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Wendy Testaburger, almost (except not really) the first female President of the United States, lost the election and has not been heard from since.
Barbara Stevens isn't surprised when she sees the news on her phone as she takes a sip of her morning coffee. She scrolls through the news with freshly manicured nails and a neutral expression.
"I'm glad that woman lost," her husband says, taking her out of her cell phone trance. "Man, she was unlikeable. Even Levi thought so."
"What does Levi know about politics? He's seven," Barbara replies. "Other than what you tell him."
"Why are you being defensive?" Joseph asks. "You didn't vote for her. Or at all."
"I know."
"Or at all."
"I know." She rolls her eyes. "Look, can I just have a calming Saturday morning without you coming in here ranting about whatever?"
"Jeez, alright." Her husband exits the room. She can hear him on the phone within the next thirty seconds, probably to his mother or something. "Yeah. No. I don't know, she's in a bad mood."
He's right, she must admit. She is in a bad mood, because despite all the years of distance between them, she feels bad for Wendy.
Barbara had seen the scandal on the news when it had come out. Her husband spends most nights in front of the TV, Fox News always on. That's how it is in Salt Lake. Always Fox News. Barbara doesn't care, she's not political, but it's annoying. The video had been of Wendy, beautiful, but tired looking, arguing with a fast food worker. Elitist, they'd labeled her. Typical of the Democrat elite.
Barbara doesn't necessarily know how her former friend acts anymore, but what she does know is that she never seemed like the person to argue with a service worker for no reason. She'd always made sure to tip extra with her allowance.
Her husband once again walks in the room. "Holy shit… I just realized. That's the chick from your scrapbook, right? That just lost the election?"
"Mm." Barbara nods. "Yes."
"So you both were friends?"
Friends. Barbara frowns. Friends. They hadn't talked in so long. But yes, one time. They were friends.
They'd been nine years old when Wendy told Barbara, Bebe then, a childish nickname she has long begone, that she wanted to be president.
"Ugh, why?" Bebe asks. "Sounds like a lot of work and a lot of people hating you."
"It's the most powerful position in the country!" Her friend says, with a strong tenacity that startles Bebe. It always does. "Besides, I want to actually do something with my life. Make some change."
"I mean, it would be cool if you could be the first girl," Bebe says.
"Yeah."
"I could do your like… publicist thing. Or whatever."
"Campaign manager?"
"Yeah. I'll be your campaign manager."
"Pinky promise?" Wendy holds out her pinky finger. Bebe laughs, crossing her finger into hers.
Things had been simpler when they were nine, but middle school is when the cracks started forming. Wendy's reluctance to let go of Stanley Marsh started to annoy Barbara, especially since he'd gotten so depressing. He was always moping around, listening to the same shitty music, and hanging out with Cartman and that poor kid whose name she forgot and the snotty Jewish kid, Kyle B- something, she used to sometimes think was cute. And no one liked those kids, given their fights and schemes and obsessions had only gotten worse over the years. They were a bother, and if you hang out with people no one likes, you start to become unlikeable yourself.
"You need to dump him again," Bebe says. "He's dead weight."
"First of all, we aren't even dating, really. We are maybe working things out."
"Typical." Bebe rolls her eyes.
"Second of all, he's depressed."
"Everyone thinks they're fucking depressed." Bebe shakes her head. "Clyde is always telling me how Craig is always depressed, and for some reason Jimmy Valmer is depressed now too, probably because we got sick of his jokes."
"Bebe, you're acting like a bitch, you know that?" Wendy replies. "Why does it bother you if I keep dating him?"
She's glaring at her now, her dark hair falling to her sides and her blue eyes piercing Bebe's brown ones. She's beautiful, and without thinking, Bebe finds herself kissing her friend on the lips.
Wendy pulls away for a second before kissing her back softly. Innocently. Like a playground kiss. Except it's different because it's not for clout and maybe it means something this time.
Except… Bebe doesn't want that. It to mean something. Or she does. She does want it to mean everything, but she's not one of … those. She's not a lesbian. She's Bebe, the girl every guy likes.
"Don't tell anyone," she snaps, before running away and deciding to call up her own on and off boyfriend after school.
Were they friends?
