Something hot and angry rose inside me.
“Someone will love him,” I snapped.
The boy laughed.
“Then you marry him.”
Later that day, Noah found me alone near the playground.
He stood beside me for a few seconds before asking quietly,
“Chrissy?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you love me?”
At six years old, I had absolutely no understanding of how big that question was.
So I shrugged.
“Maybe.”
His entire face lit up.
Then I remembered something my older cousin had been talking about for weeks.
Prom.
“But we have to go to prom first,” I said.
Noah frowned.
“What’s prom?”
“A fancy dance you go to when you’re almost an adult.”
He considered that very seriously.
Then he held out his pinkie.
“Promise we’ll go?”
I hooked mine around his.
“Promise.”
Five minutes later, I was probably thinking about crayons or recess.
Noah remembered that promise for twelve years.
Part 2 — The Friend Who Stayed
Growing up didn’t pull us apart the way people often assume childhood friendships will.
We changed.
Our interests changed.
Our schedules changed.
But somehow, Noah and I kept finding our way back to each other.
He became obsessed with baseball statistics.
I became obsessed with art.
He could talk for half an hour about batting averages and pitchers.
I could spend the same amount of time discussing color, brushwork, and paintings he insisted all looked “unfinished.”
He dragged me through baseball conversations.
I dragged him through museums.
Neither of us ever convinced the other that our hobby was better.
When we were twelve, my parents divorced.
That was the first time Noah saw me become someone quieter.
Dad moved out.
Mom tried to hide how much she was hurting, but sometimes I would walk past her room and hear her crying.
At school, I stopped eating much.
I spoke less.
I avoided friends.
Most people asked questions.
Noah didn’t.
He simply started sitting next to me at lunch.
Some days, he talked about baseball.
Some days, he complained about homework.
Other days, he said almost nothing.
He never demanded that I explain why I was sad.
He never tried to convince me everything was fine.
He just made sure I wasn’t sitting alone.
Years later, when I failed my first driving test, Noah showed up at my house holding two ice creams.
I looked at the cups in his hands.
“Why two?”
