That evening after school, I left early by myself for the first time, not bothering to wait for Harvey at the basketball court.
Riding my bike behind a group of classmates, I realized there was a whole world of sights I hadn’t noticed before when my life revolved around him.
As I neared home, I heard a familiar voice calling out, a touch of panic in its tone. It was the younger version of Harvey. “Why didn’t you wait for me after school? I stood by the gate for 20 minutes.
His voice held a hint of frustration. I turned to face him. “I saw you chatting with your friends, so I figured I’d head home. I’m not obligated to stick around just because you’re busy.” My tone was indifferent, something he wasn’t used to.
He paused for a second before explaining, “That’s not what I meant. We’ve always left together. If we suddenly stop, people will think something’s wrong.”
“Who would think that? Everyone’s too busy with their own lives, especially in our final year,” I replied, knowing exactly how to push his buttons after living through 20 years of him.
“I’m home now. I’ll see you later.” Without waiting for a response, I turned and left.
Harvey called after me, but I didn’t bother turning back.