I was maybe 11. I was wearing orange and black Hammer pants that I’m pretty sure Icky Woods inspired. They were a hand-me-down from my cousin, which could have been great, but like all people who hand down their clothes, he had no taste or sense of style. Not like me. I don’t remember my shoes for certain, but they were likely plain white Brooks high-tops designed to look something like Adidas or Nike but falling well short. I can’t remember the shirt either. It might have been my black Marvin the Martian t-shirt. It might have been my Craig Ehlo jersey. Hell, it might have been my John Elway knock-off jersey with a plain white t-shirt underneath. That’s what we’ll go with. If I was sporting the Elway look that day, then the undershirt was a v-neck, because I hated those, and my mom was always confusing the things I loved with the things I hated. Because I was 11, I was undoubtably wearing a black pirate eyepatch. It was for medical reasons, but that didn’t make it any better.

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If I was 11 then she was 11 or 12. I know that if she were 11, she’d refer to herself as “11 going on 12,” because that’s the kind of girl Annabel “don’t call me Annie” Sustack was. She had brown curly hair worn a little looser and longer than Shirley Temple, but not much. I too had brown curly hair that looked something like a Temple fro, but I was far too inexperienced then to understand that this was a talking point. She probably wore a jumper or culottes or whatever girls who knew anything about style wore in those days. I’m going to picture a purple corduroy jumper with a white turtleneck underneath and Hush Puppy shoes. I only remember Hush Puppies because they came with a small stuffed basset hound and I got wildly jealous when my little sister got a pair. “You’ve got those shiny new tennis shoes, honey,” my mother would have said in that Mrs. Arnold from The Wonder Years sort of tone. “You look like Mark Price!” She was always mixing up Price and Ehlo. I wanted to look like Joel Craig Ehlo of the Cleveland Cavaliers. The good Cavs. The ones that wore blue and orange and lost again and again to the Bulls. Anyway, if I’d known about the stuffed dog, I’d likely have been sporting Hush Puppy shoes, M.C. Hammer pants, a John Elway jersey in a Cleveland suburb, and a lose-fitting, stretched-out v-neck t-shirt, all tied nicely together with my fro and my eyepatch. The Hush Puppies wouldn’t have helped, but could they have hurt?

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I think I first noticed the way Jeff looked late that Tuesday morning as I was looking around the room trying to figure out what I was supposed to be doing with my pencil and my notebook. I’d heard Mrs. Farber say, “So take out your notebooks and something to write with, and we’ll spend 10 minutes doing this.” I just didn’t yet know what “this” was. I did the friendly eyes move. That’s when you glance around the room for another pair of lost eyes. It doesn’t solve the problem, but misery loves company, and no one likes being the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on. Jeff was lost too. He was usually lost, but this was something different. He wasn’t sporting one of his Metallica shirts and looking like he’d stayed up all night working on his paper mache alien—which was awesome and totally rad by the way—or playing his red and white electric guitar or reading Stephen King novels by flashlight under his covers. He looked lost in the other way. It was like he’d been lost inside someone else’s wardrobe. He was sporting a purple button-down shirt with every button done. He wore his usual black jeans, but they were clean this time, and I could tell from three rows over and two seats back that he’d cut his nails, which I knew he was growing out for the guitar, so something was definitely up. He made eye contact with me, but instead of the usual, “I don’t know. Do you know? Should we ask?” gestures, he simply smiled, and I shit you not, he waved. We were in the middle of class in the middle of the day in the middle of the school year and he just up and waved like dope. Mrs. Farber, of course, thought he was raising his hand. “Do you have a question, Jeffery?”

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“No,” he said, looking down at his own hand. “I was—no, no question.” He hadn’t touched his notebook. He didn’t even have a pencil on his desk.

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“We’re leaving clues, Jeffrey,” she said. I begged to differ. “For one of our classmates to find something or someone.”

