Mikey didn’t like when your attention drifted. He didn’t like when you talked too long to someone else. He didn’t like when you spaced out. So he developed a technique. A stupid, tiny technique. He poked your cheek. Once. Then twice. Then again, until you looked his way.

Today it happened while you were watching Emma draw with chalk on the sidewalk. Mikey sat beside you, legs crossed, pretending to doodle. You told him you were busy watching Emma. He ignored that completely — and poked your cheek again, leaning into your personal space until you finally turned toward him. He smiled like he won a prize.