You Wrote it All Wrong

You Wrote it All Wrong


Ashley Angelly

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Ashley Angelly All rights reserved.



I open my mouth to try to interject but Brandis doesn’t even notice.

“I guess no one can really get me, ya know? I am really very deep. People don’t think so, but I am. The stuff I have been through? Come on! Have a little compassion! Freakin’ morons!”

The corners of my mouth turned up at this, luckily Brandis just kept on rolling.

“What you wrote about me makes me sound like such a bitch and that is not what I am like. If you paid attention you would know. I care a lot about my friends. All that mean stuff, I’m just joking around. Me and my friends all talk that way to each other. You know that, Tamara. Besides, I don’t force anyone to hang out with me. If they don’t like it, they don’t have to be here.

I have tons and tons of friends. So either everyone at school likes being treated like shit, or you are writing it wrong. Wait, don’t answer,”

I hadn’t moved a muscle in ten straight minutes, not even to breathe. That didn’t stop Brandis. It never would.

“Let me just tell you, you wrote it all wrong. You wrote me as a total bitch and everyone else all saintly and shit. That is not how things are, Tamara. I would think you, as my best friend, would know that. You know what you should do?” her eyes got wide as if she had just had a brilliant idea. “You should rewrite all the scenes I’m in, and I could help you!”

“I don’t-“ was all I could manage before she barreled me over,

“Let me tell you what you need to write. Brandis is pretty; She dress amazingly everyday, not like you, Tamara. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that. I mean really, the rest of us have to look at you all day, ya know? How about a little consideration?”

Brandis pauses to take a breath or just to let the insult sink in. I am not sure which,

“Jay-Kay! You know I love you. I just play around like that with all my friends, you know? You are my best-ie forever, right?”

Then she beams brightly, the full force of her charm directed straight at me. I look into her bright blue eyes as she holds my stare. But her confidence melts away. Suddenly those eyes are vulnerable and sad.

Each moment I remain silent her conviction wavers a bit more. With pleading and desperation in her eyes, I can see she is holding her breath, waiting for my response.

Finally I smile back at her, and with that, she is absolved. The panic and guilt vanish from her face as if it were never there.

I hate myself for smiling back. I hate that I give her such absolution. I silently curse myself for being so weak willed because I always smile back, eventually. I always absolve her. Maybe it’s a nervous reflex, or maybe her eyes possess some kind of hypnotic power. Either way, the vulnerability is gone and the real Brandis is back, ruthless and guarded once again, and already tearing into my choice of footwear.


  • Published 10/24/16