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“Right. I know,” he said, cutting her off. I could have used more, but at least I knew what we were doing. Now I had the, “I tried my best. I must have misunderstood you,” defense going in my favor. I was a sentence or two into leaving clues about where to find my math book when it finally dawned on me that Jeff had cut his hair. I pictured Mrs. Ciccarella smoking one of her Marlboro reds and snipping at the long, black threads of his hair. He’d had a great look going. He was pulling off the long-on-top skateboarder comb-over with the sides and back shaved almost to the skin, and I’m pretty sure the chicks were into it. Callie had pushed him to the ground from behind just last week, and her best friend Emily giggled and ran away every time Jeff walked by. Why the sudden change? Now he couldn’t just toss his head to the left and watch the bangs float back out of his eyes, although I quickly realized he hadn’t stopped the habit. It was a move that made the girls swoon. Now what were we supposed to do to draw attention to us? I was pretty sure best friends weren’t supposed to make these decisions without consultation and discussion, unless Mom made the decision, but there’s no way Mrs. Ciccarella wanted Jeff to cut his hair. He’d gone rogue.

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He just sat there, still not writing, tossing his non-existent bangs out of his eyes with a jarring, half-circle twitch of his head. I scribbled in a couple more clues as fast as I could, sensing that I’d have a few minutes of looking around time if I could finish early. I slid my pencil back into the cubby under the desk and turned toward Annabel. She was on my bad side—the side with the eyepatch—so I had to lean over in a move that was pretty hard to pull-off as natural, but I had it down to a science. She was looking forward and thinking. I knew this because she was nibbling delicately at the eraser of her pencil while her tiny foot pumped up and down on the tiled floor. This was her thinking move. I knew all her moves. I wondered what she’d done with the stuffed Hush Puppy dog. I wondered what kind of dog we’d have when we got married. I was somewhere along this line of totally normal thinking for an 11-year-old when I realized that I wasn’t the only one looking at Annabel. “Jeffrey,” Mrs. Farber interrupted. “Please work on your own clues.”

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“Right. Sorry.”

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Huh. Annabel blushed. I’d never seen her blush before. It couldn’t have been over Jeff. I knew she didn’t like him. I knew because I’d asked her almost-best-friend Callie, and Callie said that Annabel didn’t like anyone in class but that she liked someone. I could tell she was lying. I also knew that Jeff didn’t like Annabel because Jeff was my best friend and we’d stayed up almost all night two weekends ago talking about what it would be like when Annabel and I were finally going out. I remembered distinctly that we were talking about me and not about him because I was the one who kept bringing it up, so what was she doing blushing at Jeff’s dopey look. I must have misunderstood something. I dug my first firmly into my cheek, my elbow into the hard surface of the desk, and hunkered down for a closer observation. As far as I could tell, and as far as the other experts knew, there was little if any chemistry between these two, but then there he was, turning her way again as soon as Mrs. Farber stood-up and turned her back to write something on the board. I think he felt me glaring because after he made eye contact with Annabel, he turned my way, lowered his gaze and blushed. Surely it was a sign. He was—he was putting in the groundwork for me! I knew he was a great friend, but this was too much. He’d waited a little longer than I would have liked, but hey, how could I complain? I tried to sit up straight, but the side of my pants caught on the tiny screw on the leg of my desk. The pants didn’t tear, but I looked a fool while I tried to unhook myself. I thought Emily laughed, but when I looked up she was looking over toward Jeff, so maybe nobody saw.

