I mumbled back my name, wiping away my tears and looking up at him angrily. Couldn’t this boy see that I was crying? Couldn’t he see that I didn’t want to talk to him? Obviously not.

“Did you just move here? The teacher said that you did. I did too. Are you sad about moving?” Even at the ripe old age of six I could see that nothing was going to make this boy, Max, go away. But he had an odd way of making you feel better, and I opened up to him. It was the first time in my life. Even my parents couldn’t get much information out of me, and were worried about me. I heard them whispering about it at night.

“Yeah. I had to leave my dog behind until we can buy a house,” I said. Max brightened.

“You have a dog? I want a dog. What type?”

So I began talking about June, my cocker spaniel we’d left behind. By the end of recess we were officially best friends.