Henry meets Finch first in the second grade. The two of them are assigned to seats at the same table. Finch is nervous because it's his first time at an American school and his English is sparse at best. Henry is nervous because all his friends are in another class. During playtime, Finch grabs two handfuls of legos and plops himself down in his own corner of the room. Henry follows his example, and contemplates another corner of the room.

But there's Finch sitting with his legs crossed, slouching so low over his scattered lego pieces that his face disappears from view. All Henry can see is the curve of the other boy's eyelashes, and for some reason, that's comforting. When Henry sits down, there's no reaction from Finch. They assemble their lego pieces in silence.

The next day, Finch stumbles upon Henry hiding under the jungle gym in the schoolyard during recess. Finch's eyes go so wide that Henry can see that his irises are not black after all, but a very dark brown.

"My name Finch," Finch says so brightly that Henry doesn't stop to think about the strange intonation of the words.

"My name's Henry."

Finch grins and clambers into the shadowed alcove next to Henry. It's like the quiet boy from yesterday never existed.

"Henry," Finch says, testing the syllables one by one. "Henry!"

The exclamation makes Henry jump. "Ah?"

"You like..." Finch trails off, eyebrows furrowed. He angles his left hand to make it look like he's holding something between his index finger and thumb, and with his other arm, he reaches out and grabs an invisible object before setting the object down on the thing in his left hand. As he presses the object down, he makes a clicking noise with his tongue.

When Finch's eyes swivel to Henry, the expectant look on the other's face makes Henry blurt out, "Legos?"

Finch nods furiously, locks of his straight, black hair flipping up and down. "You like legos? I like make..."

As Finch squares his shoulders and keeps his arms at a right angle, Henry immediately guesses, "Robots?" The word makes Finch's face light up, his lower eyelids curving up in an infectious smile.

Out of their entire class, Henry is the only one who can guess all of Finch's words, and even as Finch's English improves, he still speaks to Henry with the same improvised sign language, still gives him the same wide smile meant only for him.

Henry meets Turner next in the middle of that year. He is assigned the fifth seat at Henry and Finch's table--right next to Finch. Despite having recently moved, the new kid isn't nervous at all. In fact, he quickly wins over the class with his fun facts about other countries and his widespread knowledge of new games to play. In the morning, he pulls out the chair for the teacher and he always gets the answer right when he's called on.

Even Finch likes him, and soon Turner's sitting with the two of them during lunch, building lego structures with them during playtime, and playing tag with them during recess. When they eat, Turner drags Finch to sit on the other side of the lunch table, across from Henry. There are no more secret conversations for him. When they build legos, Turner makes scooters, then combines them with Finch's robots. Henry breaks apart his own and puts the pieces back in the bin. When they play tag, Henry never tags Turner because once the brown-haired boy is it, he only ever chases Finch around. Henry is left to sit down and watch the two of them until Finch is it.

He despises Turner. He wishes the other boy could have chosen someone else, anyone else in the class but Finch.

Then one day, Finch is absent.

There's an empty seat between Henry and Turner that Henry doesn't want to acknowledge, but class continues as usual. The teacher calls them to the carpet for reading and writing time. As Henry sits down, Turner's there, almost leaning against him as he sits.

Frowning, Henry elbows Turner. Without facing Henry, Turner punches him on the arm, hard. Then, he makes a point of scooching closer to Henry and leaning on him.

Rubbing the bruise on his arm, Henry bites his lip and wonders just why the class even likes this guy.

At lunchtime, Turner crowds Henry, pushing him until he's sitting with half of himself off the lunchtable. He steals Henry's juice and spears his spork through the few things Henry enjoys eating. Hot tears prickle at the corners of Henry's eyes, but he wills them not to spill over, his hands balled in the fabric of his pants.

At recess, Henry can't shake Turner off no matter how fast he runs or how hard he tries to blend in with the other kids. Finally, Henry spends the rest of recess sulking under the jungle gym, his back to the outside world.

"What's wrong with him?" a girl passing by asks.

Turner answers, "The teacher yelled at him."

His shoulder is shaken every so often, but Henry doesn't respond.

The next day, Finch comes back wearing a face mask like doctors do on TV. For a full five seconds, the mask amuses Turner, who plucks at the strings around Finch's ears while mimicking guitar riffs. Finch laughs in reply, then goes into a coughing fit. He brings up a hand to his throat and shakes his head.

"You can't talk?" Henry asks, yesterday's complaints flying away.

Finch tilts his head towards Henry who can't help but smile.

"I'll speak for you, Finch," Henry says, patting his friend's shoulder. He doesn't need to see the other boy's mouth to read his thoughts; his lower eyelids are curved upwards in that familiar, mirthful way.

The two of them are inseparable like they haven't been since Turner joined them. It's Turner's turn to sit by himself on the other side of the table.

Henry's happy to leave him there in silence, but Turner looks up at the two of them and asks, "What do you guys want to play?"

Henry frowns. Finch perks up in his seat and forgetting to put down his PB&J sandwich, he slaps his hands over his face and uncovers it. Turner squints in confusion.

"Hide-and-seek," Henry mutters.

"That's boring," Turner says.

Henry's mouth twists into a bitter scowl. "Then don't play with us."

"But I want to?"

"Go away!"

The lunchroom goes quiet; it's the first time Henry's raised his voice in school. A lunch monitor glares at their table and raises a finger to her lips. Face reddening, Henry keeps his gaze on his lunch tray.

Finch doesn't ask anything, but they end up sitting next to each other instead of playing hide-and-seek. Each sentence from Turner forces Henry to speak to him, but it's not so bad interpreting for Finch like this. He has his friend back again--a fact which doesn't change when Finch's voice comes back.

