Sometimes, Madeline hates her hair. She thinks of shaving it off, considers dying it, wonders how she'd look with intricate braids falling on her shoulders. One time, in the spirit of sharing, she told Louise about her follicle obsession.

"I don't know why you always think something is wrong with you," Louise replied. Her fingers tapped without rhythm on an antique table, and Madeline wondered if Louise was bored with her.

The idea scared to her to death.

"Maybe I should go blond," Madeline said, trying to fight an impulse to run her fingers through her friend's light mane. "They do say blondes have more fun," she added with a smile.

"You're with me, like, all the time. Do I seem like I have more fun?" she snapped.

Madeline didn't know how to respond. Somehow her attempt to say, 'I think I love you,' was turned into an insult.

"I just meant..." Madeline began. "I meant I liked your hair."

Louise shook her head. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm just kinda out of it."

Madeline knew the cause of it, too. Another breakup with another imbecile that treated her like crap. It was horrible for her to see Louise in pain and not be able to do anything about it. It was horrible to not be able to be honest with anyone.

It was horrible to be in love with someone who was oblivious.

It still is.

"Look," Madeline said. "Let's forget everything and go shopping."

Louise brightened. "I do have my father's credit card."

Madeline smiled back, despite the fact that she considers browsing, buying, and being saddled with junk you don't need to be equivalent to hell.

Louise bought a white jacket with black buttons and a dress that Madeline has yet to see her wear.

Madeline was talked into purchasing a blond wig. It was a joke, but Madeline was secretly not amused.

Sometimes, though, she wears it. When she's alone and itching to be someone else.

A princess. A model/actress with a life of glamour. Someone beautiful. A girl who's loved.

Even just someone normal.

Most of the time her fantasies are more mundane. Louise's lips on her neck then, a whisper--

"I love your hair. I love everything about you."

Then, she doesn't hate her hair. But she also knows it's only in her head - and it doesn't mean anything.

* * * * *

"I'm going out with Kevin Reynolds," Louise announces.

Madeline scrunches her nose. "I'm supposed to know him?"

"He's the new kid. His father made all his money in film investment or something."

Now, Madeline knows of whom she speaks. She hates that guy. Well, she never really had an opinion before, but it certainly feels like hatred now. "Oh. When?"

"Saturday. And, I know we were supposed to hang out and stuff, but he has reservations." Louise gives the final word so much weight, Madeline wonders if it's a code word for some life threatening illness. "You're okay with this, right?"

"Of course. I hope you have a great time."

Louise gives her a kiss on the cheek. "Oh, I will. You have no idea how great he is, Mad. He's got a friend who's cool, too. Maybe I should ask him to set something up with the two of you."

"That's okay," she answers quickly.

Louise gives a heavy dramatic sigh. "You need to get out sometime. Otherwise people will think there's something wrong with you."

"Maybe there is," she snaps. Louise looks at her warily, like she's trying to figure out what is wrong with her. Such a revelation is equivalent to death in Madeline's eyes. "I'm kidding. Lighten up, Louise." She laughs to affirm her lighthearted manner.

Louise smiles. "There is something wrong with you. Seriously."

* * * * *

On Saturday, Madeline receives fifteen calls from Louise. She answers none of them, since she knows they'd all be about Kevin.

Madeline's lonely enough without having those conversations all day.

The calls stop at seven; Kevin must have picked her up. They must be having a great time.

"Honey, we're going out," Madeline's mother says through the door. "We'll be home late, so don't wait up."

She wonders what leads her to believe that she would. "Okay, mother."

Madeline pops in a DVD, pretends to enjoy the solitude.

She doesn't quite convince herself.

* * * * *

At nine, she goes down to the kitchen to find their new maid leaning on the counter in a nightgown. Her name is Audrey, and her French accent sounds incredibly fake to Madeline.

"Oh, excuse me," Audrey says. "I will be out of your way." She takes her glass of milk and hustles out of the room before Madeline can protest.

She wonders why people are always ditching her; then, she wonders why she's putting such psychological weight on the departure of a skittish servant.

She looks through the refrigerator and finds a bottle of wine. Her father brought it up from the cellar to chill for tomorrow's dinner.

She decides that they won't miss it.

* * * * *

Madeline gulps the wine and, while it's not hard liquor, she feels dangerous for the first time in her life. Maybe if she plays her cards right, she could evolve into one of those alcoholic sexually repressed playwrights that Paris lectures her about.

At ten, her phone rings again. The caller ID tells her it's Louise - common sense tells her that she should answer it. Something bad has happened, and now Madeline can help her pick up the broken shards of her self-esteem. It's hardly joyful work, but it makes her feel wanted.

Not as much as she wants Louise. But it counts.

"Hello?" Madeline says.

"He's an asshole," comes Louise's response. "Can I come over?"

"Yeah."

* * * * *

She waits outside for Louise to show. Her wait isn't long, though; she's grateful for that. She notices that Louise is wearing the dress she bought weeks ago.

