Hi. (finale!)

This probably doesn't need to be said because I'm sure no one will either read or want to steal this, but if you do want it...IT'S MINE. I SPENT FIVE DAYS WRITING THIS AND BY GOLLY, IF YOU TRY TO TAKE IT I WILL BEAT YOU.

Have a nice day. :)

(Also, if you're new, start here, please. It might make more sense then.)

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I was able to avoid her for two days before she caught up with me. Sandra was sneaky that way, oh yes she was. We walked side by side down the hall, which was actually the one I’d first led her down what seemed like ages ago. I ignored her for about a minute before stopping and facing her. I still wouldn’t look at her, though.
Neither of us would talk. It was not like our first silence at all—no, it was so much tenser than that. I stared at the floor, refusing to look at her, yet I could still feel her eyes boring into me. I towered over her, yet I felt only a few inches tall.
Sandra took a great, shaky breath in and said one word.
“Hi.”
My eyes jerked up to her, surprised. Why would she say something so simple? She deserved to ask me questions, lots and lots of demanding questions. Maybe she’d even apologize for freaking me out or making me angry (I wasn’t even sure which I was anymore), but a hi? Why just a hi?
Then I realized she needed no other words. Her voice, her questioning, sad eyes that wanted her friend back said it all. She just needed to get my attention to get me to see it.
I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry.
“Hi,” I croaked back.
We were silent once more, though much less tense than we had been. But still, it wasn’t our nice, we-don’t-need-to-talk silence. I wanted that silence back.
“Why’d you say that?” I finally asked, clenching my hands into fists. I wasn’t angry—not at all—but being the one to talk was hard. I was never that person. Never.
She knit her eyebrows together. “Say what?”
I bit my lip hard. I needed to say to. I needed to, or I’d probably never talk to Sandra again. Never be around her, never hear her laugh. Never, ever again.
“Love,” I finally replied, “love. ‘By someone that loves you.’ Why?”
Her eyes widened and her jaw slackened with a bewildered shock. She stayed like that much longer than I would have liked. Absentmindedly, almost for comfort, I ran my finger over my left thumbnail, over the heart I’d left there.
“That’s it?” she asked. “That’s it?”
I nodded slowly, uncertain of what sort of response this was.
Sandra stared at me a moment longer, then threw her head back and laughed. She laughed and laughed and laughed. And I just stared at her. The people walking by us stared at her as they passed. Slowly the laughter subsided and she sobered up. Later she’d tell me the laughter was relief—I just thought she’d gone crazy.
“It was true,” she told me, wiping away a tear that had leaked out during her giggle fit. “It was true and still is.”
I shook my head, unable to articulate in that moment. She understood, and despite obviously wanting an explanation for my denial, she waited for me.
I stared at the floor next to my sneaker. No, that couldn’t be right. We were best friends. This wasn’t some movie…we were not some overdone cliché! If my parents knew about her…oh, well, then I’d get some attention, yes, I would. To say she was my girlfriend, my lover…no, they’d have a hard enough time accepting her as my friend! It could do no good.
…and yet, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of joy rise up from my stomach.
“No, Sandra,” I finally said, relocating my speech and my words, “it’s not. It can’t be. We haven’t known each other long enough. It’s…it’s…no. It can’t be.”
Sandra frowned.
“Well, I feel something,” she said stubbornly, “so what is it?”
I paused, thinking.
“Like,” I replied simply.
The corners of her mouth quirked a little. “Like?”
“Yeah,” I told her, “like. Like…I like you, Sandra.”
Again, the word itself meant nothing. My eyes, my voice, my reaching out to her spoke more than I could. Or, at least, I hoped it did. Still, it felt terribly juvenile. But Sandra just smiled. Ignoring my reach and wrapping her arms around my waist, she stood on the very tips of her toes and kissed my nose.
“Why, then, I like you, miss Charlotte.”

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And there you go. It's done. Man, this stuff all seemed a lot longer when I was actually writing it down...but whatever.
I feel like some people might be like "WTF, YOU ENDED IT WITH HER AS A LESBIAN? DIDN'T YOU JUST MAKE A COMMENT ABOUT THEM, LIKE, YESTERDAY? ARE YOU A LESBIAN??!"
Hahhahahahaha no. Well, I don't think so. I don't feel like I am, anyway. But maybe? If so, I'm not aware of it. But as for the the story, I don't know. I just started writing it and thought of how to end it, which was with that line. And once you come up with a way to end a story, especially when it's that exact, isn't it a little hard to change it? I don't think I could be satisfied with the story if I had changed it.
And the comment I made about lesbians on my Facebook the other day? Yeah, you'll notice it was someone else that brought it up, not me. I was just saying how stupid the comment was.
So there.