Do You Know Your Neighbor?- Braeden Bowen

Even if I could talk smack about Maggie Arvin, I'm not sure I would. I've known her since middle school and we've been friends since, but I'm not sure I really know too much about her.

I know her real name is Mackenzie. I know she drives a Jeep. I know she plays the Sims on her tablet every day before class starts. I know her girlfriend is named Brooke (it's actually Madison, but Maggie forgot that once); Brooke is a hairdresser at Paul Mitchell. Apparently, Brooke's pretty good, because they've gone to hair shows in the past. I know that if she were a color, she'd be Mikado yellow; she probably wouldn't be happy to know that, but her baffling mix of exuberance and shyness warrants an equally complex color.

I know that Maggie is smart. She doesn't like to admit it very often, but she is. Every joke she makes is brilliantly concocted, which would be hard to pull if she was as smart as she claims.

I know that at some point or another someone decided that I was Maggie's mother. I don't really know how or why, but I think most of us have just accepted it as fact.

I know that I want Maggie to be successful. Having known her for so long, I know that she is capable of so much; I hope that in whatever she does, she applies herself.

When you think about it, that's not a lot a lot of knowledge. Six years, and I know 237 words worth of information about Maggie Arvin. I think we both know whose fault that is.



Here's a hint: it's not hers.