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The air was warm and smelled like cinnamon, soft classical music coming from the kitchen downstairs. Any normal person would find comfort in this, but I currently live alone. I groggily checked my phone which read 7:28am, no missed calls or texts. I lay in my bed, dreading the thought of going downstairs. There was only one of two things that would happen the minute I went down there. My overbearing mother would be gearing up to inform me of all the ways I'm ruining my life, or there is a very pleasant intruder who's making me a final meal before offing me. The latter would be better in my opinion. I looked over at my phone again, it's now 7:37am and I still have no missed calls or texts. Ruining a marriage will do that to you though. I sleepily shuffled to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror, regretfully. My hazel eyes are still decorated with last night's makeup and my once curled hair looks like a rat's nest bunched on the side of my head. I pulled on a pair of crumpled cotton shorts and contemplated putting on a bra, but ultimately decided against it. I descended the stairs and heard an unfamiliar voice humming along to the music 

A tall slender man in khakis was humming while he flipped pancakes, the back of his head looking vaguely familiar The floorboard creaked as I approached the kitchen and he turned around. 

?Mandy!? he exclaimed as he set the spatula down. ?Surprise!? he shouted. 

I tried to remember how to breathe as he embraced me, I didn't know if I should laugh or cry. His hair was freshly shaved and he smelled oddly musky, but I buried my face in his neck nonetheless. 

?Wha-what are you doing here!?? I asked, tears streaming down my face. ?Oh god Michael, I'm so glad you're not my mother.? I said as we both laughed. 

?I was able to come home for the holidays, how are you? Where's Ben?? he asked as he returned to the burning pancake on the griddle. 

I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I turned my back towards the keurig and began coffee duty. Do I lie and say he's on a work trip, or do I tell him the truth and say that my husband found out I'm in love with my best friend. 

?Oh, he's gonna be away for a few days? I nonchalantly said as I measured sugar into each of our mugs. 

?Visiting family? Or is that company working him to death again?? he chuckled as he plated our breakfast. I watched him move around the kitchen, as if he's lived here for years. His muscles showing through his thin black hoodie, that unshaven but neatly sculpted beard moving as he's talking, but I can't focus on the words because I'm focused on his lips. 

?Eh it's okay, I'm enjoying the peace and quiet.? I lightly laughed as he sat next to me. 

?Mandy, you got something you want to tell me?? he asked. ?You've always been a bad lair.? 

?I don't even know where to begin.? I quietly said as I took a bite of food, despite the huge lump in my throat. 

?You can tell me, is it Ben? Your mother?? he asked in between sips of coffee. ?I have good news to tell you,  but I can't be happy if you're gonna sit here looking like someone just beat up a puppy.? He said as his eyebrows furrowed. 

I pushed some pancakes around on the plate, contemplating what to do. I can't confess my love for him looking like this. Oh god I haven't even brushed my teeth. I can do this, I mean I can't go another decade pretending to love anyone else. In the spirit of Christmas and stupidity, I will tell him the truth.

?Okay,? I said as I nervously shoved a forkful of pancakes into my dry mouth. ?I am going to go shower, and then we will sit down and talk.? I took a swig of coffee before running up the stairs. I haven't felt this giddy since I met Adam Levine two years ago. 

?You have 10 minutes!? was the last thing I heard before I slammed my door closed. 

I turned on the hot water as I kicked off my panties and shorts in one fell swoop. Sure I can do this now, but when I undress before sex I look like a drunken flamingo. I pulled off my top and jumped in the shower, as I shampooed my hair I began to get that feeling in my gut. Not the butterflies that I had felt earlier, but utter and complete dread. I lathered up my body until all I could see were suds, wishing I could scrub away the fear. What if this ruins our friendship? I've known him since we were just shy of 20 and serving at a local diner. He is my everything, he knows all of my embarrassing stories and quirks. I know all of his fears and have been his wing woman for many failed dates. I am the one constant in his life, so he's gotta feel the same way right? I turned off the water and wrapped myself in a towel. 

