The teacher, Mr. Sermon, was beginning his sermon, who Peter believed was named perfectly for what he always did. Peter Handle was a young boy, he had dark brown locks, green eyes and always wore a mischievous smile. He spent his time getting himself into mischief and scrapes. He was an average student. He didn’t pay attention, he stared at the floor, or he mostly started at Annabelle. 

Annabelle was a young girl with black hair and blue eyes. She was the living opposite of Peter. She was calm and he was loud. He was a prankster where she was a reader. But it made sense that Peter liked her. She was beautiful, kind and smart. She was everything to Peter, as well as other boys. 

Annabelle wasn’t sure about Peter. He was kind and gentle when they were together. It was like he melted at her face. Annabelle didn’t know what she felt towards him. It couldn’t be love? Could it?

At this particular moment Mr. Sermon was beginning to speak about the history of the Civil and Revolutionary Wars, and Peter, like most days, was looking past him. At Annabelle. Annabelle knew he was looking but for some reason she didn’t mind. For some reason she liked it. Like always she listened intently to the professor, taking notes theatrically. The boys behind her laughed at her. Mr. Sermon glared their way and that shut them up. Annabelle sat high in her seat, pretending those boys didn’t exist. 

“Peter, I believe that I am teaching the lesson. Not Annabelle’s back.” said Mr. Sermon, stopping his lesson. The boys sniggered. He rounded on them. “And what is so funny?” The boys shut up. 

Annabelle had remained silent through this ordeal and she continued for the lesson after Mr. Sermon began again. She still didn’t know she felt about him, even after being with him his whole life.

Annabelle sat by herself at lunch that day. She squinted at her food forcing herself not to look around at the empty seats surrounding her. On the other side of the room, as far as they could get from her were the boys. They lifted up Peter and smiled smugly at him. They threw him up in the air. They threw him on the table. No one stopped them. The last thing she saw before she ran was him, a black eye, a red face, looking at her, pleading. 

Annabelle ran. She just needed to not see Peter like that again. She ran, throwing her box and bag away from her as she ran towards a corner. She ran and ran and ran and she tried to slow down. She tried as hard as she could. The wall was closing in. Her feet wouldn’t obey her mind. She ran and ran and — her head snapped against the wall. Her eyes closed. And she sunk down and began to weep. She hated those boys even more now. She had run because of them, had — she turned and looked in the mirror. Her face was black and bloody and her eye was black and swollen like Peters. Her nose was red and her mouth was blue. 

And then she saw Peter running. And then he saw her. He stopped. He swallowed and he whispered to her “You’re still beautiful…. You’re still Annabelle… You still have me.”

Annabelle looked up at him. Maybe he wasn’t like the other boys. It wasn’t love, but at that moment she liked Peter Handle. She felt she owed him something. Peter slid down the wall to sit next to her, and took her hand. Annabelle looked at him, and smiled. She smiled for the first time in ages. She smiled because she had a friend. One friend was enough, if they were anything like Peter.

Peter knew that everyone knew that he liked Annabelle. He knew he let it show. He knew that, that was why he was laughed at: She hates you, scum, and, You’ll never beat me you little brat. He knew his life was in jeopardy because he liked her. But nothing could stop him from liking her. At that moment, the two of them hand in hand, bleeding and swollen he could have never felt better. 

As Annabelle smiled it was as if a bird cawed in his chest. As she squeezed his hand it was as if a fire had been lit in his heart. Hurt as he was, he wished this moment would last forever.

“Friends?” she asked, smiling.

“Forever,” he replied looking into her eyes solemnly, “Forever and ever.”

The two could be called inseparable. Maybe after certain things you can’t not be friends. Suddenly their lives were filled with warmth. Suddenly Peter had someone to talk to, someone to live for, someone to be with, someone to love. Maybe it wasn’t love. Not just yet, but that feeling of his stomach cawing and a fire burning… It was close to love, he knew that. 

They now both had something new. A friend. Neither had felt something quite like that. They had both been shunned their whole lives and they finally could show who they were. To each other. Peter hoped they would keep their promise. Friends Forever. 

That day, one hundred and sixty days since the beginning of school and twenty-six days since their friendship began, they began a ritual. Both Peter and Annabelle lived at the city orphanage. Peter’s mother had died and his father gave him up, not being able to feed two mouths. Annabelle had told him that her mother and father had thought she was a disgrace to humankind and had sent her away. The orphanage master said that they would never have to see her filthy face again. The master had stayed true to his word. Their ritual began at the orphanage. They would walk hand in hand toward the meadow. There they would each pick up the smallest pebble they could find. They would each touch their stones together and throw them up into the air. It became a game after a while. They tried to catch their stones or find them on the ground. And then they would walk to school again. It was just a little thing but they both took great joy in it and they began to do it each day for the rest of their lives.