I put my arms around her and pull her toward me until her cheek rests against my shoulder and her brown locks tickle my chin. I inhale Froot Loops and soap and feel the light weight of her body press into mine; her arms circle around me as far as they will go. We stay like that for a few breaths, and I have to swallow hard because I am overcome with a tenderness that feels so natural it makes my chest ache.

I pat her back. “Feel any better?”

She pulls away, gives me a one-eyed look that darts to the kitchen counter behind me. “Can I have a cookie? That would probably make me feel a lot better.”

“Sure.”

She sits at the table, and I bring her the plate of cookies along with a cold glass of milk. A cookie is in her hand in seconds, dipping in and out of the milk before getting popped into her mouth.

“Mmmm, yummy.” She drinks the rest of the milk in a loud gulp, leaving a white mustache across her upper lip. “Do you want one?” she says, and wipes the milk away with the back of her sleeve.

I suppress a smile. “Maybe later. Are you okay?” I say. It’s a risk to ask this. I’m not really the best person to confide in. I reconsider. Or maybe I am if a person just needs someone to listen, because that I can do very well.

She frowns. “Oh yeah, I was really sad. But you made me feel better with the cookies, and besides, she just doesn’t understand.”

“Who?”

“My best friend, Leonora.”

Conversations are waves that move up and down, and if I don’t stay on top of them, the details wash over my head. This feels like a detail I’ve missed, but it’s not hard to guess that Leonora is another little girl who must have said something to upset Maree. Tate used to get made fun of by a boy in our class, mostly for his stuttering but also because his pants were always to his ankles and he was so skinny his bones poked out. We were in the seventh grade when Tate’s stuttering became so bad he refused to speak to anybody but me, and all that combined to make him an easy target. I can’t recall the boy’s name anymore or the color of his hair, but I do remember the size of his bottom because I’d wanted to make sure I had enough glue. I felt so justified. Nobody picked on Tate.