We shared a name, a summer program, and three years of being best friends. Jasmine and I were an unbreakable duo, and our friendship was the only thing I could count on every single summer—until COVID hit.
In March 2020, the news of school being canceled initially excited me. It felt like a break from 5th grade, and I was glad there was no need to leave the house. Before long, though, the black squares of turned-off cameras in my online school sessions made me sad. In isolation, I began overthinking everything, growing depressed and lonely. I also lost my friendship with Jasmine. We went to different schools, and neither of us had email or phones, so we couldn’t communicate. There was no summer program that year, and I never went back to it.
In 6th grade, classes were a mix of in-school and online, but it wasn’t until 8th grade that I found a friend group of 10-15 kids. Playing UNO in the public library and looking at cherry blossoms together mended my heart and gave me happiness I didn’t know was possible before.
Being Myself With Skylar
As the months passed, priorities changed. Most of these friends were testing the waters of romantic relationships, which sparked fights over who was getting the most attention. Skylar and I were the only ones not trying to date anyone, which somehow made us the go-to for relationship advice. Since we were friends with both the guys and the girls, we always knew both people in a new couple. Whenever that kind of drama started, everyone expected us to take sides, which was awkward.
That summer before freshman year, everyone else became obsessed with trying to look cool, but Skylar and I stayed the same. Looking at social media together on her bedroom floor one day, she tossed a pillow and said, “I don’t get why everyone is trying to act so mature all of a sudden.” I told her I was glad we didn’t feel the need to change. She was the only person I could completely be myself around.
We spent our days arguing whether SUGA or Jungkook was the best-looking member of BTS, anticipating the next installment of Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse, and texting each other pictures of our bowls of carefully cut strawberries. We seemed to have everything in common.
And she was loyal. Because Skylar reached out and kept our connection going in the summer, I trusted her going into 9th grade. Our middle school had 1,200 students, so arriving in a high school with nearly 4,000 students was a shock. The hallways were a blur of unfamiliar faces, and I felt lucky to enter the chaos with Sklyar. Both fairly small, we walked side by side into the swarms of taller, apathetic upperclassmen.
As introverts, Skylar and I found comfort in our small bubble rather than forcing ourselves into larger groups. For me, socializing often led to a heavy, suffocating exhaustion that required hours of isolation to fix. Skylar was the exception; being with her felt effortless.
Without the oversized middle school friend group, we needed our two-person sanctuary more than ever. Skylar and I walked to school and took the bus home together. But we didn’t have any classes together, so there I was on my own.
The Three Musketeers
In the first week of global history class, nobody talked to me: It seemed that social lines had already been drawn. I noticed a girl tucked into the far corner, wrapped in dark, oversized layers. She had a secretive, low-key energy about her, and I learned her name was Fiona.
Soon, Fiona and I found ourselves trapped in a four-person “oligarchy” in our global history class, where we had to compete against other student groups representing different types of governments. Our mutual annoyance with our self-appointed captain led to a friendship. While our leader was busy drawing up a literal battle plan, Fiona and I exchanged glances, expressing that we both knew it would fail. We were right. We became the first team to lose the simulation, but watching our fictional empire crumble was worth it just to have something to laugh about with Fiona.
My apartment became a haven where we could still act like kids, while figuring out how to grow up together.
Fiona was reserved, but once we started talking, our connection spilled out of the classroom. We started walking to the bus together every afternoon. Once she was comfortable, she showed she cared in quiet ways, like patting my head or asking if I was OK.
One day after school, as we waited for the bus, Skylar joined us. Soon, she and Fiona were talking.
“So wait, what schedule do you have?” Skylar asked.
“I start 3rd period and end 10th period.”
“Oh, wait. Me too!”
“Then we can go to school together with Jasmine,” Fiona said, smiling.
I felt a weird sense of pride when they exchanged Instagrams. Soon the three of us were connecting around our love for good food—from crisp, fresh fruits and comforting tofu soups to bok choy and udon in hotpots—and our sense of humor. We’re all somewhat shy and don’t push ourselves into conversations, but we found so much to say to each other. We started a “Three Musketeers” group chat, spending four hours a day texting, then traveling together on weekends from our homes in Bay Ridge to Manhattan.
