TWELVE YEARS PASSED
Somehow—
we stayed best friends.
We weren’t attached every second.
Different classes.
Different interests.
Different friends.
Ethan became obsessed with baseball.
I became obsessed with art.
He tried teaching me batting averages.
I dragged him through museums.
Neither of us successfully converted the other.
Then, when we were twelve—
my parents divorced.
That was the year everything in our house became quieter.
Dad moved into an apartment across Bellmere.
Mom cried when she thought I couldn’t hear her.
I pretended I didn’t notice.
And at Willowcrest High School’s feeder middle-school campus, I slowly stopped eating lunch.
I didn’t consciously decide to.
Food simply stopped feeling important.
Ethan noticed.
He never asked me to explain.
He just sat beside me.
Sometimes he talked.
Sometimes he didn’t.
Once, he spent fifteen straight minutes explaining why Bellmere’s baseball team desperately needed a better relief pitcher.
I understood almost nothing.
It helped anyway.
