The next day Elliott had come to school wearing khakis and a patch-work butterfly jacket. It was three sizes too big for him, but he rolled it and bunched it and tied it up until it had fit him. His jacket had gotten him quite a few strange looks, but he ignored them, he just trotted over to his spot beside me and sat down.

    He had waited for Mrs. Stilton to start class to pull out a thick encyclopedia of butterflies to show me. I had watched from the corner of my eye as he flipped through page after page of colorful butterflies. Until he stopped on a page and slipped to book onto my lap.

    “This is a Queen butterfly.” He whispered. “Doesn’t it look like the same color as your hair?” He had been right about the color; my hair was the same color as the Queen butterfly in his book. I had been so entranced with the butterfly; I hadn’t even noticed when Mrs. Stilton stopped talking and she was staring right at us.

    “Eleanor. Elliott. Please, eyes up front.” Other kids around us giggled into their hands and embarrassment flooded to my face. I snapped the book shut and shoved it back over to Elliott. I watched as he shoved the book back into his bag.

   But the picture of the Queen butterfly and its sunrise-colored wings were still stuck in my head. It was stuck in my head even when the bell released us to lunch.

And I tried to forget about the picture, but Elliott just wouldn’t let me forget. He skipped beside me, tapped me on the shoulder and ran around to my other side as I turned.

    “Where are you going Queenie?” he had asked.
That was the first time he ever uttered his nickname for me.
I had been so flustered all I could say was, “My name’s Eleanor.”

   “I know, but I like Queenie better.” I remember his jacket ends had come undone and they trailed behind him like broken wings.

   “I don’t think that’s how that works.” I grumbled, but since than he never stopped calling me Queenie.

I had gone to my mom after school and asked why he had called me a name that wasn’t my own. I remember being so emotional about it and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember why.
     My mom brushed the tears from my face and said, “He gave you the nickname because he wants to be your friend and friends give each other nicknames. But it you don’t like what he calls you, tell him to stop.”

    I remember nodding along with everything that she said, feeling better with every word.