Create a similar story with title, keep the lesbian details and eliminate the sensual activities in the story. 
The Dream
There was never a moment in the twenty years and 354 days in which Camille Driver did not do exactly what was expected of her. Whenever anyone had created any sort of expectation for her, Cammie met it with flying colors. When her parents had told her in her early elementary years that she was expected to receive good marks, she complied. When her parents told her they were going to sign her up for soccer, she was out kicking the ball every night until she became the highest scorer in her eight-and-under league. When she was expected to be home by eleven, she was home by ten—just to be safe. And when Cammie's parents expected her to take over her father's law firm when he retired, she applied to the most presitigous universities in the country. Today was no different. In a crowded coffee shop a few blocks away from her university, Cammie was pouring over her notebooks to ensure that she secured top marks in all of her classes—which was exactly what was expected of her.
"Only one week to go!"
Cammie glanced up from her notebook covered in sticky notes and hastily scrawled words, smeared by highlighter, and pulled out one of her earbuds. The synthetic music Cammie listened to while she studied slowly faded from her ears. She glanced up at her friend who was again attempting to distract her.
"What?" Cammie asked, phasing back into reality. Names, dates, and law jargon swirled around in her head.
Savannah, Cammie's best friend and current "study" partner rolled her eyes. Never in Savannah's life had she met someone so stubbornly dedicated to anything—especially school work.
"You only have one week to go," Savannah repeated.
The expression that crossed Cammie's face was impossible to misinterpret: there was absolutely no chance of that happening. Cammie was not amused by her friend's constant interruptions; Savannah was not amused by Cammie's studying.
Savannah rolled her eyes. "Oh, lighten up, would ya? Let's take a study break! Let's talk about your birthday!"
The smallest of signs escaped Cammie's lips and her friend knew she won the battle. Savannah had an uncanny knack for getting Cammie to do exactly what she did not want to do. In this moment, Cammie did not want to stop studying, but Savannah was just clever enough and had known Cammie for exactly the appropriate amount of time to know her best friend better than she knew herself; this meant that Savannah was a master in the art of Cammie Manipulation. She was very proud of this fact and reminded Cammie of it at very opportunity.
Savannah had been Cammie's undeniable best friend for the last seventeen years, which is how this power was acquired. Their friendship began, as many do, when Savannah's family moved into the home next door. If Cammie had had her way she would have never met Savannah, preferring instead to stay indoors surrounded by her books, stuffed animals, and sketch pads. Cammie's mother, a very stern but sensible woman, had immediately realized her daughter was an introvert, who was much happier playing with stuffed animals by herself or engrossing herself in a new book or art project. As a realtor and former president of any club she had ever participated in, Mrs. Driver was not going to allow her eldest child to live a life hidden away behind her fear of social interactions. She also did not want her daughter to grow to be "some weirdo" as she so lovingly phrased it. The exact quote was something along the lines of: "Kids need to hang out with other kids, not lock themselves in their room and play pretend by themselves."
Cammie never did understand what so wrong with making up stories and having her toys act them out, or drawing characters in her sketchbook and creating fantastical adventures for them. Her mother, however, had other plans. Thus, as soon as Mrs. Driver spotted a young child looking to be about her daughter's age from the second story window she was spying out of (to make sure the neighbors were normal, sensible people), she marched her daughter out of her room, down the stairs, out of the front door, across the lawn that the houses shared, and planted her feet firmly in place before the new family. Mrs. Driver's slim fingers held her daughter in place with that mysterious power mothers have that appears delicate so as to not draw judgment from strangers, but is deathly firm on the child's shoulder.
The next moment Cammie found herself practically shoved through the doorway of Savannah's home and forced into a play date. Though the first fifteen minutes were agony for Cammie (never for Savannah, who in her twenty-one years was never at a loss for words), eventually Savannah's big personality and ceaseless monologues comforted Cammie into opening herself up to a friendship.
Seventeen years later, not much had changed. Savannah still babbled incessantly until Cammie gave in.
"How do you even have time to take study breaks? Aren't you taking a class on the brain this semester?" Cammie asked, growing frustrated with her friend's uncanny ability to study much less than was recommended (which was hardly at all) but still manage to ace all exams.
Savannah shrugged. "It's just the brain. It's not that complicated."
"Dude, PhD's aren't even sure how the brain works."
Savannah, in her third year of her undergraduate degree, shrugged again. "I'm sure I'll be fine."
Cammie rolled her eyes, knowing that Savannah probably would do just fine in her class, while she would need much more time to cram all of these Supreme Court cases in her head before her final.
"You're going to be twenty-one," Savannah goaded, extending the o sound for far too long.
"I need to get through finals week first. My birthday is the last thing on my mind."
"The last thing on your mind?" Savannah asked. "How is your twenty-first birthday the last thing on your mind?"
Cammie shook her head and stuck her nose back into her notes, carefully placing her ear buds back in and turning up the volume just enough to block out Savannah's commentary. She was currently reading through a Scalia dissent, which required her full attention.
