Grace age 7
Noah age 7
Being around Grace is the easiest thing in the world to do, pretending not to be interested in her at school is hard, especially when I know Dustin only picks on her because he thinks she’s cute. I pick on her to keep her away from my friends, and it’s become a game where we tease each other at school (mostly me teasing her) only to go home and play together.
I like her more than I like Dustin and Mark, only I’ll never tell anyone that.
When I visit the treehouse at night, I always secretly wait for her to come to me.
This might be what it feels like to have someone care about me.
I like the way Grace makes me feel sometimes, no… I just like her.
I’m going to call her my best friend…
I’m glad she’s my best friend.
N.P.
Our first school year together was spent playing the part as mortal enemies at school while rushing to play together the moment we were home. It wasn’t hard to pretend not to be his friend at school, he had a way of crawling under my skin, and he would say the meanest things in front of his friends. Which I was no different, I fell into Sara and Tiffany’s world rather easily, and it became fun to talk bad about the boys like they did us.
I turned seven November eleventh, and it was that night I discovered Noah in the treehouse again. I checked for him every night, and that was the first night he had gone to the treehouse to sleep since the summer months. It was cold outside, too cold for him to be sleeping in a small boxed room up in a tree with no door. My parents were asleep as I slipped on my coat and boots and made my way to the treehouse. My fingers were burning by the time I climbed up the ropes, I didn’t see how Noah could handle this cold.
I saw him huddled up in a corner. Every blanket he had was on top of him. I couldn’t even see his face. I crawled over to him. “Noah,” I whispered.
He startled immediately at the sound of my voice. “Grace?” he sounded half asleep. “Go back, it’s too cold.”
“No,” I told him. He pulled the blankets down from his face to look at me. “Why are you here when it’s this cold outside?”
“Too many people at the house,” he answered. “I can’t stand being there when they’re smoking and being loud.”
“Come on,” I said, pulling the blankets off him. “You can sleep in my room.”
His eyes widened. “No,” he said quickly. “I don’t want your mom or dad to get mad at me for being there without asking.”
I smiled. “Then it will be our secret. Come on, you can slip out in the morning. You’re good at that kinda stuff.”
He shook his head again. “No, Grace, really. I don’t want them to hate me.” I just looked at him. He didn’t talk or give praise to his mom or dad, but he always tried so hard to be polite and good around mine. I never called him out on it or asked why he did it.
“There’s gonna be nothing for them to hate if you get sick and die out here!” I yelled. He sighed and looked away from me. I reached out for his hand and gave it a tug. “Please, Noah, I’ll wake them up and let them know if that’s what you want.”
“Fine,” he muttered, jerking his hand away and standing. I smiled and followed him down the rope. We didn’t wake my parents. He slept on the floor of my room with a blanket and pillow I gave him. I felt pleased that he listened to me and glad he wasn’t out there freezing.
He was already gone when Mom woke up the next morning and neither her or dad had a clue he spent the night.
On the days it was too cold to go outside and play, Mom made us stay inside. Noah let himself in that evening after sleeping on my floor the night before. He hopped onto the bar stool next to me and immediately tossed something on the countertop. I picked up the piece of wood and turned it around. On the other side was a carved bear. I looked to him.
He looked away from me quickly. “It’s a birthday present,” he muttered quickly. “I didn’t know your birthday was yesterday.”
He carried a pocket knife around with him all the time, but the only thing I had ever seen him do with it was cut up sticks when he was bored. “Did you make this?” It was far from perfect. It might not even be a bear but that was what it looked like to me.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah.”
“I love it,” I told him. “It’s a bear, isn’t it?” He nodded.
Mom leaned over the counter and took it from my hand. “Did you really do this, Noah?” Mom smiled at him. “It looks great.” She handed it back to me. “How’d you learn to do that? Looks complicated. With a knack like this, Noah, you will make good use of those hands when you’re older.”
Noah looked to me with a smile full of Mom’s praise. “It’s just something I do when I’m bored. I’ll get better, and when I do, I’ll make you another one.”
“This one is perfect.” And it was for me. “But, I’ll look forward to more from you.”
“Do they ever act like seven-year-olds?” Dad asked, stepping into the kitchen. He placed a kiss on Mom’s lips before rubbing Noah’s head with a smile. “Hey, kiddo.”
“Hi, Steven,” Noah replied.
Mom shook her head. “I know, I wouldn’t think they ever played if I didn’t see it with my own eyes every day.”
And maybe that was our problem, we should have behaved like kids.