"Aaron!"
Aaron's hunched over his bed, a notebook spread over his lap, a pencil gripped between his teeth, hard enough to leave little indents in the wood.
"Aaron!"
He looks up, startled.
James is at the window, a wide grin on his face.
"Oh." Aaron drops the pencil from his teeth, wrinkling his nose as it rolls to the bed, leaving a saliva trail in its wake.
"Are you going to let me in?" James teases, pressing his nose up against the glass. It's cold out, but Aaron knows that doesn't really make a difference to his friend. He gets up anyway, and eases the window open, shooting a nervous glance at the door as he does so.
The window squeaks, and Shaw and Tiffany are right outside.
"I don't know why you can't just appear in my room," he grumbles as James hauls himself inside, a tangle of flailing limbs.
James grunts as he crumples to the floor. "I told you it doesn't work like that. I don't appear anywhere. I was outside, just like I've been all day, and I needed to get inside. Just like you."
Aaron huffs. It's an argument they've had many times. If James is his imaginary friend, Aaron doesn't understand why he can't make him appear and disappear at will. Shouldn't he show up just when and where Aaron wants him to?
James gives him the pout that means he knows Aaron is thinking of him as imaginary and he doesn't like it, and Aaron sighs, offering him a hand up.
"What're you doing, anyway?" James asks.
"Homework," Aaron grunts miserably.
"Oh. Is it interesting?" James stands on his tiptoes to peer over Aaron's shoulder to the open notebook.
"No. It's homework."
"Homework can be interesting. Remember that report you wrote in history last year? On ancient Egypt? That was great!"
Aaron rolls his eyes at his friend's enthusiasms.
"There were mummies!" James continues excitedly.
Well, Aaron supposes the mummies were pretty cool. Not to mention all the stuff about organs in jars.
"This isn't like that," he complains, dropping down on the bed and making his notebook bounce. "This is math."
"Hmm." James shoves his way onto the bed, too, pushing Aaron over and up against the wall. Aaron can't bring himself to mind.
"So what is this?"
"Long division. " Aaron shudders.
"Oh." James picks up the notebook and frowns at it, studying the columns of numbers carefully. "You know, if I went to school, I bet I'd be able to help you with this."
Aaron frowns. "James … " he says warningly.
"What?" James looks at him innocently. "I could learn all the same things you do, and then we could do your homework together!"
Aaron thinks James must be imaginary, just because no real kid would sound so excited about math homework. "You already help with my homework," he reminds him.
James loves to read, and apparently spends a lot of the time he isn't with Aaron at the library in town.
Or, that's what he says. Aaron still isn't positive James should be able to exist when he isn't around. But he can't deny that James is full of information and facts about a wide range of subjects.
"I can't help you with this stuff, though," James sighs. "There aren't any books at the library on math. But if I came to class—"
"No." Aaron says shortly.
"But—"
"James, you know why you can't!" Aaron hisses, always mindful of the Whites right outside. "You'd want me to talk to you, and then someone would see, and then everyone would know I'm crazy."
James drops his gaze, worrying at his lip. "I don't think you're crazy."
"Of course you don't," Aaron scoffs.
"I wish you wouldn't say stuff like that," James says in a small voice.
But Aaron is annoyed. "Why not?" he growls, yanking his notebook out of James's hands.
James gives a little sniff. "It's mean. You're just saying it to hurt my feelings."
Aaron looks at him, his small hunched shoulders and downcast eyes and wants to grumble and snarl and deny it. But of course James is right.
"I'm sorry," he says stiffly. "It's just, people are only just starting to forget that I ever talked about you. I don't want them to remember again. I don't want Shaw and Tiffany to start talking about sending me away again."
It's unfair, but he knows just how to get James to stop pushing. "I don't want that either!" James says quickly, looking up.
"And that's why you can't come with me to school," Aaron says, feeling vicious in his words. But he knows he needs to say them. He knows he can't have James hanging around, distracting him and pouting at him when Aaron won't talk to him.
"Okay," James says miserably, dropping his eyes again.
Aaron hates making James sad, but he doesn't know what else to do.
"Maybe … maybe I could borrow your book tonight?" James suggests. "Maybe if I read it, I'll understand and be able to help you, even without coming to class?
And that's the worst of it, for Aaron. James just wants to be near him, to help him when he needs it.
He pictures it, the two of them lying side by side on his bed, working through the problems and grumbling over how hard they are, laughing at their own mistakes.
He wants that, too.
But not at the price he would have to pay.
"Sure, you can borrow my book."