Savannah snatched the cord of Cammie's headphones, tearing away what Cammie thought was a good defense against Savannah. "Oh c'mon, forget about lawyer stuff for ten minutes!" Savannah flipped her friend's notebook shut, earning her a stare so pointed, Savannah was sure she would prick a finger if she held it in front of her gaze. Shurgging off the anger Savannah knew Cammie was not capable of holding onto, she continued, determined to put off their studying.
"Next week you're going to be sure of everything you've wanted for so long. Aren't you at least a little excited?"
Cammie raised an eyebrow once more. The eyebrow seemed to jump up the forehead of its own accord whenever Savannah opened her mouth. It was instinctual, a natural reflex to most of what Savannah said.
"Not really. I'm more excited about passing this class," Cammie replied in a monotone voice, making a failed attempt at snatching her notebook back. Savannah leaned away from the table, holding it just out of her reach. When they were kids, Savannah had always been a few inches taller than Cammie and had held things (mostly anything school related) out of Cammie's reach. Now that they were the same height, Savannah just had to lean back from the table to prevent her friend from accomplishing her goal.
"So you're going to sit here and tell me that you're more concerned with your dumb law classes than finding out who your soulmate is?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying."
Savannah heaved a sigh in frustration, her efforts at distracting her friend from their tedious studying seemed to be failing.
Savannah played a vital role in Cammie's academic life: to put it simply, she did everything within her power to sabotage Cammie's academic endeavors. Savannah claimed, rightfully so, that if not for her, Cammie would have been labeled a "loser" long ago. As Keeper of Coolness, Savannah justified her sabotaging of the academics to promote Cammie's social status, which Savannah argued was much more important and would be more valued later in life. This, Cammie argued, could not be put on a college application. Thus, the two struck a happy medium (which meant that more often than not, Savnnah got her way and Cammie stayed up late at night to finish whatever school work she had originally planned on completing).
In the Coolness Crusades, Savannah even persuaded Cammie that glasses were "lame" and she needed to get with the program and learn to use contacts. After a tear-filled afternoon of eye-pokes and terrible coaching from Savannah (who had never had the slightest issue with her eyesight and therefore had no idea how to put in contacts), Cammie finally discovered the magic of contacts. Although, her habit of pushing up her glasses did not go away.
"You don't actually think you're going to see Adam, do you?" Savannah asked.
"Of course I do," Cammie snapped. "Why do you hate him so much? You introduced us."
"I don't hate him, I just didn't expect you to date him for four years." Savannah said this as if it was a great inconvienence to her.
The two girls stared at one another, challenging each other with their glares. Cammie's was tinted with irritation and Savannah with the thrill of a challenge.
"You're so," Savannah paused, thinking of precisely the right way to describe her best friend. At a loss for words, Savannah gestured to her friend, her hands flying around in a circular motion to capture the whole of Cammie, who scowled.
"I'm so what, exactly?"
"Predictable."
Cammie scoffed. "Predictable?"
"Yeah! Look at the facts," Savannah began, preparing her argument as if she were on the professional debate circuit. Although there was no winning an argument with Cammie based on wits or debate skills (because of course, Cammie was the debate team captain at their university), Savannah's ability to never quite stop talking proved even too much for a lawyer-in-the-making to combat. "You're a blonde living in L.A." Savannah lifted one finger; Cammie rolled her eyes. "You're studying to be a lawyer." A second finger shot up. "You've been with your boyfriend since your junior year of high school, and we're wrapping up our junior year of college here!" The third finger joined the crowd. "You think you're just going to marry this guy, graduate from college, get the dream job, get a little white house with a picket fence, probably have two kids, and call it good." Savannah didn't bother counting the rest of the facts, and shot up all ten fingers, wiggling them at Cammie as if this was irrefutable proof that Cammie was indeed predictable.
Cammie furrowed her brow and denied these allegations. "I'm not predictable! There are plenty of things about me that aren't stereotypical." Cammie thought for a minute. "And if I was predictable"—Savannah smirked—"Which I'm not; there's nothing wrong with having goals set for yourself and achieving them."
Savannah leaned back in chair and smirked, as though she had led Cammie right where she wanted her.
"Oh yeah? What about you isn't stereotypical?" Savannah asked this with a mocking hum at the end of her question.
Cammie furrowed her brow. It seemed that a majority of her emotional expression happened in her brow region.
Cammie scanned through the files in her mind, looking at herself from every angel and shining light in every crevice of her being. After a long silence of Cammie chewing on her lip in silence (and Savannah's smile growing wider by the second), Cammie finally said: "I don't have time for this. Give me back my notebook."
"And I rest my case," Savannah concluded, slipping into a mock, seated bow.
"If wanting to pass my classes and graduate from college makes me predictable, then fine I'm predictable." Cammie quickly reached for her notebook, but Savannah yanked it out of reach once again.
"My point is," Savannah began. "That you need to live a little! Everything is going to change next week and I think that you should have some fun before then."
"Nothing about my life is going to change. Things are going to be exactly as they have been."
"Cam, next week you're going to see your soulmate! How can you possibly be calm about this and believe that your life isn't going to change?"
