My Brother’s Best Friend

My Brother’s Best Friend By J.M. Snyder My mom swears I can’t date until I turn sixteen, but I already have my first boyfriend picked out. Nate Bartlett is three years older than me and so cute. He’s my brother Bryan’s best friend—they’ve been buddies since kindergarten, and in all my memories growing up, Nate’s right there alongside Bryan. The two are inseparable. “Here comes trouble,” my dad says whenever the boys race into the house. If Nate isn’t spending the night over our place, then Bryan’s over his. Seriously, they’re always together. I almost didn’t notice Nate at first. I mean, he’s practically family, you know? Like a cousin or something, always underfoot, eating at our place or watching TV in the den, or hanging out in our backyard with Bryan, up in the treehouse my dad built or on the skate ramp the boys set up when they got into boarding. Then I claimed the treehouse as mine, and I’d play dolls up there while listening to the constant hum of wheels on the ramp below. Once or twice I’d peek over the edge of the floor and look down at them, but really, what’s so fun about skateboarding? Most of the time, they fall off the things and laugh about it. I don’t get it. But once, when I was nine years old, I was coming down out of the treehouse and one of the wooden slats my dad had hammered into the trunk like rungs on a ladder broke. It was near the bottom, so I didn’t fall far, but I landed on my butt with a hard thump! and knocked the wind out of me. For a moment I sat there, heart racing, unsure what had happened or what I should do next. Then I tried to breathe in and couldn’t. I couldn’t. Fear filled me and I looked around, terrified. My brother and Nate were nearby, but Bryan hadn’t noticed me—he was too busy popping wheels on his ramp. Nate glanced over and must’ve seen something in my face because he dropped his skateboard and hurried to my side. “Hey, Amber, you okay?” I tried to hitch in a breath and couldn’t. Would I ever breathe again? Would I die like this, out here, gasping for air like a fish out of water? “Nate.” He came closer, calling over his shoulder to my brother. “Bry, I think something’s wrong…” Then his hand touched my arm and, for whatever reason, I felt my lungs expand. I gulped in sweet, cool autumn air. Even though I didn’t want to cry in front of Bryan—he’d laugh, I knew he would, he was twelve and way too big for crying, so he thought I should be, too—I couldn’t help it. The next breath I took came out in a loud wail. Nate’s hand tightened on my arm as he helped me stand, and in that instant, I loved him. From a distance, I heard the screen door open and my mother call out, “What are you boys doing to her? Why’s she crying?” Bryan told her I fell—thanks for helping me out, I thought bitterly, but it didn’t matter. Nate was there, his arm around my shoulders, and when I looked up at him through my tears, I swore to myself he’d be the first guy I dated when my mother said I could.