Third Grade
Up until this point, you'd been an only child, and the thought of another person taking up your time with your parents frightened you more than you were willing to admit.
Well, admit to your parents anyway.
You admitted it to Josh, though. Every day.
"I don't want a brother."
"How do you know it's gonna be a boy?"
And this was a startling thought, because you never realized that you could be getting a little sister instead of a little brother.
Which was even worse, because then your mother would love the baby even more because...well, girls and stuff.
"Justin, it'll be fun to have a kid brother or a kid sister!" Josh told you one day at lunch.
You frowned at him, munching on your sandwich and trying to ignore him.
"I'm serious, Justin!" he persisited. "When I was in kindergarten, my mom got a baby in her tummy too, and I was just as mad as you are."
"Yeah?"
He took a bite of his sandwich and nodded, chewing his food before answering. "Yep. And now I have a little brother. Tyler. He doesn't go to this school though."
"How come?"
Josh shrugged. "He's kind of a trouble maker."
You giggled.
"But I love him just the same. Just like you'll love your little brother or sister."
You sighed, deciding to believe him, because he was in the fifth grade and really, really smart.
Plus, he was your best friend, and best friends never lie.
You started talking to your parents about the baby, even helping them come up with possible names. They didn't like your favorite pick, though. You didn't understand why, because you thought Scooby was a perfectly good name for a boy or a girl.
Two months later, you turned nine years old, and your mother let you have all of your friends over for a big party. Josh helped you plan it.
"Let's have a basketball game!" you exclaimed, fully prepared to show off your newest talent.
Josh's cheeks turned pink, and he looked at the ground, swinging his legs back and forth as he kicked at the sand beneathe the bench the two of you were sitting on.
"I'm not very good," he said.
You frowned, because Josh? Not good at basketball? he was your best friend--he had to be good at basketball. He was good at everything.
"Sure you are!" you said. "It's not hard."
"Maybe not for you."
"Come on, Josh! You can even be on my team."
"You'll make fun of me."
"I will not!"
"Promise?"
"Pinky swear," you said, sticking your pinky out and linking it with his.
"Ok then. Basketball it is."
"Yes!" you shouted, pumping your fist in the air.
When it actually came time to play the game, you wished you'd listened to Josh when he said he couldn't play.
He didn't make one shot. Not one.
You made every one you attempted.
By the time it was over, Josh's eyes were brimming with tears as people poked fun at him.
"Geez, Josh," Britney teased. "I made more shots than you! You should be in ballet or something--you run like a girl!"
"Don't you have any friends your own age anyway?" Trevor laughed.
"Shut up!" you screamed, throwing the basketball into Trevor's stomach. "Leave him alone!"
You were shocked to see Josh running into the house, and after throwing a dirty look Britney's way, you took off after him.
"Josh!" you called, running through the door and letting it slam behind you.
"He's upstairs, honey," your mother said as she stuck the candles into your birthday cake.
You ran the steps two at a time, panting by the time you reached your bedroom.
"Josh." You pushed the door open and found him sitting on your bed, crying.
"Go away," he sniffed.
"What's wrong?" you asked, regretting the words the minute they came out of your mouth.
"I told you I was bad at basketball! Now everyone thinks I'm a nerd who hangs out with third graders because I don't have any friends!"
The words stung, and you felt your own eyes wet with tears.
"I thought we were best friends."
"We are. But maybe I should hang out with fifth graders more."
You couldn't believe this was happening.
"We'll see each other at school still," Josh said. "And in choir practice."
"But Josh!"
"Bye, Justin," he said, and you cried out loud when you heard the front door slam.
Ten minutes later, there was a loud crash from downstairs, and you heard your father yell, "Call 911!"
Your heart sunk to your toes as you rushed down the steps, stopping in your tracks when you saw your mother curled up on the floor, clutching her stomach.
She lost the baby that night, and as you laid in your bed, tears streaming down your cheeks and singing quietly to yourself, you decided that today was the worst day of your life.
Birthdays would never be the same.