Cammie sighed. "Because we both know I'm going to see Adam." Cammie countered her friend's jabs with little enthusiasm. If she had learned anything from their seventeen years of friendship, it was to never give Savannah anything she could bite onto. Before Savannah could remark—Cammie made sure to interrupt her to save herself from another "predictable" stab. "Just because I'm going to marry my high school sweetheart doesn't mean I'm boring."
Savannah scoffed, amazed at the one-track-mind of her friend. Cammie was inflexible and was unable to even entertain the possibilities that her perfect life might not pan out the way she had written it down in her daily planner. One trait of Cammie's that Savannah was never able to crack was her friend's stubbornness. Cammie was like a train barreling down the tracks without a functioning brake: there was nothing in her path that would stop her once her mind was made up. Savannah was thankful that there was not much that Cammie could pack into her train; but when she did, Savannah figured out it was best to jump off the tracks.
"Isn't half of the excitement in this life the anticipation of meeting your soulmate though? Isn't some of the thrill of this life knowing that no matter what, when you wake up on you twenty-first birthday after having your Dream that your life will be different?"
"Was your life so dramatically different after your Dream?" Cammie asked, feeling that she was gaining ground in this debate.
This gave Savannah pause. She was four months older than Cammie, and as such, had already turned twenty-one and had her Dream. She had seen her soulmate and had eagerly called Cammie first thing in the morning (more like 4 AM to be exact) to tell her about the dreamy blonde-haired boy she had seen in her Dream. Despite knowing her soulmate, however, Savannah had not ceased her endless serial dating.
Savannah had created a profile on many dating apps. These days, the apps were mostly used to swipe through people in the hopes of seeing your soulmate's face on the screen. At any rate, these were what the apps were intended to be used for but many people used them to go on dates, for hook-ups, or even more rarely, for friendships. Savannah was one of those people who used it for the former two. Though she had already had her Dream and was diligently on the look-out for her Soulmate, she did not see why she had to stop having fun until she met him. Cammie had argued with Savannah that now that Savannah knew who her soulmate was, it was basically like cheating on him. But, Savannah argued, this boy could be younger than her. Because this boy did not have his Dream, he did not know that Savannah existed and therefore, according to Savannah's twisted logic, it was not cheating. Savannah also did not care if he had had his Dream; she did not know how long it would take to find this boy, so she figured she would still have fun in the meantime.
"That's not the point, Cam."
"Then make your point—quickly; I need to study."
"My point is that Adam might not be your soulmate. And if that's the case, your life is going to dramatically change next Saturday. Aren't you a little excited?"
Cammie shook her head. "We both know I'm going to see Adam."
"How do you know you're going to see Adam though?" Savannah pushed.
Cammie sighed. "Who else would I see? I've been with Adam for almost four years. We're perfect for each other. What's so hard to imagine that Adam is my soulmate?"
"Because!" Savannah seemed to think that adding emphasis to the word and throwing up her hands was argument enough to convince Cammie that Savannah was undeniably correct.
Cammie pushed her chair back from the table and snatched up her coffee cup. The Grind printed in tasteful font on the cardboard sleeve. "I'm going to get a refill on my coffee and then we're going to finish studying, pass our finals, and enjoy our winter break."
Cammie turned, her waist-length blonde hair tied in a sloppy ponytail flying over her shoulder with the finality.
"Let me guess," Savannah called, "You're going to get a double-shot latte with one pump of vanilla and almond milk?"
Cammie declined to answer and walked back to the counter. Her friend smirked with a satisfied smile.
Cammie was so predictable, so ordinary; she was the cookie cutter version of what, she's sure, every parent would want. Cammie never took risks, she was always safe. It took practically everything within Savannah's power to get Cammie to sneak out after curfew, watch rated R movies before they were seventeen, or drink alcohol at parties. Cammie never made any moves to leave the comfort of her established and well-planned life. Savannah was sure that if not for her constant pestering and persuasion, Cammie would not have experienced any fun in her life; Cammie would always choose to come from soccer practice, eat dinner with her family, finish her homework, and be in bed promptly at 9:30. That was no way to live as young teenager!
Just this once, Savannah wanted Cammie to experience an adventure, something to push her out of her comfort zone, to have her sip from the sweet cup of the unknown. Though Savannah was known for her irresponsibility, one thing she never was careless with was Cammie. And Savannah knew that Cammie needed a jolt to start her heart and enjoy the exhilaration that life had to offer, but she needed some type of push in the right direction and, lately, Savannah's constant harassment did not seem to be doing the trick.
Cammie returnd to their table with a ceramic mug. Savannah glanced at the cup with an expression that said "I told you so." Cammie slid the drink over the table to Savannah. Savannah sniffed it, and noticed it was simply a black cup of coffee.
"You sure showed me," Savannah teased, sliding Cammie the cup.
"I told you. I'm not boring or predictable."
Savannah chuckled as if Cammie's order had proven her point. "Let's get started then." Savannah opened Cammie's notebook and began to quiz her. Despite all of her teasing, Savannah would never let Cammie fail at the things she aspired for, but she had to tease, just a little.
Before answering, Cammie took a sip of the coffee, trying not to cringe from the bitter taste.