“Okay,” he said. He copied me by lowering himself to the ground and stretching his arms above his head. Then he slammed his eyes shut and dipped over the hill. His body turned over and over as he rolled toward me until he bumped into my legs.
His eyes flew open and he stared up at me.
“How was it?” I asked, leaning over him.
I held my breath, waiting for him to tell me he’d hated it.
He was a quiet boy, but his shy smile did all the talking. “Can we do it again?”
My heart swelled, and I nodded, blades of grass falling from my hair. “I’ll race you!” I jumped up and ran with all my might up the hill.
He scrambled to his feet. “Not fair! You had a head start!”
“It is too fair! Your legs are longer!”
We laughed and played until we were discovered and Myles was forced to go back inside. His mother ran out, agitated, grabbing his hand and pulling him away because she was convinced he’d get stung by a bee sitting in the grass.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Do you even have your EpiPen?”
He shook his head and looked down at his feet.
She sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”
I chased after them. “Can we play tomorrow?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
“No,” his mother said.
But what our families would soon find out is they couldn’t keep us apart. For the next five years Myles and I would go through life joined at the hip.
We were together for the good times, like when he wonhis fifth-grade spelling bee or when I lost my two front teeth and insisted on going to a diner so I could drink a milkshake with a straw poked through the gap.
And we were there for each other during the bad times too. He signed my cast when I broke my arm at nine, and two years later, I snuck into his room when he had an allergic reaction. His face swelled up so much I couldn’t see his eyes anymore, and I cried when his mom took him to the hospital.
I stayed up well into the night, watching their house through my window for him to come back home. When he did, it was well past my bedtime, so I climbed out of my window and ran across our yard. I climbed the trellis that led to his second-story bedroom window and knocked until he let me in.
I sat beside his bed with my legs tucked in against my chest and rested my head on my knees.
“How long are you going to stare at me?”
“Forever.”
His little smile pulled at his lips. “That’s impossible.”
I widened my eyes, staring right at him. “Not for me.”
He took his pillow and set it beside me on the floor.
“What’s that for?”
“You’re tired.” He grabbed a throw blanket and held it out to me. “You should sleep.”
“No. I want to stay up and make sure you’re okay.”
He laughed in that goofy way where he tried to hide it. “I’m fine. I promise.”
