When I was 8 or 9, I had a best friend at school. We shall call her Emma. She was funny, loud, and just like me, loved to sing. She had a confidence that I found inspiring, and was mature beyond her years. I looked up to her.
One weekend, I had another friend sleep over at my house, and we went “camping” in the backyard. As we stayed up late talking in the tent, this friend told me that Emma had been saying all kinds of mean things behind my back, the details of which I’ve long forgotten, but I do recall the pain of hearing that my “best friend” was telling people at school that she didn’t like me. I fell asleep crying, and feeling hurt and betrayed.