James brightens, just slightly. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, I'm done with math, anyway. You want to help me with my history homework?"
Aaron smiles as the sadness passes from James's eyes. "Yes! What are you working on? Is it interesting?"
Aaron laughs. "You'll probably think so."
*~*~*
"Hey, Geller!" The voice rings out across the schoolyard.
Aaron is staring out over the fence surrounding the school grounds, wondering what James is doing. Is he reading Aaron's math book, left behind with James this morning? Is he at the library, looking for a book he hadn't yet absorbed? Or has he ceased to exist entirely, the moment Aaron walked out the door?
"Geller!"
Aaron turns, startled. Ryan stands behind him, a soccer ball tucked under one arm, a wide grin on his freckled face.
"We need another player. You any good?"
Aaron narrows his eyes. "Better than you," he snarls.
Ryan just laughs. "Then come on." He turns on his heels, jogging away, back over to the field where most of the boys in their class are gathered.
It takes Aaron a moment to realize that he's actually being invited to join the game, instead of just teased. Huh.
"Come on!" Ryan huffs, throwing the words over his shoulder. Aaron hesitates for just a moment, then lopes after him.
He likes kicking balls around with James, but he's never gotten to play a game with more than two people. It might be fun.
Aaron's pretty good, it turns out. His legs are longer than almost everyone’s in his class, and he runs pretty fast.
"Did you see that?" Alex crows, after Aaron scores their makeshift team the winning goal, sinking the ball into the net just before the bell rings.
Aaron resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he saw it, he was the one kicking the ball.
"You're alright, man," Ryan says, coming up to flank him as they all walk back to the school building.
"Thanks?" Aaron doesn't really know what to say.
"Alex is coming over to my house after school," Ryan announces.
Aaron frowns. "Great?"
Ryan laughs. He does that a lot, Aaron has noticed, as if Aaron is constantly saying funny things. Aaron thinks he might be a bit weird. "Well?" he continues. "Do you want to come too?"
"Oh."
Alex is grinning at him in an open, friendly way—with none of the mockery or challenge Aaron had come to expect over the years—and Ryan looks slightly hopeful.
They actually want to hang out with him, Aaron realizes.
"Yeah, okay."
"Awesome. Ryan's mom makes these cookies," Alex says with a dreamy smile.
"Yeah, and Alex always eats all of them," Ryan taunts.
"I do not!"
Aaron is bemused by their playful bickering, which seems to somehow include him, as well. After a moment, he offers them a tentative smile, shoving lightly at Ryan's shoulder as the boy bumps into him, reaching across to smack at Alex. Ryan grins, bumping him harder.
Aaron grins back.
*~*~*
"Hello, Aaron," Mrs. Sullivan says, clearly surprised to see him, when the three boys pile noisily into the house. Aaron shifts uncomfortably, wondering what Tiffany has told her about him in all their long chats. Probably nothing good. "I'm so glad the boys invited you over," she continues.
"Really?" It slips out before Aaron can stop himself.
But, just like her son, Mrs. Sullivan only laughs. "Of course! It's great to see you joining in."
"Oh. Um, thanks."
She gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder and then directs the three of them to the plate of cookies on the kitchen table—which Alex had spotted the moment they walked in the door.
"These are so good," Alex mumbles, a cookie jammed into his mouth, spraying crumbs everywhere.
"Gross!" Ryan squeals, laughing, and Aaron can't help but join in. He's seen boys playing around like this with each other from a distance, but he's never been a part of it. It feels nice.
"I have a basketball hoop outside," Ryan tells him as they each help themselves to their second cookie.
Alex is right; they are good. Aaron wishes Tiffany knew how to bake like this. Or, at all.
"Shouldn't we do our homework first?"
Ryan and Alex laugh uproariously. "Seriously?" Alex splutters. "I didn't take you for a nerd."
"I'm not!" Aaron denies. And he isn't, really. He normally hates doing his homework, but James likes it, and it actually is fun to do it together, bent over the book as James exclaims how interesting everything is.
"Does your mom make you do it right when you get home?" Ryan asks sympathetically.
"She's not my mom," Aaron says reflexively, and winces as the two boys share a look. Why did he have to remind them how weird he was?
But all Ryan says is, "Sorry."
After a moment, Alex snickers. "She's really pretty." He arches his eyebrows. "I bet you're glad she's not related to you."
"Ew, gross!" Ryan laughs, shoving at him. But the tension has broken, and Aaron finds he can laugh, too, although the idea of appreciating the way Tiffany looks is foreign to him.
