Nothing happened.

It’s not as though we spent all day together — we both have our own classes to attend — but we even went out to eat together after school (I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t choke), and went to see that scary movie he’d been raving about all week (Couldn’t have him getting too scared and having a heart attack), but after all of that, nothing happened.

Part of me was anxious that, since we were spending so much time together, I was going to be the reason he dies, but another part of me knew that I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I wasn’t there at all. Not that any of it mattered — nothing happened.

I drove him home, he asked me why I was being so clingy today, and I told him to shut up. I even called him before bed.

“What do you want, Char?”

“What’s with the attitude? I can’t just call to check up on my best friend?”

“You’re acting like you’re never gonna see me again. I have other friends I want to see eventually, you know.”

“Hey, I brought you coffee today! I’m just milking my five dollars for all it’s worth.”

“What am I, your hoe?”

“That’s right, bitch.”

Jack laughed. “You’re so annoying, Greenie.”

“Night,” I told him, smiling to myself.

“Sweet dreams, my love.” He sniggered at his own shitty humor before hanging up.

I kept smiling at my phone after he hung up, just... happy.

Jack was a good guy. I’d never pictured us becoming friends at first — not because he’s a dick (he is), or because he rarely answers his phone or replies to texts or initiates any hang-outs (he doesn’t), but just because we’re very different people.

Jack’s always had a lot of friends. He’s outgoing and cool, plays a lot of sports, and dresses himself well. He’s one of those guys you might talk to frequently, but you never really feel like their friend because they treat you the same as they do the rest of the school.

I, on the other hand, am not necessarily introverted, but I like to put all my effort and attention into a small group of friends, rather than several large groups.

Jack also has that kind of face that isn’t immediately attractive, but when he smiles at you, or just generally flexes, suddenly he becomes super hot. I’m not saying I’m in love with the guy on more than an I-would-die-for-you level, but if, say, I got really drunk one night and therefore had an excuse to, I’d tap that. Assuming he were willing and it was entirely consensual, of course.

Being the hot piece of shit he is, he gets a lot of female attention as well, which isn’t the opposite of me, but, well, it’s the oppose of me. In fact, I get a lot of male attention, and even then, it’s not like they’re asking me out or anything — all I’m getting is bizarre shoulder-punches and ass-slaps from Jack’s football teammates. I’m not even on the team, but since Jack once said that we were best friends out loud (I still remember it like it was yesterday), they accepted me as a ghost-member of the team. All because Jack never talks about his feelings, so when he does, people do crazy things.

I think that’s kind of the reason we actually became friends. Jack is used to orbiting around several large groups, but I’m more of a one-on-one kind of guy, so whenever we talked, I would give him all of my undivided attention. And the reason I did that, is because whenever he talked to me and actually seemed like (or acted like) he genuinely cared about my opinions, I felt very... special.

Just like he probably felt special that I was willing to hang out with him alone — it didn’t have to be a giant group party, we could just chill at my place, and you’d have to suffer through my mom’s bad puns during dinner (my dad’s making spaghetti tonight. Do you like meatballs?), but then we could spend the rest of the evening watching shitty scary movies, since I know you like them.

We hung out once, but my mom liked him (she thought he was cool, which I called her lame for admitting, but secretly I agreed), and if my mom likes someone, they’re worth bringing over again. When I invited him to hang out a couple weeks later, totally willing to go to an amusement park or something, he asked me if we could go to my house again for dinner though, and that sold me. Jack was a good guy.

And then we hung out again, and again, and now we’re best friends. We’ve been that way for what, two years? I know plenty of kids who’ve had the same friends for seven, eight, nine years, but comparing friendships seems silly to me. It’s all about how you click, you know? And Jack and I clicked. He didn’t need to open up to me and be emotional with me, because I could just tell these things.

I know he didn’t really love the spaghetti that much, but his own parents never have dinner together since they work all the time, so he loved the dynamic. And I know he’s sensitive about his height since he’s not as tall as the other guys on his team — not even as tall as me — and so I don’t bring it up. He didn’t have to tell me these things, I could just... tell.

So what if he’s not nearly as good at reading my mind? It works out, because I’m pretty honest with my feelings, and if I have a problem, I’ll outright tell him. And, he appreciates the candidness. He doesn’t find it too mean, or annoying. I think he finds it refreshing, that I can just be blunt with him so he doesn’t have to puzzle it out on his own. That’s why we click.

Jack’s just a good guy. I’m glad we’re friends.

But when I woke up the next morning to hear that he’d died in his sleep — sudden arrhythmic death syndrome, I’d heard his mother sob through the phone to me — I couldn’t help but feel like not enough people knew. That we were friends. That he was a good guy.

That he had actually gotten really into Pokémon Go for a while there, demanding I join him on 3am drives to catch some creature or other, despite both of us knowing he had practice in three hours.

That he taught himself how to play sudoku the spring he’d broken his leg and couldn’t play football, and once I went over his house to surprise him and caught him sitting by his window, glasses on (he’s nearsighted), playing goddamn sudoku.

That he failed his driving test four (4) times, and I never let him live it down.

That once, one of his other friends sent him a Harry Potter fanfiction (don’t ask me why) and, having never read the series or seen the movies himself, that dumbass thought it was the actual story.

Jack was awesome. He was cool, yes, but he was also dorky, and a bit slow at times, but also uncharacteristically sharp at others, and — and —

And now I have to use past-tense with his name, and I have to tell myself not to cry, because I knew this was coming. And there was nothing I could have done to stop it — nothing anyone could have done to stop it.

Jack was gone