The Opposite Of Negation | Editing Slowly

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"These formulae and equations are going to be the death of me," whines Mia. She is currently doing her paper for her math class. The paper is due in 15 minutes and she hasn't even finished with a quarter of it.

"Why did you even take a math class? I'm pretty sure cinematography does not require math," I say while balancing my laptop and books over my arm as I enter our apartment.

Our apartment, the one which we both decided to share as soon as we were accepted in the same college. It's a cosy two-bedroom, with the kitchen connected to the living room. There are small house plants in every single corner of it, as well as stills of movies framed and hung all over the walls. It is, by far the most accurate combination of Mia's personality and mine, mixed together to form the perfect chaotic place we both love to death. Looking over at Mia, who's hunched over at the kitchen, her head in her hands, I can't help but feel sorry for her.

"Sometimes it does Ali. You never know. Math is never going to leave me alone," Mia whines. I look at her amusedly as she completely ignores my existence. Walking over, I pick up her notebook, which currently holds a series of unanswered questions. I wipe my hands on my jeans and pull out the chair beside her, deciding to help my dear pain in the ass best friend.

"It's a good thing your roommate is a math major," I joke, solving the sums. They're all easy problems, enabling me to solve them in just a few minutes. Mia looks at me and gives me a grateful smile.

"Dinner's on me," she starts, "as you're helping me avoid getting eaten alive by Mr Anderson. That dude does not feel like a college professor. Lord help me, I might just die finishing this semester."

Mia Davis always has had a flair for dramatics. When I first met her when we were 4 at our local playground, she was hitting a boy with a stick she had found on the ground. Why you ask? Because he had called her cute and wanted to play with her. By the time Ma and I reached the playground, the kid had probably pooped his pants. Mia looked terrifying.

After her stick assault on the kid, she had looked over to me and had instantly decided that I was gonna help her build sandcastles. Needless to say, I had agreed to build sandcastles because a) I was positively terrified and b) I had a feeling we would become best friends. 4 year old me was correct because now, nearly two decades later, we're still as much as a team as we were while guarding our sandcastles.

Seventeen years has transformed her into a goddess, complete with her shoulder-length blonde hair, tan complexion and green eyes. Needless to say, boys all over the campus fawn over her, but because of her natural resting bitch face and cold, almost mean attitude, they're also equally terrified. She is the kind of person who you need to be patient with, give her time to open up and if she deems you're worthy, you're included in her circle. If anyone even thinks of hurting you, she would be present with a stick in her hand. I love her for that, although I'd probably cut my arms off before admitting it to her.

"I'm done. It honestly wasn't that bad," I say, closing her notebook and keeping it back on the table.

"That's because you love it," she cocks her eyebrow, stirring whatever it is that she's cooking.