That catches me off guard. I’ve never had a best friend. Ever. The closest I came was in kindergarten when a girl named Pammy decided we would be friends and pushed my chair around on the playground at recess. This is way better. I want to hit pause on life for just a minute and savor it, like the most perfect first bite of pie. But Coralee’s aiming a pillow at me, so I say, “Okay, I’ll come! But I’m bringing Bert. With all his brothers and sisters gone, I think he’s lonely.”

“Robots don’t get lonely.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a townie.”

“Aw, I was just kidding. You know I love that weirdo.”

The next night I’m sandwiched between Mom and Bert in a crowd of people trying to file past concessions. I keep an eye out for elbows. I actually got a black eye once when we were waiting in line to see Santa at the mall.

It’s already one thousand degrees in the gym, and even though middle school sports are like Mommy and Me playtime compared to high school, there’s still a pretty good turnout. I spot Sierra and her clones in the front row taking selfies. Coralee’s nowhere to be found.

“She’ll be warming up, no doubt,” Bert says, sounding suddenly British, which is what happens when he gets nervous. He’s got on a Lakeview Lions sweatshirt, but there’s a collared oxford underneath. And instead of sneakers, he’s wearing loafers with actual pennies in the tops. I guess I should give him points for trying, at least.

“You two want anything from concessions? Soda? A Snickers?” I know Mom’s asking only because she’s looking for an excuse to get something herself. We hardly ever keep candy in the house.

“PayDay, if they have it,” Bert says.

“Reese’s for me, please. Bert, you would like an old people’s candy bar,” I tell him. “Come on, let’s get to the front. Coralee made me promise to take pictures.”

I let him steer me because it’s just that crowded, and we get right up next to the rail of the stands. I spot Hutch squatting in front of the team in their folding chairs on the sidelines. He sees me and waves just as Mom gets back. I didn’t know he was the basketball coach, too.

“So that’s your gym teacher whom I spoke to on the phone,” Mom says, and hands me a Sprite and my Reese’s. It’s already soft from the heat.

“Yeah, Hutch, Mr. Hutchinson.”