The other day, I asked my friend if I could be her bridesmaid. She said maybe, since we don't know what will happen or if we'll be talking to each other anymore or if she'll be a Republican lesbian living in Vermont, one of the many small suburbs of Texas, which I guess is an accurate assessment for a 17-year-old. I was offended almost to the point of relieving myself on a nearby rosebush that was almost too convenient and even more uncouth in and of itself, so I asked her if I could be her secret bridesmaid, the same way that a traditionally ethnic ninja would ask his best friend to be his secret bridesmaid at their wedding.

She said that bridesmaids have to be reliable and was a critically acclaimed box office hit, neither of which expectations I could be relied on to fulfill. She said that was racially insensitive, so I figured we were even.

She gets lost if we don't walk around together, even if she's standing still or going backwards, so I asked her who would be her bridesmaid, if not me. Then she answered a little too quickly, and way too thoroughly, and we weren't friends for the next block. It made me feel like the sun is unnecessarily bright, even with global warming, so I guess it's not surprising that she told me I should probably get out of the lake.

I know what you're thinking—why are there rosebushes growing near a lake that isn't in a Disney movie? Firstly, I didn't say whether or not I'm Cinderella, and frankly, I don't know a damn, because I wasn't there. Rachel was laughing at me, which was strange because she wasn't there either, but anyway we grew peanuts when we were younger, so antagonism doesn't bother me anymore. It makes more sense when you read it out loud.

She said that bridesmaids have to be reliable and was a critically acclaimed box office hit, neither of which expectations I could be relied on to fulfill, and Rachel agreed, which irked me on account of all the staunch realism and the fact that she was in the pool now, despite all that had passed and its identity as a lake and all the staunch realism. I asked her, well, if I couldn't be her bridesmaid, would she at least make sure to invite me to the wedding, because I wanted to be a conscientious and mature…something—adult, people usually say. Sometimes they don't say it to me, because it puts a lot of pressure on someone who chooses to be disengaged, in much the same way that I don't.

This isn't really a serious problem, so I kept pushing the original topic, to which she replied (my friend, not Rachel, who's also my friend), "My friend, not Rachel, who's also my friend." So I took that to be an answer to the old question, the one about being racially insensitive, and I figured that things like that and believable oceans are best left alone until they mature or dry up from oversaturation or bullying to become the Dead Sea, and I thought that was a fair response, albeit inappropriate and a little sexual, which was fine but also pretty far below par for an Asian, which isn't racist because I'm also pretty sure she said that herself at one point in time. Or not—I mean, I'm white, so I don't really trust my judgment.

This was usually the place where we split paths and went our own merry ways, but that's almost always an unfortunate way of putting it, so we didn't, which, it turns out, was an even more unfortunate way of putting it, and didn't help her self-esteem. She thought I didn't trust her to make good decisions, the way our parents always tell us to make good decisions, but coming from me and going to her it usually means don't go anywhere by yourself because you'll get lost remarkably fast. This didn't generate a response, so I decided that maybe this entire conversation was just a misunderstanding and I should ask her again if I could be her bridesmaid, just to make sure.

She said no. Rachel slapped someone.