I know what he’s about to say before he even opens his mouth.

“I’m older now.”

I nod and smile, and sit down on his bed. “Okay.”

He shakes his head like I’m not understanding him. “I can’t talk to you anymore. The kids in my grade think I’m weird.”

I nod again. “Okay.”

He joins me on the bed, and the mattress dips with his weight. He seems to be disappointed by my lack of reaction but says nothing. The thickness of the air between us could have been cut by a knife.

“David?” his mother’s voice carries up the staircase and through to his room. “David, we don’t want to be late to your second day of eighth grade.”

“Coming, Mom!”

He makes no move to retrieve his backpack.

“So,” I say, facing him on the bed, “eighth grade, huh? I still remember your kindergarten days. You peed on the Sharing Carpet your first week there.”

This was more or less true. He had actually peed just a few feet away from the Sharing Carpet. The class had just finished snack time, which was milk and cookies that day. When Miss Amelie announced that Sharing Time was starting, David immediately jumped up to sit down at his usual spot. David was always the first to go, but today Susie took his seat. This made David very angry. And, to top it all off, Miss Amelie went counter-clockwise. That meant that David was last to share. This made David very angry.

Halfway through the circle, David began to feel antsy. All of that milk combined with the juice box he had had for lunch did not sit well with his bladder. But Miss Amelie had a strict ‘no interrupting’ rule during Sharing Time, so David was forced to wait. And wait. And wait.

The need to pee only grew as time passed. He fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing his legs, but nothing helped.

“Alright, thanks, Tommie. Now David, would you like to share?”

David nodded. If he could just tell a quick story, then he would be excused to go to the bathroom. However, when he opened his mouth to speak, all that came out was “I need to pee!” He then jumped up amidst his classmates’ laughter and ran. I was there too, giggling at a table.

Nevertheless, he didn’t make it very far.

“Your mom made you wear diapers for a month after that,” I said, grinning at his embarrassed expression.

He laughs at the memory, but it’s tinged with a certain sadness, and I know he’s being serious. I continue on anyway.

“And in sixth grade, when you came home covered in mud from head to toe. You had to lie and tell your mom that you had fallen on your way back from school. Remember that?”

It was the spring of 2014, and the once pristine, white snow had been trampled on and driven over to the point of resembling a thick brown sludge. David was walking home from school, and I was walking with him down the mud slick sidewalk. That day, David’s gym class had participated in a dodgeball tournament. He was in the middle of recounting a particularly good throw he had made when it happened.

“-and then, he just went down! Splat, face down on the gym floor, just like that.” He tried to snap his gloved fingers. I nodded, showing that I understood. “Oh, he was soooo mad, but-”

“Hey, freak!”

David froze in his tracks.

“Who’re you talkin’ to? You and your dumb friend?”

It was the basketball team, the power clique of David’s school. They were as stereotypical as bullies could get. The main guy was wider than he was tall and could have been mistaken for a sofa. His shoe size was bigger than his IQ level. The whole shebang. He and his cronies terrorized the school, but because they were the stars of the basketball team—and the basketball team was the only thing their school could be proud of—the teachers turned a blind eye.

David shook his head, mumbling something that I couldn’t hear.

“What was that?”

“I said, at least I have a friend. Everyone knows all yours are fake.”

This had crossed the line for McBully. One thing led to another, and soon David was sprawled across the sludge.

“David!” his mother calls out again, pulling us out of our reverie. I can hear her footsteps as she makes her way up the stairs, and when she pokes her head into the room I’m standing up. “You okay, son?”

“Yeah, Mom. I’m just looking for my shoes.”

“Alright. Well, the bus will be here soon, so you better hurry up.”

He nods and makes a charade of trying to find said shoes, eventually pulling them out from under the bed. His mom leans against the doorway. Her eyes sweep across his untidy room and look right through me. To her, I’m just an empty bit of space in the room. It’s never been any other way.

She finally breaks the silence. “Who were you talking to?” she asks, moving to help him adjust his backpack’s straps. He glances in my direction, something that his mother misses.

“Nobody. Just… an imaginary friend.”

Her laugh is short and airy and she steps back to admire her son. “You still got one of those?” she teases. She can’t tell if he being sarcastic or not.

“Nah.”

He doesn’t look at me this time.

“Well, come downstairs when you’re ready. You need me to send you to school?”

“No, I’ll be down in a minute.”

She nods and walks right through me. The door shuts behind her. I cock my head to the side, watching him fidget with his lunch bag. He’s struggling to say something, I can tell.

“It’s just… I’m in sixth grade now, you know?”

“I know,” I say.

He scuffs his shoe against the carpet, reluctantly making his way to the door.

“I’m older now,” he echoes, but it’s more to himself than anything else. He wraps his hand around the handle and pulls like it’s a ton of bricks. And when he turns around, perhaps to say one last thing, I’m already gone.