?Five minutes Gibson!? he shouted from downstairs. 

I laughed as I quickly combed my too thick hair, and messily applied mousse. I didn't have time to agonize over what to wear, so I threw on black leggings and an oversized grey knit sweater with just the right amount of cleavage. I applied one coat of mascara and light brown eyeliner to my waterline. I rummaged around my makeup drawer until I found my lip gloss and stared myself down in the mirror. Presentable? Maybe. 

?Sixty seconds!? He warned from what sounded like the bottom of the stairs. 

I swung open the door and practically skipped down the stairs. Today is the day my life changes, and it hopefully won't go any worse than my husband leaving me. 

?Gibson,? he quizzically said while looking around my condo. ?You do realize it's December 10th right?? 

?Yeah, why?? 

?Well I couldn't help but notice the lack of Christmas spirit, not even a cheap window cling.? He said as he put his hands on his hips. 

?Well it's hard to be in the Christmas spirit after your husband leaves you.? I softly said as I sat on the sofa. 

?Wait, what?? he asked, his eyebrows furrowed again. ?When did this happen? Why didn't you call me?? He said as he sat down next to me. 

?If I made it known to the public, then it would be real and I'd have to face it. I'd have to face knowing that my mother was right, and that the marriage wasn't going to last.? I sighed as I looked up at him. His blue eyes sparkling, despite the sadness in them. 

?I'm not the public, I'm your best friend.? He squeezed my hand. 

?It's a good thing,? I laid my head on his shoulder.  ?I can finally breathe. I'm finally done trying to save a hopeless marriage.? I smiled, ?What's your good news by the way?? I nudged his thigh. 

?I want details Mandy, why did he leave? When did he leave?? 

?I'll tell you if you tell me.? I smirked. 

?Fine, at the same time we tell each other.? He rolled his eyes because we've done this a lot over the years. ?1, 2, 3.?

?I'm proposing to Sam tomorrow night.?

?I told Ben that I'm in love with you.?

Well, that could've gone better? 

Lori Greene was needlessly cruel and we were afraid of her. 

?Please don't slice and dice other students with your sharp tongue, Lori,? scolded Ms. Attaway, our 7th grade drama teacher. ?Everyone deserves your respect.?

When Ryan Wiggins laughed at her rebuke, Lori Greene decided to cancel him on the spot. 

?You're a pervert, Ryan,? she loudly announced to the class. ?I've seen what's on your camera roll, and you are a creeper.? The entire first period class, except for Ms. Attaway and Ryan, burst out into laughter. 

Of course Lori Greene hadn't been anywhere near Ryan Wiggins' iPhone to see what pictures he had secreted there, but being middle schoolers, all of our camera rolls were highly suspect. Ryan turned bright red and didn't say another word for the rest of the semester. 

Being impossibly beautiful didn't help Lori Greene's overweening narcissism or increase her tolerance of others. While the rest of us had no clue how to coif our frizzy tresses, Lori Greene quickly mastered the flat iron, turning her dark hair into smooth waves that perfectly framed her face. While the rest of us drowned in a sea of acne, her peaches-and-cream complexion glowed all the more luminously. While the rest of us crossed our arms over our stubbornly flat chests, Lori Greene wore tight t-shirts to show off how well she'd successfully navigated puberty. 

In the amoral abyss that is middle school, Lori Greene was popular simply because she was pretty. No one in our grade held any illusion that she was particularly intelligent or kind or good. We curried her favor and idolized her because?in some magical way?perhaps her popularity might transfer onto us. It was a risk worth taking, even if Lori Greene was as charming as an injured honey badger.

?Okay, everyone. Settle down. I have the scripts for our next in-class performance. Form into groups of five,? Ms Attaway instructed, shuffling papers while the class looked at its collective self in silent horror. 

Even though she was my favorite teacher, I immediately questioned Ms. Attaway's pedagogy. Asking self-conscious adolescents to form themselves into groups is Darwinian at its worst. Nothing reveals one's place in the social order like attempting to join a temporary tribe.

