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She was perfect.
She deserved the world.
And I was going to make sure she got everything she wanted, whether she liked it or not.
Chapter 3
Ethan - 9 years old
Mrs. Walton, our fourth-grade teacher, was boring.
Super Boring.
Luckily, this year, Madison was in my class and she made it kinda fun. We passed notes and laughed behind Mrs. Walton’s back. It got us through her boring lectures and boring math assignments.
I sat there, about to yawn again, when Madison slid another note toward me.
Ethan,
Let’s play ballet after school.
Madison
I rolled my eyes. I was not playing ballet after school. It was her turn to play baseball. I needed a pitcher for batting practice.
Madison,
No.
Ethan
I looked from the side of my eye just in time to see her lips pout out. She acted like I never played ballet. But seriously, I was the only boy I knew that could do an arabesque thanks to her. I was not doing it again today. No way.
But when I got a better look at Madison, her lip still pouted out and her eyes sad, I knew I would bearabesquingall day. I would do anything to make Madison happy. She didn’t ask me to make her happy, I just liked it. Making her happy made me happy.
So, after school, when my mom picked us up and took us to my house, we played ballet. But I did not wear the tutu. I drew the line at that and just my horror at the idea was enough to make Madison laugh. So, it was a win-win.
After she got tired of ballet, she threw a few pitches to me, too.
We were even.
She always made sure I was just as happy as she was.
Mom brought us snacks outside and we laid under the big tree in my backyard, like we always did.
“You are a good dancer, Ethan,” Madison said, a big smile on her face.
“I don’t want to be a good dancer, Maddy. I want to be a good baseball player. A home run king.”
Her nose squished up and she shook her head slightly. “You may need to be a pitcher and not a hitter.”
I threw a plum from the plate of snacks my mom brought out and hit her with it square in the chest. “Take that back!”
She laughed and picked up the plum. “See? You threw this better than you hit.”
I laughed. I knew she was just trying to get on my nerves. I did it to her all the time, too. We liked to drive each other crazy sometimes.
“Wanna play wedding?” She asked. Another dumb game I didn’t want to play. What 9-year-old boy wanted to play wedding?
