“You know me too well,” I replied, laughing.
She dropped into the chair across from mine, her eyes scanning the photos on the wall.
There were before-and-after pictures of clients, framed magazine features, and one old snapshot of the two of us from senior year.
“You know me too well.”
“God, look at us,” Alison murmured. “You with those thick glasses. Me with that awful perm.”
“You always had nicer hair than me,” I said, smiling at the memory. “And you were the only person who ever sat with me at lunch.”
“Somebody had to. Those kids were monsters.”
I nodded, remembering the whispers in hallways, the cruel sketches passed around in class, the way I used to count the minutes until the final bell.
“You were the only person who ever sat with me at lunch.”
None of that hurt the way it used to.
The wounds had become scars, and the scars had become proof of how far I had come.