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“Alright everyone,” Mrs. Farber said. “It looks like most of you are done.” Somehow, my idiot best friend didn’t even flinch, despite doing nothing for the last ten minutes. “Exchange your clues with the person whose name is on the board next to yours.” Name on the board? Great, Eddie was going to be finding my math book, which is fine, but why was everyone giggling? And then I saw it. Jeff and Annabel were paired up, which was great news—though it didn’t feel like it when the stabbing pain hit my gut—because now he could say more great things about me. The question quickly became: How am I going to get to Jeff to tell him all the stuff he should tell Annabel during recess? Had she ever seen the way I run? I bet I could run faster than ever if I knew she was watching. Maybe we’ll play capture the flag instead of football today. Had she seen last week when I punted the Nerf ball out of the back of the end zone as the bell rang to ice the game? Maybe I shouldn’t play-up the sports angle. Maybe she’s more into brains. She certainly seems intellectual. I did get a solid B+ on my paper mache beluga whale last Thursday, but then Jeff can’t tell her what he got for his stupid alien. Recess was fast approaching, and though I was yet to pay a decent amount of attention to what had been going on all morning, I was slowly getting the impression that we were to hide these things in the places where our partner was to find them via our clues, so I now had to get this math book over to the water jug next to the basketball courts. I cared very little whether Eddie saw me doing this or not. I just needed to get to Jeff.

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The bell rang and for a good ten seconds everything was hushed by the sound of metal chair legs on hard, shiny school flooring. I took note of this because it meant that no one heard my pants tear on the stupid screw on my stupid desk. I thought for a second about raising my hand and turning myself in, but the tear wasn’t too bad. It was down by my right knee and maybe three or four inches long. The year before I’d stepped on a hive of bees on a field trip to the arboretum and my mother, who so graciously volunteered to be an official Field Trip Mom, pulled my pants down and over my shoes and used them to beat the remaining bees off my legs while the class looked on in horror. I was not going to call this classroom’s attention to my new dilemma. “What Eddie?” I heard myself say. The anger in my own voice surprised me, but Eddie took it in stride.

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“We’re on the board together.”

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“Yeah. Hey, I need to track down Jeff real quick.” Jeff’s boney face was talking to Annabel and they were working their way toward the door. He was carrying his notebook, but he had nothing to hide. Annabel had her whole book bag on her slender shoulders. I’d have offered to carry it for her if she were my partner, or if I ever talked to her at all.

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“We’re partners.” Eddie stood flat-footed, staring at me with is mouth open. He was always breathing through his mouth. You could hear it during tests. He had two white toothpaste smudges at each corner of his mouth.

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“Eddie, I’ll be right back.” I bolted toward the door and turned right in the hallway. Mrs. Farber saw Eddie standing there like an idiot and she called my name. Everyone turned to look at me. Everyone except Jeff and Annabel, who were now descending the stairs at the end of the hall. He must have been saying good things, because she was laughing; I could hear it as I re-entered the room. “Eddie, come on,” I said. He turned my way, sniffled and walked toward me.

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“I think we’re supposed to—.”

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“I know Eddie. I’m going to hide the book—I mean the thing, and here’s my clue.” I handed him the notebook page. He handed me a piece of paper that looked like it had been pulled from a trashcan and un-crumpled. It had the neat, perforated tear-out line down the side, but this dumbo had blown right by that and ripped it out in a hurry. The top carried the frayed edges from where the spiral wire had run through it, and the bottom was just plain missing. I didn’t have time to deal with this, so I stuffed the half-sheet in my left pants pocket without looking at it and bolted down the hallway.

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The sun was so bright it made me sneeze when I stepped out, but I didn’t let it slow me down. I caught the sneeze in my hand and wiped it down the back of my pants where it disappeared into the black and orange collage. It was cold, but clear and dry—sometime in late October. I remember the colors of the trees near the swing set. I took the hard right straight out of the door and ran past the fourth graders playing kickball in the middle of the baseball diamond on my way to the empty basketball court where I dropped my math book under the table holding the water jug we all knew never had any water. I was hoping my clues were decent, because we were doing math after recess, before lunch, when I heard Emily laughing on the other side of the baseball diamond near the swing set. The sound of her voice sent my heart into my throat. I was also getting tired, and the cold air was whipping into the hole in my pants that may or may not have been growing. It all added up to a few deep, calculated breaths while I stood doubled over, my hands planted firmly against my knees, giving myself a little pep talk. “It’s just a girl. You like her a lot. It’s just like you practiced.” I had spent the better part of Monday evening in my bedroom talking to the dial tone on my parents’ cordless, calling it Annabel and asking all kinds of interesting questions. “Jeff’s laid the groundwork. Now its—.” I began raising myself up to run when I saw Eddie walking toward me with his eyes on my notebook page. He looked up and saw me, then looked past me and saw the math book. “Yeah,” I shouted as I took off running toward the swing set. “You got it. Good job, Eddie.”

