even with the scars.

When I type my name into google, 100,5867,309,584 pages of Mariah Carey related sites are found.

I type in Jacob, and twilight paraphernalia pops up.

Lucy shows a twisted array of sites from The Beatles, Across the Universe, Lucy Lu, and even Dropping Daylight.

Jessie usually get's me Jessie McCartney merchendise and biographical sites.

Anna has a name for herself, though. Because information regarding her brilliance at Naperville Central is found.

Taylor shows an annoying trillion-gazillion hits for Taylor Swift, hicks, and maid. irritating.

But Krystal---there's no infamy in that name.

So, baby, I'm gonna make you famous and not in the way you would like.

My entire body was pulsing in the chair that we shared tonight. The sand--or dirt--beneath my feet was cold and itchy and infested with the relatives of the tick that bit me previously. Blood from the scratching and skin from the rash were stuck under my fingernails, which you painted magenta because that is our cheapest selection from Milani. The facials were common and regular to our sleepover tendencies, and for the first time, you opted to sleep with me in my twin-sized bed, instead of taking over the white plush couch that is now in my cousin's house.

But in my mind, it was still in my room, but empty, which I was more than thankful for. I liked having you near me, even platonically. My legs intertwined with yours, smooth because you insisted that french girls have to shave every single day. I don't know how you managed. I forget unless I have a prospect. I had tense shoulders, and in true clueless fashion, you grabbed the Bengay I purchased for you, and you rubbed the pain right out of me. Your skin on your fingers was course but lovely, I closed my eyes and at 11:11, I wished we would never fall apart.

And in this hallucination, we never would. I took off my shirt, but you weren't phased so I became more comfortable. I could be myself around you, with flaws and drama, and pain and suffering, even self-pitying. You loved it. You enjoyed being involved in my problems and calling yourself my best friend who could handle every issue I ever could invent.

While in bed, You finished your ministrations, and you curled up like a cat, fitting perfectly in my side. My body was on fire again, with the air conditioning on high at 66 degrees. I was in love with you scent, lke Edward with Bella, who I think you imagined yourself as.

I can see why, of course, but not in my hallucination, not that night. Your name is Krystal LaBelle and that will be a household name by the time I'm through. I love you.