They continue with this uneasy equilibrium until the end of the year. When the report cards come in, the first card Henry wants to look at isn't Finch's, but Turner's. He eyes the other boy, and when Turner looks up, Henry waves his report card towards him. With a smug smile, Turner is all too happy to exchange them.

Skipping past the endless columns of 4's, Henry turns to the last page and sees that Turner will be going to class 301. He lets out a breath of relief for the first time in half a year.

"Nice grades," Turner murmurs, taking back his report card. Henry's report card is thrown on his desk in front of him.

"What class are you in?" Finch asks, leaning to read the class number from over Henry's shoulder.

"303," Henry says.

"Me too!" Finch exclaims, raising an open palm. Grinning, Henry throws him a high-five. Behind Finch, Turner has an expression of dawning realization, but it doesn't matter. Henry won't have to deal with him ever again.

Third grade is as great as Henry expected. The long days of summer become irrelevant as Finch takes to talking to Henry as naturally as ever. The other boy's English has become almost fluent, but speaking to Henry, he falls back on his old patterns, dropping articles, verbs, and sometimes nouns from his sentences. Some of Henry's old friends are in his class, and they eagerly greet him as they line up for their teacher. Turner's existence has shrunken to the size of a fruit fly. Occasionally, the nuisance buzzes around during recess, but otherwise Henry's free to forget about him.

In fact, Henry does so well in the third grade, his grades pick up. At the end of the year--to Henry's horror--he's got an almost unbroken column of 4's, and an invitation to class 401. Finch holds his report card up: Class 402. Their smiles fall at the same time.

"Ah!" Finch exclaims, grabbing Henry by the shoulders. "I'll see you during lunch! And recess! And gym!"

Henry forces a smile, but he knows it won't matter. Fourth grade is going to be awful.

...

Turner is in his class.

Fourth grade is awful.

The material is harder than it ever was before, and Turner, who is assigned the seat next to Henry, never stops whispering his thoughts to him. Somehow, the teacher never notices Turner's chatter, but she certainly notices when Henry tells Turner to shut up.

Henry's never been a problem student before, and it feels like a grievous sin whenever the teacher catches him talking and says, "This again, Henry? Do I need to call your parents?"

All he can say is, "No, Miss Langly. I'm sorry." He means it, but the teacher never looks convinced. Meanwhile, Turner innocently jots down lines of nonsense in his notebook.

It's a godsend when they get their report cards at the end of the year, and beneath the teacher's passive-aggressive comments on his classroom performance, Henry sees that he has been placed in class 502. He hugs his report card to his chest, ignoring the strange looks from the teacher and his classmates.

With Finch in his class, fifth grade is a repeat of third grade. After fourth grade, Henry crushes Turner's existence to the size of a microbe. He speaks a total of twenty-four words to him that year.

Then, sixth grade comes and they find themselves in the same class once more: Class 601. Finch has always been a good student, but the language barrier has always been in his way. Looking at him now, Henry can't seem to recall the boy of six years--the one he met who sat so quietly in the corner of the classroom. Kids from other classes call to Finch in the hallway, and Finch hoots back while waving wildly. When he speaks, there's only the slightest hint of an accent, even when he's alone with Henry. His smile is the same, which is a comfort to Henry.

On the first day of class, the teacher tells them that the sixth graders are no longer allowed on the jungle gym; they've outgrown it. When Henry hears those words, he looks around and wonders if he should be outgrowing anything else.

Turner looks back at him. The other boy's face has grown leaner, and his old childish smugness has settled into a less intolerable self-confidence. The teachers still love him, still call him the brightest student they've ever had. Their classmates still respect him, but Henry's not sure if Turner has too many friends.

To his surprise, Turner looks away first.

At lunchtime, Finch and Turner are sitting next to each other. Henry grits his teeth and sits down on the other side of Turner.

"Aren't I usually in the middle?" Finch asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I want to sit here," Henry manages to say without sounding too reluctant.

Finch raises his arms and sniffs under his armpits. "Am I smelly today?"

"Gross," Turner mutters, chewing on a green bean.

Henry leans back; Finch does the same. When Henry holds out his hand, Finch lays his arm in Henry's palm. Henry lowers his head and sniffs Finch's wrist. There's no particular smell to it.

"No, you don't stink," Henry says, passing Finch his arm back. "I'm just sitting here because I want to sit next to Turner."

"Liar," Turner says around a mouthful of dry chicken. "And you've stuck with Finch since the second grade. I already know you hate me."

"You hate me too," Henry blurts out.

Turner continues as if Henry hasn't spoken. "It's only because you want Finch to yourself. That's why you hate me."

"No, Finch has other friends and I don't hate them." Even as he says it, he remembers that little bit of resentment that flares up every time Finch waves to someone else in the hallway.

"Guys, I-"

"So it's only Finch, Henry? You think no one else is good enough? Only Finch is?"

"Turner, I'm not-"

"Finch isn't my only friend!"

"And what's with this, Henry? You only want to be nice to me now?"

The question catches Henry off-guard. He goes quiet, not knowing what to say. Memories of the last few years of torment are still fresh in his mind, but the anger is offset by a strange sense of guilt and shame. He doesn't want Finch to know this side of him, which argues so ferociously with Turner and holds grudges for years.

"Finch is my best friend," Henry says in a low voice, as if he's divulging a scandalous secret. "And you're his friend. This is our last year here, and you've been picking on me for a long time. I just want things to be different."

"I like Finch." Henry doesn't like the way Turner says that, but he lets him continue, "And you're his friend, so I think it wouldn't be weird for us to be friends too."

They shake hands on an uneasy friendship.

Sixth grade is going to be...okay.