certainly better than being back at my house by myself. Your parents are really nice. They even told me to call them Ed and Jean, not Mr. and Mrs. Andrews. I like it here,” he said, smiling. “Besides, you need me, Leah!”

“Oh, I need you?” I asked teasingly. “Who was the one who got us both up and walking back to my house? If I had left it to you, we’d still be laying out there by the lake.”

“I was going to get up,” Matty insisted. “I was just catching my breath!” He gave me another smile and for a moment we just looked at one another.

“I have to sleep now, Matty; I’m sorry,” I said as I could no longer keep my eyes open. I realized I hadn’t even asked him how he was feeling, but I was too tired to say anything more.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up, Leah. I’ll always be here for you, promise.” As I drifted off, I felt Matty take my hand and squeeze it. I was able to gently squeeze his fingers back gently before drifting off to sleep.

And Matty kept his promise: he was there when I woke up later that day, and he was there every single day after as I recuperated. He had his own broken arm to deal with, but he never let on that he was in pain; and he quickly mastered doing things with just one hand. I mostly stayed in bed the first few days home, especially to rest my sprained back; so, we watched TV in my room and flipped through magazines and pictures, not only from school but also from my family’s photo albums. Matty seemed to like looking at all my baby pictures, teasing me that he would take the ones of me naked in the bathtub and show them to everyone at school.

When I finally started to feel strong enough to get out of bed, he helped me downstairs and into our living room, where we would do the same things we had in my bedroom: watch TV and look through magazines and pictures. I started to worry he was becoming bored, and I told him not to feel obligated to stick around.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” he asked with a fake look of hurt on his face. “Well, nice try, but I’m not going. My Leah needs me.” By the time vacation had ended, I had regained a lot of my strength and my medications were working to control the pain in my arm and back. Both of us headed back to start the second half of sixth grade as, just like Matty said, cast buddies. We of course got a lot of attention for having broken our arms, and Matty loved telling everyone about our harrowing accident. He may have added some embellishments to the story; and he left out the part where he’d cried like a baby. But his secret was safe with me.

Matty and I were both given extra time to transfer between classes as it took us a bit longer to exchange our books out at our lockers. Our lockers were only a few feet apart from one another, so we were able to chat while we switched out our supplies for the next period. We thought we were pretty cool being out in the hall alone while our friends were still in class.

From then on, Matty was a staple at my house, seeming to spend more time with my family than with his. And my family loved having him around. My sisters both had crushes on him, my mom thought he was sweet, and my dad liked having someone to talk sports with. Between school and my house, I spent more time with Matty than I did with anyone else, including my parents and sisters.

Our bond grew stronger in the weeks after our surgeries. When we went back to school, we had to sit out during gym class. We sat along the sides of the gymnasium watching our friends play volleyball and basketball, making fun of how Krista could not dribble to save her life and how Jimmy only wanted to play volleyball to be with the girls.

One day, the meanest boy in our class, Chad, deliberately threw a doge ball in my direction. He was clearly trying to hit me as he aimed the ball towards where I was sitting, which was off to the side of the court, not at the kids who were actually playing the game. Matty jumped up to intercept the ball, jerking his own broken arm in the process, and yelled, “Knock it off, Chad! If you throw another ball at Leah, I’m gonna make you pay!” Matty then hurled the ball back at Chad, hard. Our gym teacher, Mr. Haines, blew his whistle; he told Matty to sit back down and sent Chad to the other side of the gym to sit out the rest of class. Everyone in the gym was silent, shocked at Matty’s outburst, not only in defending me but in standing up to Chad. I couldn’t keep the smug grin from my face as I was so happy that Matty had stood up for me in front of everyone. And Chad never bothered me again.

Lunch time was the big social event of our middle school days. Our school cafeteria consisted of these bulky metal picnic tables, the kind with attached benches for the seats. They had wheels on them and were able to fold up in case the cafeteria needed to be cleared for another event. These tables were pushed together to create long rows with aisles in between them. Each grade had a designated lunch hour; we’d all line up outside the cafeteria and file in. Everyone had to go through the line for the school prepared food, even if they brought their own lunch. My group of friends and I almost always brought our lunches from home.

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