other friend. She is more like me. Her hair is always tightly pulled back into a pony tail. Her glasses are small, silver, and sleek. She is always wearing skirts, and she loves sweater vests, mostly plaid. Her confidence is tremendous. Not only does she not care about the “in crowd”, she loathes everything about them.
“You and I are ten times better than them, and you know it!,” she always tells me. Ellie is a very proper, stern (some would say cold) girl. The only person she shows tenderness to is Becky. I guess that’s because Becky is like a little sister to Ellie, too.
We’re pretty close, but not very close.
And those are my friends.