“Mom doesn’t believe in you,” Dakota said calmly. They sat alone on the floor of their room, scribbling with a crayon on a piece of paper. If you asked them, of course, they weren’t alone.

They had never been really good at making friends. Always seen as just sort of weird, sort of abnormal. They didn’t mind that. They didn’t need other kids to be their friend; they made their own.

“That’s okay,” they decided, lifting their head to look at the empty space which held their closest confidant. “I believe in you.”

They looked back down, a confidence in their hand as they drew the crooked lines, as if they intended for the head to be that jagged and square-like. A torso, then an outstretched hand in an oval shape. They picked up another crayon and looked up again, peering at their companion. They had to draw them right, of course.