She's beautiful in it, even while incredibly angry.

"He's an asshole," she repeats while her face is inches away from Madeline's.

"How huge?" Madeline inquires. Her tone is light; Louise doesn't seem to appreciate that.

"This isn't funny," Louise says. She walks into the house and makes her way to Madeline's room without a word. "Not at all." She emphasizes her point by slamming the door behind them.

"Sorry," Madeline mutters as she flops down on her bed. "What happened?"

Louise sits down next to her. "He just wanted to pass me around to his friends like a damn party toy."

"Excuse me?"

"All the earmarks were there. Him. An empty house. 'Hey, that movie is supposed to suck. Let's just hang around here.'"

"Not to be mean, but how does that lead to him passing you around to his friends?"

"It just does. I don't want to explain it." Louise sighs heavily. "Does anybody want to go out with me for something other than a sexual reason? Can't someone just want to buy me dinner before they try to feel me up?" Another sigh. "It's really sad that that's my highest goal."

"You're right, though. You do deserve better than that." She means it, but Louise's eyes aren't that trusting.

"You must be sick of this by now, aren't you? I always run over here with another jerk of the week story and you have to assure me I'm not a loser."

"I'm not sick of it, Louise. I like it." She shakes her head furiously. "I don't mean I like that you have miserable dates; I mean that I'm glad you come to me." It makes me feel needed, and nobody else does that.

"I'm glad I have you to come to." Louise seems less angry. Now, Madeline can relax a little.

"I like your dress," she says.

"I was saving it for a special occasion. That worked out real well." Her smile is one of sarcasm, but Madeline loves it anyway.

"You can just wear it until an occasion turns out to be special. Then, you can pretend that you've never worn it before. Simple as that."

Louise rolls her eyes. "Okay. I'm sure that'll make sense later." She notices the bottle of wine and nods to it. "What's that about?"

"My parents were out, so I decided to live on the edge."

"Hate to break this to you Madeline, but Merlot isn't really something ingested by troublemakers." She pauses. "Well, at least this explains why you're babbling about my dress." She laughs as she leans over Madeline to pick up the bottle.

* * * * *

By twelve, they've polished off the wine. Madeline feels somewhat lightheaded. She wonders if this is all being drunk means.

Louise is telling a story about what happened at Trisha Yorn's party a couple of weeks ago. Madeline went to the gathering but left early; Louise had disappeared with some guy and Madeline was left to fend off the advances of a series of obnoxious morons.

"And then he just went splat," she says as she takes a dive onto Madeline's bed.

Madeline laughs as she feels the reverberations of Louise's dramatic fall. She looks over and notices how much of Louise's back the dress exposes; the giggling ceases.

"See, you shouldn't leave these things early," Louise says as she flips over and rests her feet in Madeline's lap. "You miss pure comic gold."

"Well, I'm not one for beer and idiots trying to pull up my skirt."

Louise arches a brow. "But you are one for wine and hanging out alone in your room."

"You're here." Madeline slides away from Louise's feet and lays down next to her. "So there."

"True enough. But, really, why do you leave parties early?"

"Crowds bore me. And it's just vintage for me when it comes to alcohol."

"I still think you can be a stick-in-the-mud sometimes. You should go out and live a little."

'Like you?' she thinks. But she doesn't say it; she couldn't handle the anger that would surely follow. "I prefer time to myself."

"You could at least go out on a date more than once every six months," Louise counters. "Plenty of guys would be interested in you. Are interested in you, I mean. Sure, guys can be jerks, but there's always a chance you could land a good one. Odds have been bucked before."

'I'm not interested in guys,' she thinks. But she says, "High school boys are idiots and college isn't too far away anyway. I could find a nice guy there. I might as well wait."

"Suit yourself."

Madeline finds her mind drifting off to college. There, she can find people who won't ultimately judge her for being whom she is. She won't have to kiss boys she doesn't like while waiting for something that she can never have. There, she can find her first love. She wonders who this girl will be, wonders until the faceless future girl takes Louise's lips. Eyes. Mouth. Everything that's so beautiful about her.

"Earth to Madeline."

Madeline blinks. "Sorry."

"Where were you?" Louise inquires with a laugh.

"Nowhere. I think that wine's just going to my head."

Louise rolls onto her side, pushing her face closer to Madeline's. "You. Are. Such. A. Wuss," she announces theatrically. "No wonder you leave parties early. You get messed up from anything."

Louise is smiling sweetly at her, and Madeline can feel her stomach tying up in knots. She bites on her lip until she can taste blood.

"What's going on?" Louise says, face etched with concern. "You're okay, right? You seem all tense."

Madeline wants desperately to say something. Wants to tell her everything she's kept inside for so long. She doesn't know what it is that's broken down her defenses: Louise's close proximity or the alcohol. She decides it's a combination and, more importantly, that the alcohol can give her an excuse if Louise reacts badly. "Louise. I love you."

