The girl in the picture was sad.

The girl looking at the picture was sad.

“The friend I told you about, the one who flipped over on her bike?” I whispered to Izzy. “She was my best friend.” I sniffed hard. “She didn’t come with me this summer because she died.” I paused, staring at the picture. “And now I can’t draw anymore.”

Izzy looked shocked at first, but just for a second; then he looked sad, too.

“I have candy in my lunch sack,” he said. “Follow me.”

Izzy and I walked around the back side of the library and settled in the grass against the wall. Everyone else was at the picnic tables under the trees on the other side of the building, and I was sure that Jackie was taking note of both Izzy and me being missing.

Izzy yanked at his shorts, then stuck his legs out in front of us, and I checked out his sort-of-nerdy sneakers, which looked like what my mom’s boyfriend would wear to work out.

I noticed that my legs were almost as long as his, but his rust-colored Bermuda shorts almost touched his knees and my faded denim shorts were mid-thigh. My feet were at least a couple sizes smaller than his, but my slip-on sneakers were seriously cooler.

“You don’t have to, but if you want, you can tell me about your friend,” Izzy said, reaching into his zippered lunch bag and pulling out a sandwich wrapped in a reusable wrapper with a bee print. “My mom’s full eco,” he said, rolling his eyes at the bees. “If you want to make her mad, use a plastic baggie.”

“Why would I want to make your mom mad?” I asked.

“Just saying,” he said, unwrapping and taking an impressive bite of what looked like a turkey sandwich.

I clutched the top of my crinkled paper sack but didn’t open it.

“I was promised candy,” I said.

He reached in the bag again and then tossed me a piece of chocolate. I didn’t catch it, so it fell in the grass, which embarrassed me.

Of course your reflexes suck.

I picked up the candy but didn’t eat it.

“My friend Colette was literally the nicest person I’ve ever met,” I said quietly. “Except not in a too-nice sort of way, you know?”

“Sure,” Izzy said, covering his full mouth with his hand. “Not fake.”

“Right,” I said, wondering if I should hold back, if telling Izzy about Colette would come back to bite me in some way. I hoped not, and even though I didn’t know him at all, I wanted to tell him. Maybe I just wanted to talk.

“My twin sister, Frankie, and I met Colette in kindergarten,” I said. “My sister is kind of an emotional person, and she can be pretty dramatic. She’s on the autism spectrum.”