Karen was my best friend.

We met out first year in highschool, and were best friends by sophomore year.

We were a lot alike, and we were well liked at our school. She was a caring goofball

who always knew what to say in any social situation, while I was overly dramatic,

always smiling and had a sarcastic wit few of my teachers appreciated.

She never minded going with the flow, while I made it my goal in highschool to be

different than everyone, which is not so easily acheived at a Catholic Preperatory School.

We evened each other out, our extreme's were balanced out by the other's, and we were always happy.

Our personalities complimented each other, not to mention the blonde and red of our hair color. But,

though we were a lot alike, we were different too. I didn't like crowds, and often shyed away from interaction with

the mysterious creatures you call 'boys', she could work a crowd like no one else, a talent she developed from her

years as a volunteer clown. She was cute, but not gorgeous, and had a personality that could reach everyone.

She knew just what to do when someone was feeling down, and just what to do to make someone laugh,

and guys loved it. And so did I. She was always smiling and laughing and never really cared what anyone thought.

That was one of my favorite things about Karen. She didn't care what anyone thought. She and I had always had a

pact that we wouldnt be like all the sluts in our grade, we wouldnt fluant ourselves out or drink to be cool. We were

both cheerful, carefree girls, and we liked it that way. We like being different from everyone else, and we were happy that way.

In the beginning of our junior year, she decided she wanted more. She started feeling unsatisfied with our position on

the social ladder, and wanted a higher view on things. So, being my best friend, I went with her. She started making friends

in 'high places' as well as places that weren't even on my radar. But I didn't care, she was still the same old smiling Karen.

Whether we were in the middle or on top, as long as we were still friends, I was fine with it. She got her first boyfriend too.

A goof like herself, with red hair just like hers. And she was still laughing and smiling and happy, and I was happy too.

We had gone to a few parties before, I was friends with the previous years' seniors and was able to get us in on some our

sophomore year. We still didn't drink though, we just laughed at everyone else that did, watching the stupid stuff people

did knowing they wouldn't remember it in the morning, becuase teens never know how to drink without forgetting who

they are by the time the sun comes up. But three months into our junior year she broke up with her boyfriend, claiming

she was looking for something else. And that something else was Adam. By the time she met Adam we were already

accepted into 'the' social circle. It wasn't hard, I was pretty, and she was someone people loved being around.

We would go to the afterparties after a dance, make an appearance, then leave when we got bored. But at one

particular party, that routine changed. I had been talking to my crush at the time, when I look over to see her with

a beer in her hand. I was shocked. It was Karen, my best friend, the girl I considered to be closer to me than most

of my family, drinking. Of course I, being the 'onward' type, marched right over and asked in a not so lady like tone

"What the hell are you doing?!" "What do you mean, I'm doing what I always do." If I was shocked before her reply

downright floored me. Here was Karen, playing off her sipping a beer (and wincing everytime she took a drink) like it

was an everyday occurence. That was when I noticed who she was with, the local sluts at our school, and known

drinkers. I couldnt believe my eyes. And I drove us home that night.

That soon became a regular occurence, we would go to a party, Karen would have a couple sips of alcohal, and

then we would go home. She never once pushed me into drinking with her, and whenever offered, promptly took

the beer for herself stating that "she doesn't drink". I talked to her a couple times about her new pastime, but each

time she refuted my argument with a "it's only a couple sips" and "it's not like I do this all the time you know". And, because

it was just a few sips, I let it slide. She was still Karen, she hadn't changed at all, and things were fine, and she was still happy.

That was when her parents started having problems. Halfway through our junior year the wedding rings' came off, and

the tension in that house was suffocating. And Karen wanted no part of it. We would go out every weekend to party

just like always, but gradually Karens' 'couple of sips' turned into something more. She began to crave the public attention

she was getting from others, and started wearing heavier makeup, something she and I always laughed about. I stuck with

her, thinking that maybe if I was there, she would get better, that maybe this was just a momentary thing. Besides, I didn't

want to leave. I'd never been this close to a friend before. I actually had a best friend. And I didn't want to lose that.

One Saturday though, everything went wrong. She was already having trouble keeping her grades up, she was taking

three AP classes and had just bombed two of her tests. Her boyfriend Adam broke up with her unexpectedly, claiming

she was too distracted, and her parents' fighting had reached an all time high, and no one had time to spend with her

and her problems. So when we went out that night, I was only slightly suprised to hear her say "I want to get really

really smashed". Nevertheless, I was suprised. The Karen I knew would never want to get drunk, she liked to laugh

at the people who got drunk. That's when I noticed what she had on. A tiny jean miniskirt and a belly shirt, in 20 degree weather.

That night, we met up with some of her friends, and she decided she wanted to go to a club, as there were no good

parties going on. I didn't want to, but I thought at least this way she wouldn't be able to drink anything. And that was

what kept running through my head as we pulled up to the entrance. I had never been to a club, I had never thought

about going to a club, and after that night, I never wanted to go to a club again. The boys managed to get us in, but

once we were, I wanted out. It was crowded, something I hate, and smokey, another thing I hate, and people were

dancing and it was noisy and smelly and the lights were too bright in some places, too dark in others. I wanted out.

Karen didn't look much better. My only reassurance was that she could'nt drink. We stayed in that club for 20 minutes

before I was getting to ansy over the crowd and suggested we go, Karen way back was silent. Karen and

I never used to have trouble talking to each other, but I was slowly beginning to realize that this wasn't Karen, and there

was nothing I could do to change that.

The next few weekends she repeatedly asked me to go back to the club with her, saying that it was fun after the

first time, and that it wasn't nearly as bad as everyone said. And each week, my friend got further and further away.

Two days before it happened I cornered her in the hallway. I spilled my heart out to her, begging her to stop, that

it wasn't helping her parents divorce, it wasn't bringing Adam back, and it certainly wasn't doing anything for her.

And for the first time since we had been friends she got mad at me. She shouted that I was being too dramatic

and that I was just scared to do anything that might make me fit in. She yelled "It's none of your business" and to

just leave her alone. As she walked off I could only ask myself when the life of the person I used to tell my deepest

secrets to, used to laugh with, and cry with, and joke about teachers, and complain about homework, the life of the

person I could tell anything to because she would understand, was none of my business. So I walked out of school

and got in my car and just cried becuase the Karen I knew was never coming back.

That was four days ago.

And as I stand up here to give my speech, looking down at tear filled eyes glancing up with pity at the

"poor girl", the carefully planned and perfected words escape my mind, and I can only think of one thing.

"Karen was my best friend, and we were happy".

Dedicated to Laura, the Karen that could have been.