I shoved him.
He laughed so loudly our teacher separated us.
Ethan had Down syndrome.
At six years old, that fact mattered much less to me than the fact that he cheated at dinosaur trivia by memorizing answers before asking me questions.
Our friendship was easy.
Until somebody else decided it shouldn’t be.
ONE BOY TOLD ETHAN NOBODY WOULD EVER MARRY HIM
Our teacher announced she was getting married.
Every child immediately became a wedding expert.
Chocolate cake.
Flowers.
Music.
One kid insisted weddings required trampolines.
Ethan raised his hand.
“My wedding is having chocolate cake.”
Our teacher smiled.
“Good choice.”
“And no slow songs.”
“Why?”
“Boring.”
A boy sitting across from us laughed.
“You’re not getting married.”
Ethan looked confused.
“Yes, I am.”
“To who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
The boy laughed again.
“Nobody’s going to marry you.”
I remember Ethan’s smile disappearing.
I hated that.
“That’s mean.”
The boy looked at me.
“What?”
“Somebody will love Ethan.”
He grinned.
“Then you marry him.”
The entire table started giggling.
Later, Ethan found me after class.
He looked unusually serious.
“Sophie?”
“What?”
“Would you love me?”
I was six.
That felt like an extremely complicated question.
“Maybe.”
His whole face brightened.
“Really?”
“Maybe.”
Then I remembered something my older cousin had told me.
“But first we have to go to prom.”
Ethan frowned.
“What’s prom?”
“A dance.”
“We already have dances.”
“No. Prom is when you’re almost a grown-up.”
“Oh.”
Then he held out his pinkie.
“Promise?”
I hooked mine around his.
“Promise.”
I forgot about it before dinner.
Ethan didn’t.
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.
ETHAN WAS NEVER GOOD AT BIG SPEECHES
When I failed my first driving test at sixteen, he came to my house carrying two ice creams.
“Why two?”
“One because you tried.”
“And the second?”
“Because you drove badly.”
I threw a pillow at him.
Another time, I wanted to quit art after a girl mocked one of my paintings.
The next morning, I found my terrible childhood dinosaur drawing taped inside Ethan’s locker.
“Ethan!”
“What?”
“Why is this here?”
He examined it.
“Still looks like a potato with arms.”
“Then remove it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t quit.”
“Why not?”
“The dinosaurs haven’t improved yet.”
I laughed despite myself.
That was Ethan.
He didn’t fix things.
He stayed until they hurt less.
When my first boyfriend dumped me three weeks before junior homecoming, Ethan brought chocolate ice cream.
We sat on my porch for ten minutes in silence.
Then he said:
“I told you he was an idiot.”
I looked at him.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I thought it.”
“That does not count.”
“It should.”
I laughed so hard I nearly choked.
SO WHEN SENIOR PROM CAME AROUND, I ALREADY KNEW WHO I WANTED TO GO WITH
Apparently—
Ethan wasn’t as certain.
One afternoon at Willowcrest High School, he found me beside my locker.
“Sophie.”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember first grade?”
I pretended to think.
“No.”
His face fell.
“Seriously?”
I laughed.
“Ethan, I’m kidding.”
“That wasn’t funny.”
“It was a little funny.”
Then he held out his pinkie.
And suddenly—
I remembered everything.
Raisins.
Dinosaurs.
That cruel boy.
One silly promise.
I hooked my pinkie around his.
“Prom?”
He nodded.
“Prom.”
Then grinned.
“I already bought the bow tie.”
