I’m sitting on her front step.  I’ve been sitting on her front step for two hours now, and I think that I’m starting to lose my cool.  My palms are all sweaty and I can feel my heart rumbling inside my chest.  It’s like it wants to break through my rib cage, tear from my body, and run screaming down the block.  That’s how afraid I am.  That is what she does to me.

A couple of times I imagine that I wrench open her front door, race up the flight of stairs to her room, and pull her into the best kiss that I’ve never had in my life.  One time I even slammed her against the wall so that she could feel how much I wanted her, how much I loved her.

But then, of course, I remember who I am, and who she is and the fact that she’s my best friend and she’s going on a date tonight with someone who isn’t me.  I remember that she’s not in love with me.  I remember that I’m sitting on her front step like a cowardly dog.

Somewhere around love confession attempt number two, the door creaks open behind me.  I freeze, not sure what to think, but then I’m pummeled by the familiar smell of strawberries and Spencer, my favorite smell.

“You’re late,” she whispers into my ear, kneeling down and wrapping two arms around me.  She places her head on my shoulder and then puts two legs on either side of me, settling down on the step behind me.  “I was worried about you,” she says in the same soft voice and I’m too busy smelling her and loving her arms around me to listen.  “Earth to Ashley,” she says jokingly and I nudge her with the back of my head, releasing a nervous laugh.

“Sorry.  My Mom made me do some last minute chores,” I lie, and she plucks my ear with her finger.

“Liar. I called your Mom an hour ago and she said you were gone.”

“Oh,” I say absently and she doesn’t say anything for a while.  She just settles into me, her head finding a comfortable position on my shoulder, her breaths warm on my neck.  I bite my lip to keep from shuddering.  After a moment, she reaches forward and pushes a few strands of hair behind my ear.