“One last final to go!” Rachel exclaims in joy.

She’s chirping around our dorm room, already planning her summer outfits and the dress she’s going to wear tomorrow for her first “Day of Freedom” after the last few “Months of almost Unbearable Suffering” that her studies consist of. I can’t picture a day since I’ve known her when she wasn’t a ‘Drama Queen’. Even when we were little, she’d make big things out of sand grains.

She settles on a cute flowery dress and her old pair of Converse. She’d look wonderful no matter what she was wearing anyways. She turns to me for my approval, which I instantly give her.

Then with a scrunchie around her wrist, facing our small mirror, she makes it look like deciding whether her hair should be up or down is the most important decision of her entire life.

“Up”, I say without looking up from my notes or even waiting for her to ask.

She obliges with a smile before she throws me her pillow, her ponytail effortlessly perfect: “Stop killing yourself over your studies! You’re gonna be fine! You always do fine!”

I hum as a simple answer while I readjust my glasses, leaving the pillow on the ground next to my desk. I’m not feeling ready at all even if I know all of the chemical reactions I’m looking at by heart. I feel like failing a class would by default make me a failure, and right now my grades are honestly my only source of pride.

We both have an exam tomorrow morning, me in chem and her in law, then we can finally go home for the summer. There was “absolutely no way” she’d stay here over the summer, and of course I wouldn’t stick around campus without her. The mere thought of being here alone and not seeing my best friend for three months makes me shiver.

Our bags were packed near the door yesterday, the small loud fridge was also emptied and unplugged. My mother is coming to pick us up tomorrow, and I don’t really know how I feel about seeing her. I am happy and uncomfortable all at the same time with going home, but at least Rachel will be there with me.

***

The exams came (and went perfectly fine), the car was soon packed, and Rachel filled it with chatters all the way home. Rachel and I both always wear the same black Converses, but I style mine with cuffed jeans and a geeky tee instead of a flowery dress. I always feel like I am a bit less of a girl than Rachel, but I eventually realised it didn’t really matter. Makeup and skirts are bothersome and impractical, and you wouldn’t catch me dead wearing them.

It seems like the ride only lasted fifteen minutes instead of the whole hour and a half it actually took, and I’m glad I didn’t have to talk a lot because my friend was here. She went on about Adrien, then about her finals that went “surprisingly well considering the amount of effort [she] didn’t put in [her] studies”. I lost track of her words and looked at the passing scenery through the window instead.

When we get to Rachie’s home, she practically jumps out of the car, happy to finally be able to move her legs, jumping and kicking all over the place like a little kid. I get out right after and stay a bit behind with her before I get back home. Mom shows me a slightly exaggerated sad face before heading home. “But I haven’t seen you in three months! I want to know how my little girl is doing!”

“Oh god”. Rachel laughs when the car is finally out of sight. She hugs me tight, then points one of her bright pink nails at my chest.

“If there’s anything, you walk over here anytime okay?”

“You’re way too cute! I’ll be fine I swear mom. But I still may take up on that offer if you’ll let me.”

She sighs at the word ‘mom’ but laughs heartily before hugging me one more time. She then runs up the stairs, almost trips, turns back to wave me goodbye and disappears inside with her bags.

I then walk down the road up to my house, and five minutes later I’m home. Before unpacking, I go up to my little brother’s room. I have seen pictures, but now, truly seeing the baby for the first time, I realise coming home maybe was worth it.

My dad comes in after me, putting a hand on my shoulder. I stand beside the crib where the little guy sleeps peacefully. “Welcome back”, my dad whispers before pulling me into a hug. My parents were young, way too young, when they had me, and now that they’re a bit older they decided they wanted a second baby. I still have to get used to having little Willy around, but I knew I’d always protect him the second I saw even just a picture of him. I know, I’m a living cliché.

We then walk out of the room so that I don’t wake the baby up, and I head downstairs with a small smile directed to my dad. Just as I remembered, posters of bands I liked last summer and pictures of Rachel and I since we were young cover the walls; I did miss my room.

As I start to unpack, my mother comes in. She sits on my bed, followed by our dog. She slowly strokes good old Biquette and I lower the volume of my music.

“You didn’t call home often over the last few months”, my mother finally says. And there it starts again. I have just gotten home and already she's giving me reproaches. She looked too happy over the car ride for it to last. But I sit on my bed next to her anyway, warmly greeting the dog that’s unaware of the slight tension in the atmosphere. Its tail wags happily as it sees me, allowing me to stay calm even if my mother’s already starting to get on my nerves.

And after all, it is good to be home after spending a whole semester away.