During late October, the trees thrived with reds, oranges and yellows. Through the morning mist, a small boy dangled upside down in the air. His ankle was held firm by a broad-shouldered hulk of a fourteen-year-old. Three other boys stood around the kid covered in dirt. Mud splattered against his arms as he flailed about, the backs of his hands smacking into the puddle below him. His dark skin smeared with dirt and muck, the jersey his dad gave him now battered and worn. A light bruise formed at the base of his cheek from the baseball mitt thrown at him only minutes ago.

"Apologize," the sun-kissed teen demanded, shaking the scared little boy roughly in the air.

"I-I didn't mean to, I swear," he cried, breaking down as tears escaped him, meeting with gravity as they made delicate splashes in the puddle below, removing some of the dirt from his forehead in streaks.

"I said apologize," the older boy yelled again, lowering his hand so the boy's head barely dipped in the muddy puddle.

"I-I'm sorry."

"For?" he persisted.

More tears dripped in a constant flow. The boy kept trying to blink them away, as they were blurring his vision.

"For hitting him with my basketball," he admitted, referring to boy #2.

His ankle slipped a little, and his forehead covered itself in mud. The tall boy strengthened his grip, cutting off circulation in the boy's foot.

"You hear that, Davey?" the boy in charge asked #2.

Two twins slightly older than the bullied one stood on either side. They looked younger than the bully, their faces exact identicals of each other.

"Yep," boy #2 replied to the left of him in his awkwardly high-pitched voice, nodding his head.

The boy began to writhe midair again, anxious to be let down.

"Jake, mom said dinner's ready," a dainty voiced girl yelled, running down the steps of a light blue bungalow.

The little boy watched in awe as the beautiful upside-down girl in a floral white dress ran across the grass toward the bunch. Her little mouth parted in a gasp as she saw the unfamiliar kid. The tallest boy's eyes widened when he saw shock and disapproval form on his little sister's face. She came to a halt in front of them.

"What are you doing?" she wailed, pushing her way into the circle and turning to smack her brother repeatedly in the stomach.

"We were just teaching this kid a lesson. Go back inside," he told her.

The hanging boy continued to thrash about. The girl placed her hands stubbornly on her hips.

"No. Put him down now or I'll... I'll scream," she exclaimed.

"You wouldn't," said the clones flanking either side of the little boy.

Her lungs expanded as she gulped in a large heap of air and released an ear-piercing scream. Birds flocked away in the grandiose oak tree above them, cawing in agony at the sound. A baby began to cry from a neighboring house. Jake, the eldest boy, slapped a hand over her mouth. She bit it. He yelped, pulling his hand away abruptly. His arm muscles rippled from holding the weight of the boy, his veins starting to feel sore.

"Fine, I'll let him down," he complied in defeat, knowing she would yell again if he didn't oblige.

He slowly lowered the boy, forgetting about the puddle that was beneath him. The little boy's head hit the bottom of the shallow puddle, followed by his neck and shoulders. His body uncomfortably slumped as he fell onto the patchy earth.

His ankle felt cold from the area that was no longer tightly squeezed by a strong, warm hand. Silently, he pulled his knees up to his chest and held them, tucking himself into a fetal position and closing his eyes. He allowed the world to disappear with the drooping of his eyelids, feeling tired and dreary from all the tears and emotional scarring. He listened to the scuffle and mumbling above him.

"Come on, let's go," Jake directed his brothers.

They scurried away, the youngest one, Trevor, running up to hold his hand as they walked to the house. The girl stayed behind. The little boy knew this, feeling her presence.

"Hey you," she poked at his side. He opened his eyes and sat up, staring at her. Immediately, her gaze caught on the curious fascination in his entrancing mocha eyes. "Are you okay?" she asked in an awe-like whisper, entranced by him.

He tried to gulp, but his throat was dry. Bringing the back of his hand to his face, he wiped at the mud that was beginning to crinkle.

"It hurts," he said, touching the bruise on his cheek with his finger.

"Hmm. Should I get my mom? She can clean you up," she offered.

"No, I'm okay. my house is right there."

He pointed to the quaint yellow bungalow to the right of hers.

Her eyes lit up when he mentioned this.

"You live next door?" she gasped. "That means we have to be best friends."

The little boy frowned at the girl. She plopped down in front of him, staring excitedly, waiting for an answer. She looked around his age.

"We have to?" he asked.

"Of course. Mom says it's good to befriend neighbors. Then, you can give me sugar when I need it."

"Okay," he said, hesitation in his voice.

She grinned widely, bouncing up and down in her sitting position. She let out a small squeal of happiness, her black hair settling back into place on her shoulders.

"So, what's your name?" she questioned.

He glanced down, twiddling his thumbs.

"Tristan."

"Trish," she repeated.

He shook his head.

"No, Tristan."

She sighed, as if insinuating that there was something he didn't understand.

"No," she elongated the word dramatically. "I'm giving you a nickname. You can give me one too. It's what friends do."

"Oh," he looked down again.

"Haven't you had a friend before?" she asked in disbelief.

He didn't want to admit the truth.

"Of-of course I have. W-what's your name?"

She straightened her shoulders, sitting up tall and proud.

"Ross."

He wracked his brain, trying to think of a good nickname. He stared at her cherry lips and blushing cheeks, then at the flowers on her dress and in her hair.

"Rose."

She tilted her head at him in confusion.

"I'll call you Rose," he clarified.

She smiled at him.

"Deal."

She lifted her hand to her mouth and spit on it, then held it toward Tristan. His face formed a look of disgust. She gazed back expectantly. Hesitating once more, he slowly lifted his hand and did the same. She shoved her hand into his and shook roughly.

"Come on, best friend, I'll walk you home," she exclaimed. "And if my brothers try to mess with you again, I'll beat them up," she grinned, standing up and pulling him with her.

He nodded, watching his horrible day turn around.

As they strolled away from her backyard hand-in-hand, she continued talking.

"When we go back to school, you can meet my other best friend, Aiden."