“Is that your cat?” The police officer says, peering through his car window at Simon, who is standing on a stranger’s lawn holding a cat he found running through the bushes.

“Uh, no?” Simon says, scratching the cat’s small head.

“Put it down, son,” The police officer says, then rolls away in his squad car. Simon stands there, petrified. He slowly sets the cat down and brushes himself off. I start to laugh.

“That cop just told you to set that cat down! I told you picking up strange animals would get you into trouble someday, but I didn’t think you would get called out by a cop!” My eyes start tearing up and I start coughing, sending plumes of steam into the crisp, January air.

“But it was so cute. How could I not pick it up?” Simon responds. Simon has a problem: he can’t see anything cute and/or fuzzy without feeling the immediate need to pick it up. He has scared quite a few cottontail rabbits in his lifetime.

“Come on. Let’s keep walking. The sooner I get home, the sooner I can buy some handcuffs for you so I don’t have to live in constant fear of you picking up a poor, defenseless creature.”

Simon and I have been walking home with each other since we became close friends. He lives about half a block down the street from me, so it’s a convenient excuse to spend more time with him. It’s also a major part of the reason I haven’t gotten my driver’s license yet, even though I turn seventeen in three weeks. If I could just drive Simon around, I wouldn’t have nearly as much time with him.

Time with Simon is one of the most important parts of my life. Simon’s a devout Mormon, which means that he’ll be abandoning me for two years to go on his mission as soon as he finishes high school. He’ll be wearing a shiny black name tag with “Elder Wright” on the front, riding his bike and converting people, all without any sort of contact with his friends. I make it a point to soak up two extra years’ worth of Simon into my life, just to ensure that I won’t have missed out on too much.

When we arrive at my house, it’s always a struggle to pull myself away. I want to spend every moment talking to Simon about whatever crosses our minds.

“So what did you think about the chapter we read in English today?” I blurt, just to hear his voice. It’s always like this; he’s just about to walk inside and I ask him a question I know he can’t resist just to spend a little more time with him.

We talk for a little longer until Simon’s dad comes out to tell Simon that it’s time to go inside. As Simon walks in, I see his dad give me the stink-eye. I know Simon’s dad isn’t my biggest fan. Why would I be? I’m not Mormon, I’m not meek and mild, and I’ve worn a skirt that hangs above my knee. I’m not the sort of person Simon should be hanging around. His gaze lingers on me just beyond what is comfortable before closing the door.

I breathe the January chill, allowing the air to fill my lungs and chill my heart.