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“Thanks.” He said loudly in the other direction as he walked toward his prize. I got a stitch in my side as I cleared the outfield of the fourth grader’s game, but it was the circle of girls around Jeff and Annabel that made me slow down. I walked, unnoticed by anyone, toward the circle, stopping a few feet short to tie my shoes, which were already tied. I leaned down and undid the right lace, taking my time to properly form the bunny ears while I eavesdropped on the scene. I was beginning to get the feeling this wasn’t about me, when I looked up to see that Callie was standing over me. She had long, sandy blonde hair that I bet she never washed. She wore her bangs short and straight across her forehead, which was awash in light reflecting off of her huge, thick-framed red glasses.

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“There’s a hole in your pants.” She said. I noticed right then how much she sounded like Eddie.

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“Yeah. Thanks.”

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“Did you know that?” I was trying not to get tied up in this conversation. It wasn’t good for a guy to be seen talking with Callie, but that wasn’t it. I was trying to figure out the right time to step in and make my presence known. “Did you?” she asked louder.

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“Yeah. Yeah, I got it. I’m going to tape them up after recess.”

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“I bet you didn’t know.”

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“Callie, it’s freezing out here. I noticed.”

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“You didn’t know.” Whatever. I was done with this one. I walked past her and toward the circle, which was beginning to slowly dissolve. Emily walked away giggling, which seemed to draw Callie back toward her own kind. I was craning my neck and looking left and right around people to try to catch Jeff’s eye. He probably needed my help by now, or maybe he wanted to make a more formal introduction. It’d be weird, since we’d all gone to school together for over four years, but not that weird, since I’d have no idea what to say to a girl like Annabel anyway. I felt a tapping on my shoulder. It was Eddie handing me my math book.

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“Did you find mine?”

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“Huh? Oh. Um, not yet. I was trying to talk to Jeff.”

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“He’s talking to Annie.”

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“I know. She hates it when you call her—.” Never mind. That was one less guy to worry about.

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“They’re going out.” He said it and walked away. He was probably twenty yards away before the words sunk through my fro and into my brain. I scratched at my exposed right knee with my middle finger. My jaw dropped slowly. Everything went blurry and numb. My stomach ate my heart.

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“What?” I said. I thought I said it loudly, but as my eye regained focus, I saw the pair standing under the yellow metal bar, swinging on neighboring swings and talking. They were maybe ten feet away, but they hadn’t heard or seen me. I reached up and pulled my eyepatch off. I pushed my hair down against my scalp and tried to hold my pants together with my hand through my pocket as I walked toward them. Jeff saw me coming and did the eye-lowering, blushing thing again, which I was starting to understand as something completely different from what I first thought it was.

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I stopped flat. I don’t know if it was the look or the sight of Annabel smiling at him or the recess bell or my sudden awareness that my best friend was stealing the love of my life, but something stopped me, and I turned back toward the door. I crossed the empty baseball diamond kicking up dirt with each harshly planted step. It was suddenly very warm. My Brooks were covered in dust. I leaned down and grabbed a small rock from the dirt. I carved her name in dust and then rose, put my eye patch back over my eye and kicked her name into dusty clouds that were swept away in the fast moving wind. I didn’t hear him coming. “She asked me out yesterday,” Jeff said.

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“Yeah. I know.”

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“You did?”

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“Yeah.” I turned away so he wouldn’t see me cry.

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“I know you like her. She really likes me, I guess.”

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“I don’t like her.” My voice was shaking. I was a half-step shy of sobbing.

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“Oh. Good. I thought you did. I tried to tell you yesterday. I called three times but your phone was busy.”

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“I was talking with—my Grandma.” Really. He steels your girl, ends your friendship and you counter with Grandma?