"I wish she'd let me move in!" Alex continues gleefully, squirming away from Ryan's grappling hands.
"You could come over," Aaron offers before he loses his nerve. "I mean, tomorrow or something. She's home all day."
Alex and Ryan both look up from their tussle. "Yeah, that sounds cool," Alex agrees.
Aaron grins.
Their schoolbags—and homework—lay forgotten as they tumble out of the house, heading for the basketball hoop affixed to the side of Ryan's house.
Aaron finds he's pretty good at this game, too, his height giving him a decided advantage. Alex and Ryan keep up only because they play rougher than he does, never hesitating to charge him to try and take the ball, not minding when they go down in a pile of limbs, with everyone calling "foul!"
Aaron's used to being gentler when he plays, but it's fun to throw his elbows and not worry about who he hits, to push and shove playfully and know it'll only make the other boys laugh harder.
He's surprised when the sky starts to darken.
"Aw, man," Alex says. "My mom'll be here any minute to pick me up."
Aaron can't believe it's gotten that late. He knows Shaw and Tiffany don't really care what he does, but he's expected to be home by nightfall. "I better get going, too."
He darts inside the door to grab his bookbag, but stops as he comes face to face with Mrs. Sullivan. She smiles at him gently. "I really am glad to see you today, Aaron," she says warmly. "You should come over more often."
"I'm going to go to Aaron's tomorrow," Ryan interjects, sticking his head in past the screen door. "Is that okay?"
"Of course, that's wonderful," she agrees eagerly. "Do you want some cookies for the road?"
Aaron nods shyly, not used to having this much attention fixed on him, with no one yelling at him, or laughing at him, or telling he he's not wanted. He accepts the little sandwich bag filled with cookies from Mrs. Sullivan, far more than he could eat on the walk home, with a small smile.
"See you tomorrow, Aaron!" Ryan calls as Aaron sets off down the road, glancing over his shoulder to wave at his two new friends.
*~*~*
Aaron's in such a good mood that he doesn't even mind coming home to the Whites' house.
That is, until he sees James sitting on his front stoop, legs drawn up and his head buried against his knees.
Aaron glances around, making sure no one is nearby. "James?" he whispers, since he doesn't know exactly where the Whites are. Probably right inside the house.
James raises his head, revealing red eyes and wet cheeks. "Aaron!" He stands quickly. "Where were you? I was worried."
"Oh." Aaron frowns, guilt creeping up on him. He knew the Whites didn't care where he went after school, but he forgot that James did.
"Ryan invited me over to his house."
James brow furrows. "Ryan Sullivan? The one you hate?"
Aaron bites his lip. "I guess I don't really hate him?" he offers. "I mean, he's alright."
James's face falls. "Oh. So you're, like, friends now?"
"I guess." Aaron toes at the dirt in front of him.
James's eyes are very wide, the way they get when he's holding back tears. But Aaron doesn't know why he's so upset, or why guilt is gnawing at his own stomach.
"And you didn't even think to tell me you weren't going to come meet me today?" James asks in a rush, face suddenly defiant.
Aaron frowns. "I didn't know I had to. I haven't ever before."
"Because you've always come to meet me before!" James snaps. "I sat around waiting for you forever!"
"Did you?" Aaron wonders. He can't picture it. Can't picture James doing anything when he isn't there.
James's brow contracts. "Why? Because I'm imaginary?"
"Well, yeah," Aaron shrugs.
Anger clouds over the hurt on James's face. "I guess it's good you got yourself some real friends, then."
"Maybe it is," Aaron counters, annoyed by James's tone.
"Then I guess you're going to spend all your time with Ryan Sullivan now."
"Why are you mad at me? It was one afternoon. Besides, kids are supposed to outgrow their imaginary friends."
It's something he heard a thousand times as he was growing up. From Tiffany, from other parents, from the teachers at school. That he'd eventually "outgrow" James and stop talking about someone they all knew didn't exist.
And Aaron had stopped talking about him, but James was still here.
At his words, James's face crumples in on itself, his anger seeming to rush out of him in a wave of utter betrayal and sadness.
"You're outgrowing me?" he asks in a small voice, and Aaron feels terrible. James's shoulders shake as he seems to curl into himself, refusing to meet Aaron's eyes. "Well, that's just great, isn't it? You're making new friends. I'm so happy for you. Too bad I can't do the same. Since no one else can see me."
"James—" Aaron begins, but James is shaking his head.
