Prologue

I remember when I first met him, just as vividly as the time I dyed my hair purple…and well, that didn’t go down through Allie Krishner history that well.

Our parents were best friends from way back when, and kind of decided we should meet. I was 5 and a few months and he was 6, and well, he liked to imagine he had to upper hand, all mighty and hoity-toity just because he was 6 months older than me.

It was like we had this instant mutual unsure-about-each-other kind of thing going on the moment we saw each other.

I hate to say it, but even as a kid, I was a loner, and that was before life got complicated. Thus, my mom and her friend’s great try to get me a friend. I can say for a fact that it didn’t work out in the beginning. The moment our parents left us to ourselves, it was awkward silence, and I remember everything about it, for some strange reason. It was a warm autumn day, and we were in my playroom, with sunlight streaming in from the windows, looking like a perfect mixture of the warm orange in a fire and honey, splayed all over the tiled floor. It wasn’t yet a mess, like it is now, with clothes, and well, the average teen’s bedroom. I was dressed in this yellow sundress and had ponytails. Could my mom be any more stereotypical? Probably not. He was dressed in this polo and these American Eagle tan shorts. I was actually the brave one who tried to start a conversation, because I thought sitting in awkward silence for a few hours would’ve been…well…awkward. “Hi, my name’s Allie. Do you wanna play? I got toys over there and stuff…” Don’t comment on my awkwardness, I know that wasn’t exactly a smooth greeting, but, well, I was never the social butterfly. More like social nut. Actually, you can even kick the social out of that. I never could string two words together and make them sound like something other than babble – especially with someone I’ve never really talked with before.

“No. Don’t you have something more fun? Like Legos or something other than stupid Barbies?”

That just provoked me for some reason, although I did agree that the Barbies were kind of stupid. You can blame my mom for that though – she bought me everything girly imaginable. I guess she wanted me to have a different childhood than she had – where she had to play with her brother’s leftover toys, since they didn’t have enough money to buy a doll or something.

“”My toys aren’t stupid!”

He stuck his tongue out, and just sat there, refusing to say anything else.

“Fine, have it your way!”

I withdrew into a corner and just sat there, staring – at everything and everywhere – just not him. Maybe only ten minutes had passed before he sighed, and walked over to where I was. “I’m bored.” he said, not even apologizing for his previous behavior.

“What do you want me to do about it?” I was still kind of mad with him. I was only trying to be friendly and brave, and he put me down just like that. Alright, I’ll admit, maybe I DID overreact, and got mad kind of easily…but I was 5, okay? Cut me some slack. At that time, a rude guy seriously irked me. I was used to either getting the silent treatment or politeness, and if I was lucky, a friendly response. Never had someone tried to deliberately upset me. Well, I actually don’t know if he did that on purpose or if he was seriously just that belligerent. I think it was a little bit of both. “You’re supposed to be the host and a playmate. That’s what my mom said. And she says that I have to get along with you.” he plops down in front me, and his forehead wrinkles in a cute kind of way, as if not understanding why his mom wanted him to do that.

“Tell your mom I don’t want to get along with a rude boy.” I picked at the carpet, and tried to make shapes in it.

“I’m going to tell my mom you said that. Then she’ll never bring me back.” he stuck his tongue out at me again, and headed toward the door.

Normally, I would’ve said bye or something along those lines, but the fact that he might tell his mom was very scary to me. If he told his mom, my mom would hear, and she would come in and start yelling at me. Nothing was scarier to me than a mad mom to me at that time. My mom’s punishments were usually not fun to do. I had to have a really long lecture and guilt trip or she would sometimes slap me or hit me with a stick After she did that, she would always say I couldn’t tell anyone else, or bad things would happen. I didn’t understand why she did that, but I still loved my mom very much, and never told anyone about it. . I got up and ran after him, grabbing onto his arm. “Wait, no! Please don’t tell your mom, or else my mommy’ll get bad.” I bit my lips and tried to look as cute and puppy-like as possible. The puppy eyes almost always worked on my dad, anyway.

“So? I don’t care what your mommy thinks.” he sneered, and continued toward the door. Everything next happened in slow motion, like in those movies, when something dramatic or scary is about to happen. His hand reached for the door knob, and I remember going, “No-o-o-o-o-o,” and diving for the door. I hit the door hard, and it made a slamming sound. My heart leapt into my mouth. The parents would come and check now, and ask if anything was wrong, and my life would be over.

He just made a grunting noise, and looked at me with disgust. “What’s wrong with you?”

“No, you don’t understand! I don’t want my mommy to get mad…or else…or else…” My voice trailed off as I realized what I might’ve revealed if I hadn’t been careful.

“Okay, fine. I won’t tell.” He walked away from the door, and sat in the small chair by my nightstand. It was a few minutes before he said something again, and the gentle tone made me think something was up. “If I won’t tell, will you tell me why you’re so scared of your mom?”

I bit my lip and grasped the door handle harder. I don’t know whether it was because I was nervous or because I didn’t trust him. I’d never told anyone, adult, preschool classmates, anyone. And I certainly wasn’t willing to tell him yet. “No. My mom said I’m not supposed to tell.”

“I’ll go tell my mom what you said about me being rude then.”

I shook my head defiantly, and stayed by the door until his mom finally came in and told him it was time to go.

Just before he went, he whispered, “I won’t tell. But one day, you have to tell me why you’re so scared of your mom.”

I nodded and said, “My name is Ally.” Maybe I said it because I just wanted him to know my name, or maybe, I was hoping it could be the same of something. A smile flashed across his face. it was like a signal to me that he knew what I wanted, and he was willing to be my friend. “My name’s Tony.” With that, he was out the door.

And that was that – the start of everything to come.