When we were seven, it was the names of boys we thought were cute. We pinky swore to take the names of each others’ would-be future husbands to our graves.
When we were ten, it was words we weren’t supposed to know. After we got to the worst ones, you started making them up.
When we were fourteen, it was the worst things we knew about every other girl in our grade. We didn’t keep those secrets—we filtered them into the student body and made sure they couldn’t be traced back to us.
When we were fifteen, it was keys to liquor cabinets.
When we were sixteen it was how we got your maid deported, just because she ruined your $1200 dress.
When we were seventeen, it was how we started that fire at Jessica’s. And how we missed her after her parents sent her to boarding school.
We’ve shared so many secrets over the years, we don’t have much choice to be friends forever. But now I have a secret from you, and I don’t think you’ll ever forgive me if you find out. You said you were probably going to dump him after we graduated anyway, right? But that didn’t mean I could have him, did it?
The funny thing is, that’s not even my secret. Not the real one—the one I could never tell you. It’s just a correlary.
The secret is that you were just a stepping stone to me, when all these years you thought it was the other way around.
Another secret: so did I.
And one more for the road: I’m going to make you feel it every day of your life from now on.
Because I learned from the best. Or should I say, second best?