Well, it’s really kind of a buttercream, but that’s beside the point, isn’t it?
So I’m not sure if I want to invite friends to my house. I mean it’s not really *MY* house - I’m just renting it for a few years. I just don’t know whether or not my friends are my friends, you know? How do I know people are my friends-friends, or if they’re just my friends? They might even not like me at all and snicker about me behind my back. Cause then, you know, those really wouldn’t be my friends or my friends-friends. After all, I get teased a little bit about my age, being younger than most of my friends. Nobody likes a bully. They should so, like, live in cardboard boxes.
If you’re my friend, then I’ll totally buy a spiral for us to pass notes to each other and I can write it it and give it to you and then you can write me back and I’ll write you back, and oh, you know what I mean, and I’ll save you a seat in the cafeteria and all that, and then you can totally come to my house after school.
Okay, MAYBE, but we might have to meet at the mall, or at Starbucks, or in the DQ parking lot, or at the football game, or the movies, but if you’re not my friend or if I’m not really sure whether we’re friends, I’m gonna be all, “Oh, no, you DIDN’T!” and I’m going to snap my fingers in front of myself in a Z-pattern - snap, snap, snap! - and then I’ll probably disinvite you to my birthday party, or have my friend tell you that we’re not going out anymore and I’ve moved on to bigger and better things. Like eighth graders. In that case, you are SO NOT INVITED OVER.
It’s so tough, right? I mean, I don’t know what you think of me, if we’re really friends (or friends-friends) so how can you expect me to tell you what I think of you? You know, cause if I think we’re friends-friends and you go and kiss my boyfriend by the bike racks after school, then we are totally not going to be friends-friends anymore. We won’t even be friends. So why would I invite you over to my house? I like, live there.
I gotta keep my mind open, you know? ‘Cause in just a couple of years, I’m going to be in high school and that means MORE OPTIONS. You know? I mean, Inshallah, people. You can’t expect me to make up my mind ever. Oh, and if you disagree with me about stuff? I am so over you.
I gotta go. I gotta babysit to save money for the class trip to Madrid. That’s in Mexico, you know, cause they speak Spanish there. And stuff.