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“Anyway. I don’t—I don’t know if—.”

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“I don’t like her, OK.” I knew the anger was going to be in my voice this time. I didn’t care. The bottom of my eye patch was soggy, but I was seeing things clearly now. “Just go be together and have a great life.”

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“I was going to say—.”

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“Look, Jeff, jesus, just go be together and be happy.” I thought I’d really landed one there. I was looking for Eddie, my new best friend, but almost everyone had gone back inside. I noticed just a capital A in the dust and gave it a good kick, right in front of him. I hoped it hurt.

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“I don’t think I like her,” he said quickly. All of a sudden my stomach threw my heart back up.

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“Yeah. She’s kind of—. Um. She’s, ya know.” Oh come on. This was your shot. What didn’t he like about her? Help him see it!

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“I just don’t think I like her in that way.”

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“Then why’d you say you’d go out with her?” He shrugged. This all seemed to be bothering him in some way I was having trouble figuring out. “You went out with the girl I love and you don’t even like her?” He looked at me funny.

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“I thought you didn’t like her.”

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“This isn’t about me, Jeff, this is about Annabel. Did you think of how she’ll feel.”

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“No.” Now it was his turn to kick the dirt. Mrs. Farber was standing at the door shouting our names. We walked slowly in her direction. Life was so challenging when everything had to be worked out in 20-minute periods.

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“Well you’re going to hurt her feelings, Jeff. She’s probably going to cry.” But you have to break up with her, buddy, I thought. It’s the right thing to do. He raised his hand to his face and wiped the snot from his upper lip. It was hard to tell, because he was walking on my blindside, but I was pretty sure he was crying. “Are you going to dump her?”

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“I think I have to, don’t I?” It was an honest question, begging for an honest answer.

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“Probably, I think.” I put my hand on his shoulder and we walked back into the building. Mrs. Farber must have sensed that something was up, because she didn’t say anything, even as we climbed the stairs toward the classroom, my hand still on his shoulder. “Do you have any tape?” I asked as we crested the last stair.

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“In my desk, I think. It’s from my alien thing.”

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“Dude, he’s awesome.”

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“Thanks. Your dolphin was good too.” Beluga whale, Jeff.

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“I need it for my pants—the tape.”

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“I’ll give it to you.” He sounded tired. We were approaching the classroom door. “You can use all you want.”

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“Thanks.”

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“Can you tell that I was crying?” He was facing me where we’d stopped just outside the door.

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“What? No. No way. How about me. I mean, I wasn’t crying, but do I look alright.” He gave me a once-over and nodded.

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“I wish I hadn’t cut my hair,” he said, just before we entered class. I laughed lightly, trying to figure out how long it would take him to look cool again.

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“It looks good,” I said. The classroom was still filled with noise, waiting for the final bell to signal the start of the afternoon. My math book was placed in the center of my desk. I turned to smile at Eddie, but he was giving me the silent treatment for some reason, which reminded me of the scrap of paper in my pocket. He’d scribbled out “directions to a friend” on the top of the page, followed by a list of clues that would have led me right back to him. I looked at the paper for a second and thought I might cry again. I raised my eyes just in time to see Jeff passing a note to Annabel with an apologetic, miserable look on his face. I couldn’t actually see his face, but I could feel what it must have looked like. “Pssst,” I whispered in Eddie’s direction. He didn’t look my way. His gaze was fixed on the nothing happening at the front of the room. “I’m sorry, Eddie. We’re already friends, ya know.”

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“I know,” he said quietly, his eyes still locked forward. The last thing I remember from that day is the sound of Annabel crying quietly and Emily and Callie whispering wildly as Mrs. Farber was writing long division problems on the board. I remember that, and that the tape didn’t hold my pants together nearly as well as I had thought it would and really ticked my mom off. Oh, and I remember not being able to wipe the smile from my face when Jeff looked my way and gave a sheepish, relieved grin before lowering his head and drawing a picture of his paper mache alien on his math book’s brown bag cover.