Page 4 of Wrong Pucking Player

When my eyes close, the heaviness that comes with those memories fades away, like the rest of reality. Despite feeling as though I’m rising upward, my mind is still lost in that tranquil descent. The thought of making a wish comes to my mind like a child getting ready to blow out a row of candles.

“Make a wish, Mackenzie!”

My eyes look across the birthday cake to see bright blue ones. There’s my brunette best friend, the one girl that made life easier with just her existence.

“Make a wish,” she repeats with the biggest smile on her bright red lips.

Red suits her so well…

I’d never forget her.

Mikayla Cross Johnson.

My best friend, who saved me from even myself.

Staring down at the cake, I can only smile further as I take a deep breath.

I wish I could forget the past… and just start over.

To start over again.

With nothing holding me back…

I blow the candles out with all my might, hoping my wish will come true.

My world is greeted with darkness.

ACCEPTANCE OF CHANGE

~MACKENZIE~

“Alright, Mikayla. What the fuck really happened here?” I emphasize after walking into a murder scene with no apparent body in sight. “‘Cause unless you’re on your period, I can’t justify this sudden ‘let’s become a redhead’ movement.”

My announcement is matched by my lingering stare on my best friend’s head.

Mikayla Cross Johnson.

My once brunette best friend gone… red? She didn’t even choose a shade of red that was tamed, like crimson, wine, or a dirty sangria color.

Nope. She went with bright red like a blazing STOP sign you can see a mile away.

The worse part is, I actually like it.

That’s a bad sign because I won’t dare let her go back to being my tamed brunette.

As if my best friend is ‘tamed.’

Not with me in the equation, that is.

“You were my brunette bestie. The Midge of my perfect fantasy life. You can’t suddenly decide to become a grown-up Strawberry Patch doll without asking me.”

I mean, she could, but as Ride-And-Die best friends, we always relied on one another with crazy decisions, like dying our hair to wild colors.

“Who, by the way, wasn’t a brunette. I swear her hair was red,” Mikayla corrects me as we delve into the world of Barbie.

“Orange,” I correct her.

I always had to emphasize color shades. It became a habit of mine, especially when my boyfriend was color blind.

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