The following Saturday evening, Cynthia's bedroom looked exactly like it had for the past five years of movie nights: fairy lights strung across the ceiling, a mountain of pillows on the bed, two giant bowls of popcorn (one buttered for Cynthia, one lightly salted for Lydia), and a stack of their favorite comfort movies queued up on the TV. The air smelled like vanilla candles and the hazelnut coffee they'd picked up on the way home from Lydia's house.
Cynthia had gone all out. She'd even hung the old "Besties Headquarters" sign they'd made in eighth grade—a glittery poster board that was now faded and peeling at the edges. When Lydia walked in and saw it, her eyes immediately glistened.
"You kept that?" Lydia asked, voice soft.
"Of course I did," Cynthia said, pulling her into a fierce hug before she could even take off her jacket. "We're not throwing away five years of history over some stupid rumors and high school drama. Not happening."
Lydia hugged back just as tightly, burying her face in Cynthia's curly hair for a second longer than usual. When they pulled apart, both of them were a little teary, but smiling.
"I've missed you," Lydia admitted quietly.
"I've missed you more," Cynthia shot back. "And I'm sorry. Like, really sorry. I got caught up in trying to help with the Raymond thing and didn't see how much it was hurting you. I should've checked in more. I should've shut down the rumors about me and him way sooner."
Lydia shook her head, dropping her bag and kicking off her shoes. "No, I'm sorry too. I pulled away instead of just talking to you. I saw you two getting along and let it eat at me, even though I knew you were only doing it for me. That's on me."
They settled onto the bed, cross-legged and facing each other like they always did when something important needed to be said.
"Truce?" Cynthia asked, holding out her pinky.
"Truce," Lydia echoed, linking her pinky with Cynthia's. "Besties for life. No matter what."
"No matter who we talk to, who we crush on, or who the entire school decides to ship us with," Cynthia added firmly.
Lydia laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in weeks. "Exactly."
They sealed it the way they always had since middle school: pinky swear, foreheads pressed together, and a whispered "Forever."
After that, the tension that had been hanging between them dissolved like sugar in hot coffee.
They started the movie— The Princess Bride, because it was their ultimate feel-good tradition—and talked through half of it anyway.
Cynthia paused during the "As you wish" scene. "Okay, real talk. Do you still like Raymond?"
Lydia exhaled slowly. "Yeah. A lot. But seeing him put on that stern face every time I'm with Jack… it's confusing. And honestly? The whole 'lovers' thing with Jack is exhausting. He's an amazing friend, but that's all it is."
"I know," Cynthia said. "And I told everyone at lunch to knock it off. I think it's dying down."
"Thank you." Lydia nudged her with a shoulder. "What about you and Raymond? You guys still talk a ton."
Cynthia shrugged, honest. "We do. He's become a real friend. Like, a good one. He listens, he's funny in that dry way, and he doesn't get overwhelmed when I ramble. But that's it—friend. Zero sparks. I promise. If anything, I've realized how much I value having a guy friend who isn't trying to hit on me every five seconds."
Lydia smiled, relieved. "Good. Because I'd hate to lose you to my crush."
"Never," Cynthia said fiercely. "You come first. Always. If it ever feels weird again, tell me immediately. No more silent treatment."
"Deal. Same goes for you."
They clinked their coffee mugs together like champagne glasses.
The rest of the night was pure healing.
They painted each other's nails (mismatched colors on purpose, another old tradition), binge-watched two more movies, took a hundred selfies with ridiculous filters, and stayed up until three a.m. talking about everything and nothing: college fears, favorite memories, the time they got lost on that "shortcut" road trip junior year, dreams about traveling together after graduation.
At one point, Lydia rolled onto her stomach, chin in her hands. "Remember when we swore we'd be each other's maids of honor no matter who we married?"
"And that we'd buy houses next door to each other with a shared backyard for our dogs?" Cynthia added, grinning.
"And retire together on some beach, drinking margaritas and scaring tourists with our old-lady pranks?"
"Still the plan," Cynthia declared. "Non-negotiable."
Lydia reached over and squeezed her hand. "I needed this. I needed us back."
"Me too," Cynthia whispered. "We're unbreakable, Lyd. Really."
Sunday morning brought sleepy hugs goodbye and promises of daily check-ins—no more drifting.
Monday at school, the difference was immediate.
Cynthia waited at Lydia's locker like old times, holding her favorite hazelnut latte. They walked to class arm-in-arm, laughing about something stupid from the night before. At lunch, they claimed their old spot and saved seats for everyone, but this time Cynthia made sure Lydia sat between her and Jack—friendly, but no fuel for rumors.
When someone from the next table started the faint "Lovers—" chant, Cynthia turned around with a sweet smile and said loudly, "New rule, guys: retired nickname. Find a new hobby."
The table went quiet, then laughed awkwardly and dropped it.
Jack just shrugged good-naturedly. "I'm cool with retirement. More time for actual studying."
Raymond arrived late, tray in hand. He paused when he saw Lydia and Cynthia side-by-side again, the easy closeness back in place. For the first time in weeks, his stern expression softened—just a flicker, but Lydia caught it. Their eyes met across the table for a brief second before he sat down.
Julius still seemed distant, but even he glanced at the reunited besties with something like relief.
After school, Cynthia texted the group chat (including Raymond): Movie night round two this Friday—everyone invited. Lydia and I are hosting. Bring snacks, not drama.
Thomas replied instantly: On it. Popcorn and zero chanting, promise.
Raymond's reply came a minute later: I'll bring drinks.
Lydia smiled at her phone, then looked at Cynthia in the parking lot.
"Think we're really back?" she asked.
Cynthia slung an arm around her shoulders. "We never actually left. Just took a detour. But from here on out—straight road. You and me, besties for life."
Lydia leaned into her. "For life."
The cracks hadn't disappeared entirely—the crushes, the misunderstandings, the lingering questions about Raymond and Jack and Julius were still there. But the foundation between Lydia and Cynthia? Solid again. Unshakeable.
And that was enough to face whatever came next.