"I… hardly. I mean, yes, but a long time ago. A very long time ago." She waves him off. "Don't… don't worry about it."
"Alright." Joseph laughs. "But, I mean you could tell me if she acted as sour back then too."
Barbara stands up, shoving her chair in and setting her coffee mug down. "I'm going to go back to sleep for a bit."
"Are you going to pick up Levi for soccer practice?"
"You do it this time," she snaps, before running to the master bedroom and closing the door.
She opens her old picture book, aggressively sifting through all the different memories it held. Her and Clyde… a lot of her and Clyde… she wonders how he's doing these days. Maybe he's a nutcase.
Her and Red in college, the sorority activities they did, her with her parents, with her sister…
She finds it. Her and Wendy. They're about seventeen in this image, taking a selfie on a digital camera in the department store mirror, both wearing hideous dresses they'd picked out in the mall. Barbara sighs. Prom shopping.
This had been the year where they'd kissed again, the first time since middle school, kissed like a LOT. This can't happen again. You can't tell anyone.
And then it was announced there was a dress code.
"I don't get why it's such a big deal!" They're in Wendy's bedroom, Bebe on the bed, Wendy standing across from her with her arm crossed. "I mean… it's a school event, there's gonna obviously be rules!"
"Those rules are for the GIRLS only, Bebe. If they made rules for the boys that would be different. It's archaic! Seriously! They're going to have rulers!"
"Who cares if they don't have the rules for boys?" Bebe shrugs. "The boys at our school are ugly. The teachers won't get distracted by them like they would us."
"No teacher should be getting distracted by any student! They're all twenty years older than us!"
"Why does it matter? You don't even have a date." Bebe knows it's mean, and immediately feels a bit bad after saying it.
"And you do? You and Clyde are over, you told me no."
"Craig Tucker."
"You're willing to risk your autonomy as a woman to be some gay man's prom date? He doesn't even like you, Bebe. He's trying to make his ex jealous."
"It's still a boy, and it's still prom."
Wendy frowns. "Why does it have to be a boy? I mean, you and I could go together as friends."
"That's not how prom works." Bebe stands up indignantly. "Ever since I was a little girl I dreamed about going to prom with a boy and falling in love with said boy. And maybe this boy won't fall in love with me back, because he likes boys, but he's cute and I can at least pretend!"
"You sure do love to pretend," Wendy replies, and Bebe storms off that night.
That senior prom never ended up happening, and it'd made Wendy the social pariah for the rest of the year. Only Stan Marsh and Heidi Turner had clapped for her when she walked across the stage at graduation, while Bebe had sat with her arms crossed looking anywhere else.
She knocks on Bebe's door the next day crying. "I don't know what to do."
Bebe doesn't want to hear it as she twirls a piece of hair on her index finger. "I don't know what to tell you. It's your fault it's canceled."
"MY fault? I was trying to do the right thing."
"Yeah, and look at what your right thing did. It's gone."
"At least I can rest easy in knowing I stood up for what I believed in."
"You can rest easy knowing everyone hates you now."
"Do you?"
Bebe frowns. "No. I… don't hate you. I could never hate you. You've been my best friend for a long time."
"I'm sensing a but here."
"I mean, what happened to you, though? Why can't you just be fun? You haven't been fun in a long time. No one can even ask you about the weather without you going into the fucking ozone layer or whatever. Someone can say they want to get married soon and you talk about the wedding industry and how it grooms young girls. The only person at school more high strung than you is Kyle."
"Not everyone can be like you, Bebe. Just flouncing about, careless, clueless."
"Are you calling me dumb?" Bebe glares.
"No. I'm calling you ignorant."
Bebe laughs in disbelief. "Fuck you, Wendy." She slams the door.
That had been the last time they ever talked.
There's tears forming. She rolls her eyes. Crying. Seriously. Over a stupid sandbox friendship? A girl she'd kind of fooled around with in high school? Everyone experiments. It's whatever. Girls do that before they meet the boys they're supposed to marry, and she'd gotten it out of the way, because when she got to BYU there was no way she could do it.
She hears a rap on the door, but she ignores it as she starts to tear the picture.
That night she throws the scraps in the fireplace.