The boys melted into the walls, wondering for the millionth time why they picked drama as an elective. The girls milled about like war orphans, hoping someone would offer them shelter from the embarrassment of not being wanted. 

?Lori! Lori! Lori!? called Sandy Brooker from across the room, scurrying over like the jabbering sycophant she was. ?Omigod Lori, who should we get in our group??

?I don't care,? Lori Greene said, looking around, a smear of disgust on her pretty mouth.

?Dawn? Let's get Dawn!? Sandy Brooker waved frantically. ?Dawn! Dawn! Dawn!?

I blithely watched Sandy scuttle away to greet the delighted Dawn.

?What about you?? Lori Greene turned to me. 

?What about me,? I replied, a little on edge, wondering what her angle was. Lori Greene had never talked to me before.

?You got a group?? 

?I guess I do now,? I said, puzzled at the cosmic turn of events. How did I get invited into the popular group? Dawn and Sandy rejoined us. Before I could luxuriate in my inexplicable rise in social status, a smiling Ms. Attaway appeared, with one of our peers in tow.

?Excuse me ladies, do you have room in your group for Melanie??

Melanie? I groaned inwardly. This was my one chance to climb up the popularity totem pole. The presence of Melanie in our group threatened my good fortune.

Lori, Dawn, and Sandy sat down, stone silent. Ms. Attaway continued to smile. I reluctantly nodded and Melanie joined our group. 

Melanie lived in my neighborhood. I had known her since preschool, and she was nice but?odd. Just pure wackadoo. In kindergarten, we called Melanie the ?Booger-Miner? for obvious reasons. In 2nd grade, Melanie wore a ponytail and trotted like a horse on the asphalt playground. In 4th grade, Melanie licked the frosting out of her Oreos and threw the chocolate cookies away. That's when I quit talking to her 

 ?All right everyone!? Ms. Attaway clapped her hands. ?Now collectively decide who in your group will play the hero, the villain, the damsel in distress, the train conductor, or the bystander. I will give you five minutes!? She set the timer and started to write something on the whiteboard in squeaky dry erase markers. 

Lori Greene looked at each of us, taking inventory. ?I am the hero. Sandy is the train conductor. Dawn is the bystander. And you are the damsel in distress.?

I'm the damsel in distress? I was heartily pleased with her decision. Sandy and Dawn giggled. 

?What about me?? asked Melanie. 

?You are the villain,? Lori Greene decided. 

?Oh,? Melanie replied, looking down at her untied shoes. Casting the odd but effervescent Melanie as the villain seemed wrong. 

?I'll be the villain,? I suggested. ?Melanie can be the damsel in distress.?

?No. Melanie is the villain." Lori Greene seemed angry and I felt chastened. 

?It's all right,? Melanie grinned good-naturedly. ?I'll be the villain. I think it will be fun!? 

Lori Greene rummaged in her purse. She quickly pulled out a Sharpie, a thick black permanent marker. ?As the villain, we are going to draw you a big twirly mustache.? 

?A mustache? Oh,? Melanie said, her eyes big at what that implied.

Our drama class was 1st period. Melanie suffered enough throughout the school day as it was. I couldn't imagine how she'd survive six more class periods with a large hand drawn mustache on her plain face. The teasing. The bullying. There were no good options for her.

Could she really tell Lori Greene no? 

Lori Greene took her black marker and began to draw a thick curling mustache on Melanie's face. Melanie bit her lower lip. When it was done, Lori Greene leaned back to appraise her handiwork with unfettered glee.

?There!? Lori said, holding up a small hand mirror for Melanie to see. Permanent black marker covered Melanie's face from side to side. 

Melanie's lower lip quivered.

And at that moment, I hated Lori Greene with all the loathing in my teenage girl's heart. 

?Now it's my turn,? I said, grabbing the Sharpie and taking the hand mirror from Melanie. ?I'm going to be a damsel in distress about missing her electrolysis appointment.?

While I drew a big thick mustache on my own face, Sandy and Dawn predictably giggled.

But more importantly, Melanie and I laughed.