four ; corbyn besson

august eleventh, two thousand three

         Mom held my hand as I hid behind her leg. The atrium was filled with other kids, running around to greet their preschool friends as their parents watched from afar. I stood my ground behind my mother, refusing to move when she tried to push me to the group of children beside the doorway. Finally, she guided me to the front table, where she filled out a form and handed me a sheet of paper.
          A smile crept onto my face when I read the document. At the top, Mrs. Hayes was typed in big letters. Two rows down, the name Corbyn Besson was written, and right below it, Roseabelle Cooper.
I immediately broke away from my position behind Mom's legs, running to a woman in a navy blue dress.
"Where's Mrs. Hayes?" I asked her. She chuckled.
"It's Hayes," she pronounced. I frown. That didn't sound like the spelling. The lady pointed down the hall to a door painted with a tree. I immediately pushed my way through the crowd as I looked for my best friend.
He was nowhere to be found. I kept searching, but there was no sign of Corbyn. Mom was going to be mad that I ran away from her. I sighed and sat down outside of the classroom, waiting for my mother to come.
After a few minutes, I felt a body slide down the wall beside me. When I turned my head, my eyes were instantly met with familiar ones.
"Corbyn!" I exclaimed, hugging his neck. He giggled.
"Mommy was late," he explained, looking down. I gave him an understanding smile.
"It's 'kay," I said, standing. "Do you wanna meet the teacher?" He smiled and nodded, taking my hand as we walked into the classroom.
Mrs. Hayes was an ornery middle-aged woman, dressed in a neon pink blouse and a blue skirt. She put students in seats following the alphabetical list.
That angered some of the kids; they cried and kicked about not being able to sit next to their friends.
But it was okay to me. I sat right next to Corbyn.
He poked my shoulder, whisper-yelling my name. I turned to the boy, who had a joyful look on his face as he opened his mouth to speak.
"Promise you'll try not to leave me?"
"Corbs," I sighed, "I wouldn't be able to help it. She..." I paused, trying to think of the right word. When I realized that I didn't know it, I continued. "She gives us our seats." I was met with puppy-dog eyes.
          "But... Just try." He took my hand under the table. I smiled at him and nodded.
          "Okay," I said.
          "Promise?" Corbyn asked, holding out his pinky. I grinned and locked mine into it.
          "Promise."