It happened so slowly that neither of them could say when it started.
Zoe and Beth had been best friends since first year. That kind of friendship that doesn't need maintaining — it just exists, like furniture, like weather.
But they were twelve now. And something had shifted.
Beth wanted to spend weekends at the shopping centre. Zoe wanted to be at the nature reserve. Beth had discovered makeup and music Zoe didn't understand. Zoe had discovered astronomy and long walks that Beth found boring.
Neither of them said anything.
They kept making plans. The plans kept being slightly uncomfortable. Conversation that used to be effortless required effort.
In August, Beth said: "Are we okay?"
Zoe had been dreading and wanting this question for two months.
"I don't know," she said. And then: "I think we might be different now. I don't mean in a bad way. Just different."
Beth was quiet.
"I still want to be your friend," said Zoe quickly.
"But not the same kind," said Beth.
"Maybe not exactly the same."
They sat with it for a while.
"That's sad," said Beth.
"Yes," said Zoe. "I think that's allowed."
They were still friends. But differently. Less constant, more deliberate. They chose to spend time together, which meant something different from simply always being together.
It was a smaller friendship, in some ways.
In other ways, it was more honest.
Both of them took a little while to understand that was a good thing.