"I love you too," Louise answers lightly.

"No, I mean... I've been in love with you for so long. I think you're amazing."

Louise is expressionless. "What?"

"You're so much better than you know," Madeline continues. She thinks she might be mumbling, but the words are pounding loudly in her ears.

Madeline leans over and covers Louise's mouth with hers. Louise doesn't react at first, leaving Madeline to take the initiative.

Louise's mouth tastes like her own, full of wine and warmth. Madeline kisses down Louise's neck and back up again until their lips meet, this time without hesitation.

She's kissing Louise and Louise is kissing her back. It should be a dream, but it's not. It's real.

It's incredibly real.

* * * * *

When Madeline wakes, her head is on Louise's chest and Louise's hand is on her back. She slides away from the other girl with the question, 'What happened last night?' ringing in her head. A quick appraisal of their clothes finds nothing off or askew.

They only kissed.

They kissed.

Madeline feels a slight shiver run down her spine as she remembers the feel of Louise's lips on her own. They kissed and it felt amazing.

They kissed.

And Louise is not going to be pleased.

* * * * *

Madeline slithers down to the kitchen to find her mother nursing a cup of coffee. "Good morning."

"Morning," she mumbles in response.

"I saw Louise's car out front. I didn't know she was spending the night."

"It wasn't planned or anything. She had a bad date."

Her mother nods. "Do you want anything to eat? Audrey makes an amazing spinach omelet--"

"I'm not hungry."

"Suit yourself." She crosses to the refrigerator, peers in and says, "Tom! You forgot about the wine."

* * * * *

Madeline sits outside, letting the cool wind hit her face. She loves fall right before it turns to winter. It's perfect.

"Madeline," Louise says, breaking her out of her reverie. "What are you doing out here? I've been looking for you everywhere. And you mother cornered me and lectured me on the importance of not getting my hopes up over every guy I go out with. What did you tell her, anyway?"

She shrugs. "That you had a bad date. She could lecture most people about anything. She jumps in-between over-parenting and under-parenting so much my head could spin."

"Yeah, but I'm not her child." She pauses. "I think I'm going to get going."

"Okay. I'll talk to you later, I guess," Madeline says, a little disappointed that last night is being ignored. But more delighted that awkwardness might be avoided.

Louise starts to walk away, then turns back. "You know, about last night... I don't really feel that way about you. I mean, you're my best friend but that--" She gives the final word so much weight that Madeline wonders if kissing will end up being fatal to both of them. "That...that was a mistake."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Madeline says. She's sure that Louise believes her lie - she's become an accomplished actress over the years. "Why? What happened?"

"Nothing. Forget about it," she replies with a shake of her head.

Madeline watches her walk away. She feels like crying, but she knows that's pointless; she never expected Louise to want her that way in the first place. Nothing's been lost.

And, yet, somehow, it feels like something's been ripped out of her.

* * * * *

"Kevin wanted to see me again, but I just said no," Louise says.

Rory nods politely, Paris rolls her eyes, and Madeline pretends that she doesn't know the truth.

"It's not that there was anything wrong with him, really, I just wasn't ready for that level of commitment," Louise continues.

"The same thing--" Rory begins.

"Enough chit-chat, ladies," Paris snaps. "This isn't a dating school."

"Dating school?" Madeline replies with an arched eyebrow.

"I couldn't think of anything better at the moment," Paris responds with her unique brand of crisp authority. "Now let's get back to work, shall we?" She continues to talk, but Madeline is distracted by Louise leaning towards her.

"You want to come over to my house after this is over? I think we could both use some relaxation after Paris time," Louise whispers.

Louise must believe that the kiss meant nothing - leaning close, invitations.

It meant nothing. Madeline wants so badly to convince herself it's true. But she can lie to Louise much better than she can lie to herself. "Sure," Madeline replies.

"Ahem," Paris says, taking them out of their conversation.

"Sorry," they say in almost unison.

* * * * *

Sometimes, Madeline wants to say something about what happened that night. She wants to say, "I do love you. I am in love with you. And you kissed me back. You did."

But she's not that girl. She can't just blurt out words that will change everything, words that will make Louise rethink every moment of their friendship.

She can't be anyone else but herself, no matter how hard she tries. She can't be anyone but herself, even if she wears some cheap wig or ingests some expensive liquor.

She's just her.

But she's starting to wonder if she's just a liar; and, if she is, how that can have anything to do with the real her.

She wonders when this all will change. Will it be in college, as all her dreams have told her? Will it be later? Will it be never? Will she always be scared and wanting, depressed and without anything to call her own?

She wishes it would all come easy and soon. That Louise thought the kiss was a good idea, and didn't believe her denials of remembrance.

She wishes, but it doesn't come true.

One day, though, maybe it will. Not with Louise, but with someone.

She'll just have to wait.

THE END