I looked at the big towering tree but didn’t say anything. The boy gave me a half-smile, uncertain but friendly. Then he jogged to the tree and scrambled up.

I watched as his feet dangled from a limb and he kicked his legs back and forth.

“Come on,” he shouted.

Suddenly, there was nothing I wanted more than to climb into the tall tree and leave the world behind. If I were high up, I’d be closer to my mom. I was the clumsiest climber, and by the time I reached the boy I was scratched and bleeding. He didn’t mind. He grinned at me.

“You did it,” he said. “We should be friends.”

I looked at his soft smile, one front tooth missing, his shaggy, wild hair, and his bright blue eyes and I started to cry. I sniffed and used the back of my mud-caked arm to wipe my eyes.

The boy squirmed next to me and dug in his pocket. He pulled out a piece of string, a marble, a toy car, and finally a small navy blue hanky.

“Here. Sorry it’s dirty. I used it to hold a field mouse this morning. I named her Mimi.”

I took the handkerchief and wiped my eyes like a lady in an old movie.

“My mom died,” I said. I don’t know why I told him. I turned and looked through the leaves across the field.

“My mom left,” he said finally. “She left last month. My dad says it’s because she didn’t love us.”

“My mom loved me,” I said.

He nodded solemnly. Then he took my hand and held it. I watched the breeze blow the bright green spring leaves and then I watched the high clouds speed by.

Finally he turned to me and said, “We can be friends if you want. Since both our moms are gone, we can take care of each other.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

Then I scrambled down from the tree. He followed, hopping down to the grass next to me. I bent down and snapped the stem of a bright blue chicory flower.

“Here,” I held it out to him. “Friends.”

He took it and we stood still. I felt something shift inside me, and although the horrible grief was still there, a small space had opened to let in hope. He did that for me. And that’s when I knew. I loved him.

“Gavin,” I heard a man yell.

The boy whipped his head around.

“I have to go,” he said. “Bye.”

He started to run, then stopped. “What’s your name?” he called.

“Jessie. I live there.” I pointed out the trailer across the field.

He grinned, waved the flower, and sprinted away toward huge mansion.

“Gavin,” I whispered to myself. “Gavin.” The name was a ray of hope on my lips.

He didn’t come back.