"I guess I should just go. Since I don't exist anymore." He hurries down the steps, thrusting something towards Aaron. "Here's your math book. I stayed up all night reading it so I could help you, but I guess that doesn't matter now."
"James," Aaron repeats, but James is already breaking into a run, dashing away from the house and into the woods.
Aaron frowns, looking down at the textbook in his hands.
*~*~*
Aaron lays awake long after he's turned out the light, thinking about James. Aaron knows him better than anyone else in the world, but he doesn't really know him, either. He doesn't know his last name, or who his parents are, or where he comes from, or what he does when he's not with Aaron.
And the worst part is he's not really sure there's anything to know. He doesn't think James has a last name or parents. James tells him about the time he spends without Aaron, but how can Aaron be sure it's real? No one else has ever seen James, after all, not at the library, or in the cow pasture, or down by the stream, or any of the other places that James says he spends his time.
For the past year or so, Aaron has been resigned to the fact that James doesn't exist, that he must be crazy. He's come to accept it, even if it still makes him uncomfortable, thinking about his own insanity.
He analyzes his own behavior, and wonders what it is that makes him crazy. Was he born that way? Were his parents crazy too? Is that why they couldn't keep him? He worries about how he looks to other people, how he sounds, how he acts, even though he's been forced to accept it.
But then he thinks about James's scrunched up face, tears wetting his freckled cheeks, as he cries over the fact that Aaron doesn't think he's real.
It clearly hurt James, to know Aaron thought that way.
But sometimes Aaron wonders which is actually worse: if James is imaginary and Aaron is crazy, or if he isn't.
If James is a real boy, who other people just can't see.
James was right; Aaron could go out and make a new friend every day. But James can't. He can't have friends, he can't have family, he can't have anyone except Aaron, who can mysteriously see him.
That's a terrible life, when Aaron thinks about it.
Aaron rolls over in bed, punching his pillow ruthlessly. He tries to remember what a good time he had with Alex and Ryan—two boys who he knows are real. Who other people can see with him, and finally know that Aaron does have friends.
It's a nice thought, but as Aaron drifts off to sleep, it's James's face in his head, big eyes bruised with hurt.
*~*~*
When Aaron arrives at school the next day, Alex and Ryan are there to greet him, smiling and punching his shoulder. He grins back, seeing the approval in Tiffany's eyes.
They pass notes during class, snickering behind their hands. Aaron feels a little bad for not paying attention, when he knows there are some kids (okay, James) who would give anything to be in his place in the classroom.
But as Alex flicks a piece of paper into Ryan's shaggy hair, Aaron stops caring. He's having fun.
At recess, his new friends immediately bound over to him. "Wanna play soccer again?" Alex asks.
"I want to be on Aaron's team," Ryan announces, and Aaron grins so hard it hurts.
He is pretty good at it, if he does say so himself.
It's just as they’re heading over to the field that Aaron thinks he catches sight of a familiar face, standing near the school door.
He stops, heart thudding in his chest as he realizes that it is a familiar face.
James is standing right by the school building, watching Aaron.
"I, um, forgot something inside," Aaron mumbles distractedly.
"What?" Alex frowns. "Aaron, man—"
"I'll be right back," Aaron calls, already jogging back to the building.
"What are you doing?" he hisses, walking right by his friend and rounding the corner, trusting James to follow.
He does, trotting after Aaron like he's done for the last five years.
"What are you doing here?" Aaron explodes.
James frowns. "Don't yell at me."
"I can yell if I want. I told you not to come to school with me."
"You only get to tell me what to do if I really am imaginary," James counters. "And if I am, then I'm not doing anything. You're the one imagining me here."
Aaron frowns. "No, that's not—"
"In fact, you must want me here, if you're imagining it."
Aaron doesn't know what to say to that. "Why would you come here when I specifically told you not to?" he asks instead.
"I wanted to see you."
"Oh."
James dropped his gaze. "I don't like fighting with you."
Aaron didn't, either. "You couldn't have waited until after school?"
James frowns. "You don't have plans after school?"
Oh.
"Um, actually … "
"Really, Aaron?" James asks, hurt scrawled across his face. "Do you even want to be my friend, anymore?"
"That's not fair, James," Aaron complains, looking away. "Maybe I just want some real friends for a change."
James sniffles. "I'm sorry I'm not real enough for you," he says dejectedly, and shuffles off, rounding the corner of the building.
Aaron thinks about chasing him and apologizing, but he can hear the raucous sounds of the playground just behind him. They're going to start wondering where he's gone. The last thing he wants is for anyone to catch him chasing after his crying imaginary friend.
