In the morning, when I woke up at 10am (customary for most Saturdays), I asked my parents if they knew where Kevin was.

I don’t know if they ever found him. I guess not, since after we moved away we never heard anything from his parents again. His mother, clutching his sleeping bag where it still read “Kevin” in big Sharpie letters, wept to my mother and said she had been worried about him lately. Since school started he’d been moody, unlike his usual cheerful demeanor. She blamed herself for not seeing the signs. She thought he’d run away but she was sure he’d be back, 11 is such a difficult age for boys, their changing bodies and their confused minds. He had just turned 11 and he was going to come back.

I know you don’t believe me but I never meant for it to happen. Kevin was my friend. I liked him.