I nod once.
“Yay!” He hugs me close, squeezing me so tight it hurts a bit, then he pulls away. “Not many people want to be my friend.”
“No way. You’re so pretty.” I bite my lip after I say that, and I feel my ears heating.
“Pretty like a girl.” His lips push forward in an exaggerated little sulk, his eyes flicking up to check if I’m watching. “I hate it when people say that.”
“You’re not pretty like a girl. You’re just pretty.”
His smile stretches wide, warming the edges of his face. “Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“That makes me so happy!”
I shuffle on my feet, rocking back and forth, and sneak a look at him, because he really is pretty—maybe the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Prettier than the anime girls, and I always thought nothing could beat them.
“As your friend…” He rummages in the pocket of his shorts, his tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth with concentration before he produces two pieces of candy. “Ta-da! Here, I’m giving you these. Happy birthday!”
When I don’t attempt to take them, too stunned to act, he shoves them in my hand.
“This is all I have, and they’re my favorite flavor.Mango. If you continue to be my friend, I’ll give you more. I promise.”
I can’t stop looking at the candy balls in my palm, a lightness blooming quietly in my chest.
An hour ago, I hated my birthday because Mom had been mad since early morning, and she and Dad were fighting. They fought last year, too, and the year before that, I believe. They always fight because Mom doesn’t like it when Dad comes late or doesn’t bring something she asked for.
Little by little, I’ve started to hate my birthdays. I’ve wished my birth date never existed. Maybe if it didn’t, Mom and Dad wouldn’t fight so much.
But for the first time, I’m happy to get a gift on my birthday.
This candy is the only gift I’ve gotten without fights before or after it.
“I know it’s not much, but the lollipop was ruined, or I would’ve shared. The candies are clean. I swear.” He tilts his head to look at me. “Do you not like them?”
“I do. Thanks.”
“Yay!”
“Here.” I pick the prettiest orange daisy from the bouquet in my hand and place it behind his ear, tucking it between the silky blond strands. “I’m giving you this, too.”
“Whoa…this is so pretty!” He trails a fingertip over the daisy, his smile spreading wide. “From now on, we’re friends, okay?”
“Okay.”
Yeah. Right.
Friends.
1
PRESTON
PRESENT—AGE TWENTY-TWO
We’re gathered here tonight to witness me hurting someone.
Or a fewsomeones.
