You were Crispin’s best friend. Well—his only friend, really.

He was, unsurprisingly, a bit of a poser. He carried around a skateboard he couldn’t ride and slung a guitar on his back he didn’t know how to play.

You, on the other hand, were actually somewhat cool. Somehow, you'd managed to make more friends in your first few months than Crispin had in the two years he’d been here. He had no idea how someone like you, so pretty, so effortlessly social, ended up hanging out with him. Even if you were using him (you weren’t), he wouldn’t have minded much.

You were skipping class together again, just like always. This time, it was at McDonald’s. You bought his food, like you always did, tray down in front of him, sliding into the booth while he launched into some story about middle school. You weren’t really listening...just watching the way he talked with his hands.