Once again， I was at a new school.1was a girl in my class named Paris. That was where the similarities ended.
I was tall and she was small. I was one of the 2 in the class while she was the youngest. My hair was thick， short and ugly while hers was long and beautiful. I couldn't stand her， considering her my 3. But she wanted to be friends.
One day， she invited me over and I said yes – I was too 4 to say no. Actually， no one had invited me over to 5 before. But this girl， who wore the latest fashions， wanted to see me.
When we got to the 6 she shared with her sister， she took out a big case of Barbies – which was my next surprise. I had never played with them. But we sat on the floor of a walk-in cupboard 7 as we made up crazy stories about the Barbies. That's when we 8 that we both wanted to be writers when we were older. We both had wild 9.
We had a great time that afternoon. Our jaws (下巴) ached from smiling so much. She 10 me her outfits， which had mostly come from a designer clothing store. The woman who owned it sometimes used her 11a model for her newspaper ads and gave her clothes in exchange.
Paris charmed the whole neighborhood. The 12owners lent her fashion magazines down the block， the movie theater gave her free passes and the pizza place let her 13free pieces. Soon I was included in her 14 world. We slept over at each other's houses and spent every free moment together.
Paris， my first real friend since childhood， helped me get through my tough teenage 15and taught me an amazing thing about making friends: Your “worst enemy” can turn out to be your best friend.