He turns, intending to go back and join the soccer game, and comes face to face with Nathan Clark.
Nathan stands awkwardly between him and the playground, his lanky figure held stiff as he eyes Aaron speculatively.
Aaron wants to cry.
He's been so careful for the last few years, he's had so many fights with James about coming to school to avoid just this, and now it's happened anyway.
Someone's heard him talking to James.
"Um," Nathan says, shifting nervously. He's taller than anyone else in their class, but scrawny and clumsy, his hands and feet too big for his body. He wears thick eyeglasses and never joins in any of the playground games. "Were you? Um, were you talking to someone?"
"Does it look like someone is here?" Aaron shoots back, narrowing his eyes to hold back his tears. Maybe if he scares Nathan enough, the kid will keep quiet.
"No. That was kind of my point?"
Nathan looks over his shoulder, glancing back at the noisy playground, and then steps closer. "Look, I know no one talks to me, but that doesn't mean I don't hear stuff. I know about your imaginary friend."
"I don't have an imaginary friend," Aaron says instantly. "That's baby stuff."
Nathan crosses his arms. "Don't lie. I just heard you talking to someone called 'James.' That's who you got in trouble for talking about when we were little."
Aaron balls his fists up. He wants to hit Nathan, to hurt him, to make him stop talking. He wants to do something before the tears start to flow. They're burning at his eyes, stinging with the reminder of how careless he's been.
When Aaron doesn't say anything, Nathan takes another hesitant step forward. "Have you been to a doctor?" he asks, concern written all over his face. "I read some stuff about mental illness, and hearing voices could be … serious," he finishes lamely, taking a stumbling step back at Aaron's fierce face.
"I'm not crazy," Aaron snarls, lunging forward. "And who I talk to is none of your business."
"So you admit you were talking to someone," Nathan says in a moment of bravado.
Aaron blanches. "I—"
"Look. I won't tell anyone, okay? I know how the guys can be." He looks over his shoulder again, back to the raucous play on the soccer field that he is never included in. "But I could give you a book about schizophrenia, and things. In case you're worried."
Aaron is worried and he has been for some time. "Yeah, okay."
"Okay," Nathan says, giving him a hesitant smile. "And maybe you could be nicer to me in school? Now that you're friends with the other guys?"
"Are you—blackmailing me?"
Nathan blushes. "I guess I am."
Aaron almost has to laugh. "I didn't know you had it in you, Clark."
*~*~*
The rest of the school day is hard. Aaron keeps glancing over his shoulder, worried someone else had heard, that someone less understanding than Nathan was going to realize he still is friends with an invisible boy.
He feels wrung-out by the time he gets home, having begged off seeing Alex and Ryan, and the sight of James sitting forlornly on his front stoop is enough to set him off.
"What are you doing here?"
James looks up, eyes sad. "Waiting for you. What else am I going to do with my time?"
Aaron deflates, just a little. He sinks down on the step next to his friend.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you," he says after a moment. "But you can't come to school with me. Someone heard me this afternoon."
James's eyes widen. "The teacher?"
"No, Nathan Clark. He promised not to tell. But he thinks I'm crazy. He gave me this book so I can see for myself."
James takes the book and studies the cover. Understanding Mental Illness. Aaron doesn't even like looking at the words.
"I'll read it," James volunteers. "And if it sounds like you, I'll let you know."
"That won't do much good if you are imaginary," Aaron points out. "You'd just tell me what I want to hear."
"A friend might do that, too," James says quietly.
"James … "
"I can't help how I am, Aaron. I wish other people could see me. I wish I was a normal kid like Ryan Sullivan, with a house and a mother and other friends."
Aaron winces. Hearing James say he wants other friend stings. Aaron is used to having him all to himself.
Despite that, Aaron can't help wanting other friends for himself. Friends he can play with at school. Friends he can talk to in public. Friends his foster parents can see.
"I don't want to outgrow you," he says after a long moment. "But I don't want to have to stop hanging out with Ryan and Alex."
"But you're all I have," James whispers, head hung low. "It's not fair that you get to have as many friends as you want."
Aaron bites his lip. He wants to promise James the world, just to see his friend smile. But he likes having other friends. "Maybe it's not fair, but it's also not my fault."
James sighs.
"Do you want to go inside? You can help me with my homework."
"Can't Ryan and Alex do that?" James asks a little meanly.
Aaron gives him a hand up, anyway. "They're not as good as you," he promises. And, deep down inside, he means it.