I Get To Love You

The open road stretched before us, a ribbon of asphalt unspooling beneath the bright Seattle sky. The wind whipped through my hair, a welcome chaos after the stifling rules of the Academy. Beside me, Stephanie Salvatore, my best friend and partner in mischief, hung halfway out of the convertible, her arms outstretched as if to embrace the entire world.

“TURN THAT SHIT UP!” she shrieked, her voice barely audible over the blaring speakers. I grinned, obliging her, and together we belted out the lyrics to our favorite song, a testament to our unbreakable bond.

We sang about loyalty, about shared scars and endless laughter, about a home that followed us wherever we went. The song faded, replaced by our hysterical laughter, and I pulled into a small, charming diner, its retro sign humming softly.

As we settled into a back booth, away from prying ears, Stephanie's eyes glinted with curiosity. “So, peaches,” she began, popping a fry into her mouth, “what exactly are we doing in a small town like this?”

I smirked, tossing an onion ring at her. “Oh, for fun, of course.”

“Okay, seriously,” she pressed, after a playful ice cube skirmish. “What’s up with the small town?”

I leaned back, a knowing smile playing on my lips. “Well, growing up with parents like ours, and you in Mystic Falls, we know better than anyone else that small towns hold the best secrets.” I took a bite of my burger, savoring the moment. “Fair enough,” she conceded, though her next comment was pure Stephanie. “But there better be hot girls and guys at this new school of ours, or else I’m out of here.”

I chuckled. “You sound just like your father.”

“Awww, peaches, that’s so sweet,” she cooed dramatically, “and you are just as terrifying as your father.”

“Aww, pumpkin, you really get me,” I replied, throwing another onion ring, perfectly content. Forks, Washington, awaited, and with it, secrets I was more than ready to uncover.