“Then why would you refuse to go to school?” he asked, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. “Are you scared?”

“No.”

Mom and Dad exchanged confused glances, and I felt my heart clench. I could see their frustration simmering beneath the surface, but more than that, I could see their confusion deepen.

This wasn’t the Blake we had come to know. It was the first time we’d ever seen him so resolute about anything. This wasn’t a whim, a childish plea for attention. He wasn’t just being difficult. He wasn’t just making an empty threat.

I could see the understanding slowly creeping into their faces. This wasn’t about avoiding about classrooms or people.

It was about not being separated from me. Protecting me.

“I’m supposed to be with Beverly,” Blake finally said, a finality in his tone that sent a chill through me. “I can’t just go to some random class.”

Mom cleared her throat, brows furrowing. “Blake, honey, you can’t always be with Beverly. You’re going to make friends of your own. You’ll see her between classes. It won’t be so bad, I promise.”

But Blake wasn’t having it.

His eyes narrowed slightly as if he was already preparing for a fight. He wasn’t going to back down. “I don’t care,” he replied. “I won’t go if I’m not in her class. I’ll stay home.”

I felt a wave of emotion rush over me as I watched him. I had always thought of Blake as younger than his age, like someone who still needed to be protected, someone who wasn’t sure of the world around him. But now, in that moment, he looked older. All hard lines and maturity that didn’t quite belong on a thirteen-year-old.

I could tell Mom and Dad weren’t sure what to do with this version of him. I wasn’t sure either.

When did he start looking like someone who wouldn’t be easily swayed? And his voice—it was lower, rougher, tinged with a new sharpness that hadn’t been there before. I had heard his voice crack a few times over the summer, but this was different. It wasn’t the uneven, awkward shifts in pitch that sometimes caught him off guard mid-sentence. This was something else entirely.

When had that happened…?

I had been so focused on everything else—on his healing, on making sure he felt safe—that I hadn’t noticed the subtler shifts. The way his voice had started carrying more weight, more authority.

I studied him for the longest time. His face had changed too, with traces of boyish roundness fading into something more angular. His jaw was sharper, his features more defined.

He was growing up, and I hadn’t even realized how much.