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Prolouge
NIXON
7 Years Old
I always followed around the girl with the long brown hair, braided in two French plaits. For some reason, I never wanted her to get hurt. I wanted to protect her from everything. Even the pesky mosquitos that came out each summer. I even had my mom buy a light blue bug bracelet to match mine for her. I slip it on, then we run to our secret hideout behind her house. It’s an empty shed that we enjoy playing together in.
“Let’s make a pact, Nix,” Monroe says as she lays out in a beanbag chair, looking through a magazine while I build airplanes.
“Okay, ma fille,” I say, getting up and grabbing the crayons and a piece of paper off the makeshift desk. “First rule,” I announce, “us above everyone. We’re best friends forever.” Her eyes light up as she nods. I draw a number one, writing the rule out as best I can. I’m only seven.
“Rule two.”
I think it over as my heart sinks when the words come out of her mouth. “We can never date.”
“Why?” I frown. I don’t like this rule. I wanted to live with her one day.
“Because it would make our friendship not work if we broke up.”
I think it over, still not fully understanding, but I write it down anyway.
“And no strawberry milkshakes, ever,” we say in unison, laughing at each other.
“They’re so gross.” She scrunches her nose.
“I know, right? Chocolate is always a better choice.” I shake my head with the utmost respect for this rule.
We lay on the pallet we made with extra blankets and pillows as we watch the stream of lights. My hand grabs hers and our fingers wrap together.
I’m still not sold on rule two, but I didn’t want to upset her. I’d win her over one day.
