Free Pictures of You by Juliette Caron Page B

sister . So yeah, you could say my life basically sucks.
                  “Even when you smile, when you laugh, your eyes tell another story.”
                  “I…well…” The words got caught in my throat.
                  “You don’t have to say anything,” he said. You could see his arm muscles flexing as he scrubbed a stubborn stain in one of the sinks.
                  “Okay,” I said, kind of relieved, going back to work on the mirror.
                  “Although I’m here for you if you need someone to talk to,” he added, putting down his sponge.
                  “Thanks.” I smiled.
                  We worked in silence for a moment before I found myself saying, “My best friend died.” It was still hard to say it aloud.
                  Chris set his sponge down again. “Wow. I’m sorry…Do you want to talk about it?”
     
    ***
     
                  “Did you know 3,000 people die in car accidents every day?” Mary said, clutching a cup of tea. She wore no makeup today. She looked even more sad than usual when she wasn’t hiding behind the mask of heavy eyeliner and lipstick. More vulnerable.
                  “Mary, you’re so morbid. Why would I want to know that? That’s so depressing,” I said, glaring at her above my worn out copy of The Outsiders . Curled up on the couch, we both wore our pajamas despite it being past noon. Tiger had jammed his squishy body between Mary’s and my legs. Sometimes I rubbed my feet against him, feeling his warm, silky fur between my toes.
                  “Okay, whatever,” she said, licking the rim of the cup the way I hated. There were a lot of things I hated about Mary. To name a few: the messes she’d leave in the kitchen, the way she’d always manage to lose the remote controls (now that takes talent), her weird breath (she always had weird breath), her lack of personal space, her slit-my-wrists-and-swallow-a-whole-bottle-of-Zoloft music she’d play waaaay too loud (I know, I know. Depeche Mode and The Cure aren’t exactly cheery, but you should hear this stuff. Ughhhh.)
                  “If you want to talk about Abby, then let’s talk about Abby.” I laid the book down and sat up.
                  “We don’t have to talk about her. It’s just that we were her best friends, so it makes sense…”
                  “ I was her best friend. You get honorable mention,” I said, only half teasing.
                  “Well, you know I could always dethrone you.” Her eyes shot daggers.
                  “She’s dead.” I was only starting to be more comfortable with saying those words. Each time was a little less agonizing. “How would you do that?”
                  “Abby trivia. Winner takes the title, or at least the loser has to shut up about being her very best friend .” She made it sound so juvenile. “And anyway, you don’t know for sure that you were.”
                  “Of course I know that, she said it all the—”
                  “She could’ve been lying to spare your feelings,” she said, picking lint from her Nightmare Before Christmas pajama bottoms.
                  “You want a tournament, Mary? You really think you know Abby better? You’re on.”
                  She set her mug on the coffee table. “Okay. This will be fun. Her favorite food?”
                  “That’s too easy. Grape Nuts and frozen burritos.” She loved instant food. Anything that wouldn’t get in the way of her music and poetry. Food was often a burden to her. “Your turn. Her favorite color?”
                  Mary rolled her eyes. “Duh. Plum. Her favorite band?”
                  “Oh, come on, you’re not even making this a challenge.