Michael Newcomb stretched his legs in front of him on the back patio of their Manhattan grammar school during recess.

"I think my legs are longer," he remarked.

Alex Bennetson shook his head. "They haven't grown in the past two minutes."

"They could have," Michael said defensively.

Alex shook his head and opened his wide, almost clownish mouth to say something when a soccer ball came flying from nowhere and whacked him right in his wheat blonde head. The impact caused his upper teeth to come down on his tongue, he tasted blood and his tongue was throbbing.

Despite his eight-year-old boy resolve to not cry, the intense pain mixed with the blood running down his chin broke all of that. Alex started sobbing.

"I'll get the nurse!" Michael jumped to his legs that he claimed had grown and ran into the building.

Alex was full on sobbing and he had the capability to make his voice reach the nuclear setting in a matter of seconds. His cry was warbled a little by the blood in his mouth but it didn't stop him.

"I'm really, really sorry!" a voice called.

Dean Meyers, a boy in his grade, came trotting over. He picked up the offending soccer ball and widened his big brown eyes.

"I really, really am," he said earnestly. "I was practicing kicking so I can be like Christian Vieri, but I kinda messed up. I'm really, really sorry."

Alex tried wiping his tears but when he tried to assure Dean that he wasn't angry, he forgot he had bitten his tongue and started crying all over again. Dean knelt down and put the soccer ball next to him. Under normal circumstances, Alex would've laughed about how the ball dwarfed Dean's frame but these were certainly not normal circumstances.

"Let me help!" he exclaimed.

Dean pinched the hem of his Inter Milan shirt and started wiping the blood that dripped down Alex's chin and was working on staining his MST3K t-shirt, which was enough cause for him to start crying all over again.

"Don't cry," he pleaded. "I'm really, really sorry."

At that moment, Michael returned with the school nurse who took one look at Alex, hauled him up, and started shoving him towards the nurse's office. Dean picked up his soccer ball and followed, repeating his apologies. Michael was behind them, examining the blood that had gotten on his Oliver and Company t-shirt.

"Boys," the nurse paused. "I don't need an entourage."

"I did it to him," Dean said apologetically. "I'll come with you."

The nurse smiled down at him but, as the boys would later learn, it was impossible to look at Dean and not smile at him.

"I'll go back to class and tell Mr. Snyder," Michael volunteered and skittered off before the nurse could say anything.

The trio made their way down the hall.

"So, you did this to him?" the nurse asked kindly.

"I didn't mean to. I was trying to be Christian Vieri but I messed up. I'm really, really sorry," he paused. "I'm in his class."

She laughed and ruffled his brown curls. "What's your name?"

"Dean," he said. "But I'm still really sorry. I tried to clean him up."

He held out his own, blood-drenched t-shirt. The nurse smiled again.

"Well, Dean. If you want to wait in my office for Alex's parents with him, feel free to."

"Okay!" he said excitedly.

--

Later, when Alex's tongue was still numb, his parents had yet to show up. Dean remained there loyally, swinging his legs with the bruised knees sticking out of the jean shorts and holding his soccer ball on his lap. Alex leaned over and scribbled on the notebook the nurse gave him.

Thanks.

Dean frowned at the paper and held his hand out. This, unfortunately, allowed the soccer ball to escape from his grasp and, once liberated, roll off of his lap and bounce over to the filing cabinet.

But I hert you.

Alex took the pen back.

Ya but you stayed.

Dean smiled at him and Alex tried his best to smile back. Neither knew that later, the two would be involved in much more than just a visit to the nurse's office. But, for now, that was all that mattered in the world.