Summers were usually when my school friendships faded, but the break between 9th and 10th grade only made Skylar, Fiona, and me closer. Our group chat stayed alive from morning until midnight, and we met up at parks and boba shops just to laugh together in person.
One random Thursday in 10th grade, we took the subway up to NoHo and the East Village. We made our way to the New York University buildings, wishing we looked as mature as the college students heading to their classes.
Then we got hungry and found a hole-in-the-wall noodle shop that wasn’t too crowded or expensive. The broth tasted wrong—way too sour, with none of the savory flavor it was supposed to have. A grim thought hit us all at once: Were we being poisoned? It felt entirely possible, but we were too starving to care. We finished it anyway, laughing about our misadventure and chugging five bottles of water between the three of us just to wash down the taste.
We started hanging out at my apartment because my parents were the most chill. We’d spend hours playing UNO, riding bikes outside around the neighborhood, and laughing until we couldn’t breathe. But as we moved through 10th grade, our conversations started to revolve around real things—our anxieties about the future, the pressure of keeping our grades up for college, and the drama of high school relationships. My apartment became a haven where we could still act like kids, while figuring out how to grow up together.
Our Sacred Spaces
In junior year, we started visiting colleges with our own families and spent afternoons hunched over laptops looking up admission requirements, comparing programs, and trading tips on the harder classes we were about to face.
The three of us were grateful to get the same lunch period, and one of my teachers let some students eat in his classroom. A few seniors we never talked to were the only others who ate there. We started to call that room our “sacred space.”
It really was just the three of us. We tested that dynamic once when Fiona invited two of her friends—a boy and a girl, Skylar and I didn’t know—to one of our restaurant hotpot dates. While waiting for a table, Fiona got period cramps and had to go home, leaving Skylar and me alone with the two strangers. Without Fiona to fuse us, the afternoon dissolved into long silences and forced small talk while we watched the ingredients drift in the boiling broth.
Later, our Three Musketeers group chat lit up with texts. Fiona apologized for leaving us, while Skylar and I texted back, laughing off the tension, joking about the awkwardness. We agreed her friends were nice, but the space between us was too wide. We never invited anyone else again.
Sometimes the three of us take a bus home; sometimes my parents chauffeur us. The backseat of their car is another sacred space. We all feel comfortable gossiping about junior year drama with my parents, who chime in from the front seat. My dad likes the same music we do, and we blast it. In those car rides, Skylar and Fiona feel like part of my family.
During the spring of junior year, the reality of growing up—something I’d always pushed off— caught up to me all at once. The college applications, recommendation letters, and AP exams reminded me that only one year remained before the Three Musketeers would scatter. While Skylar hopes to head out west for college, Fiona is setting her sights on Boston, and I will likely stay in the New York SUNY system so I don’t graduate with debt.
I’m not the only one feeling it. On a recent bus ride home, Fiona’s voice cut through the noise. “Jasmine, we’re going to be graduating next year. I’ll call you every single day. Distance won’t change anything.”
Skylar let out a bittersweet laugh. “Every day? We’re going to be swamped with different schedules. I’m terrified we’re just going to drift.”
The honesty stung. I hated that our effortless, daily face-to-face chats would be reduced to FaceTiming across time zones and waiting for responses to our Three Musketeers chat.
I squeezed both of their hands. “Skylar, it will take more work than just sitting on this bus. But we’re inseparable. We’ll make the time.”
Fiona nodded fiercely. “Exactly. Even if we have to schedule FaceTime dates like business meetings, we will.”
The tension left Skylar’s shoulders as she looked at our linked hands. “All for one,” she whispered.
“And one for all,” Fiona and I finished.
I don’t feel remotely ready for the shift to college. Growing up feels like a task the world forces onto you as school gets harder and responsibilities accumulate. If I could refuse or put it off, I would. I love school exactly the way it is now, because this is where I experienced a different kind of love—the fierce, platonic love I share with Skylar and Fiona. Knowing I will have to say goodbye to them in a year fills me with uncertainty, because I can’t imagine anyone else I’d rather have by my side.
- Friendship