She had been my best friend ever since I met her when we were both only 7 years old. She stood up for me when I first moved to Wisconsin. I still remember the day, I could see her through the kids that had pushed me in to a corner to taunt me and tease me, to tell me how ugly and fat I was. I only retreated further into the corner, cowering as several kids ripped me to shreds. I was wiping the tears from my eyes when I heard her screaming at them to leave me alone and to get away. When she turned to me a sympathetic look had replaced the anger I knew had plagued her features only a few moments earlier. I only hugged her and thanked her for being so nice, her only reply was "Don't listen to them Stacie, you're beautiful." I don't know how she knew my name, I didn't ask I was just thankful for this angel.
Now we're both 17 and this is the story of how I never knew how much in common I had with my best friend Sonny Monroe.
This is my first story, constructive criticism is welcome. Please don't tell me how horrible it is because I already know, thanks.
