Author's Note: Ok, this idea came to me one day while I was staring at a row of fruit statuettes in my dining room. This is sort of angsty and happy at the same time. This story revolves around the three main characters, Cherry, Cyrus, and Llewellyn, that is, it will if I decide to continue it. This chapter is told in Cherry's POV.

Enjoy! and Read and REVIEW!

I stare down at the grass beneath my feet. Bending over, I run my fingers over the blades, soaking them in the early morning dew. Has it really only been a year? Time seems to go by so slowly when you’re wallowing in grief and self-pity. The grass crunches loudly behind me, announcing the arrival of the one person who I didn’t ever want to see but could never avoid, and I get up from my kneeling position. I gaze at the grass once again. It’s way too early in the morning for this stress.

“Hello Llewellyn.”

“Hello Cherry. How long has it been?” she says softly, in the way only she ever could. It always pissed the hell out of me, but then so did everything about her.

For the first time that day, I spare a glance at the tombstone before me. I bypass the name, the memories that it erupts too painful to relive at the moment, well at any moment really. Not like it would hurt anymore today than it does any other day, but anyways, I bypass the name and go straight for the dates. ‘1982-2007,’ it reads.

“Is it still 2008?” I ask, running a hand through my jet black locks. I really need to wash my hair, but then again, grief doesn’t take personal hygiene into account when it decides to strike.

“Yeah.”

“Then I’d say a year,” I answer dryly.

“Cherry…”

“That’s not my name anymore. That name died a year ago,” I say cooly, cutting off whatever she was going to say whilst at the same time trying to convince myself what I was saying was true. Sadly, I knew that was a battle I could not possibly hope to win.

He always called m- I was always named Cherry. For as long as I can remember, that’s who I’ve been. I am Cherry. Not to be confused, that’s my not my real name. Of course not, what person in their right mind would name their son Cherry? No, Cherry’s not my real name, but since the day I met Cyrus, it’s been my identity.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The Summer of 1989

I was bored. Since my mother moved us to this town, there’d been nothing to do. In the city, our apartment was right next to a park. Everyday, I’d go down and wait at the slides. Sooner or later, someone would come by and we’d play together.

Our new house wasn’t like that. Our new town wasn’t like that. We lived at the end of a long row of identical houses. Typical suburbia. Apparently, these houses were vacant of kids, because I’d never seen any. Mom said that they were probably all on holiday. I didn’t believe her. It couldn’t be possible that every house on this block could be on vacation. Of course the notion that most of these families could probably afford to do that never crossed me at the time. Money was the last thing on my mind.

I walked out the house after flipping through the channels on our TV and finding that the most interesting thing on was Sesame Street. What self-respecting five years old watched that anymore?

Walking up to the large gates that surrounded the house, I grabbed them and pressed my face to them, staring out into the street. As I expected, there was no one out. Sighing heavily, I turned to go back inside and watch Sesame Street when I suddenly heard a yell.

“Oi, kid. Hey you!”

I turned back around to see a blonde boy running towards me. He was tall, well much taller than me anyway, but skinnier than me. He reminded me of one of those bugs, the ones that could be mistaken for sticks because of their thin forms that blended in so well with their surroundings.

“Me?” I asked, hesitantly, hoping that he was talking to me. I was dying of boredom.

“Yeah, you,” he replied, slightly out of breath from running.

“I thought this block was devoid of children,” I said.

“Devoid? You know some big words, kid,” he said, coming up to the gate and imitating my earlier actions by grabbing them and holding his face to the bars. His face was thin enough to fit through the gap. It made me want to laugh, but I stopped before I started. That’d be rude.

“My names not kid,” I stated defiantly.

“So, what is it then?”

“Um, its, um Jesse.”

“Jesse, huh?” He stepped back from the gate and studied me for a moment. That’s when I noticed that his eyes were two different colors. And it wasn’t the typical blue and green. They were brown and green. Brown and green. That was so amazing. I stared back at him in awe.

“Are you going to gape at me all day or are you going to let me in?” he asked, smiling.

“Oh, um, yeah.”

I opened the gate and he stepped inside. He looked about my yard for a moment, before commenting, “Did you just move in?”

“Yeah. I used to live in an apartment in the city. My mom changed jobs, so we had to move,” I replied, somewhat bitterly. I just didn’t understand why anyone would leave such a great place for a job. What was the point?

“That’s great,” he exclaimed smiling.

I looked at him, my mouth hanging open like one of those fish you see at the aquarium. Did he actually just say that my moving was great?

“You’re insane,” I commented.

“Well, then so are you,” he shot back, skinny arms folding against his chest.

“How does that make any sense?”

“It just does.”

I conceded to that. He made a good point.

“Want some fruit?” I asked, suddenly. My stomach was beginning to twist in that way it did when I was hungry.

“Sure,” he answered, slowly, looking at me like I was a few cards short of a deck.

I ran into the house quickly and grabbed the fruit bowl off the kitchen table. I paused as I reached the door. The bowl was filled with cherries, and only cherries. I hated cherries. It wasn’t that they taste bad or anything, they just look evil.

I continued outside anyway. It wouldn’t be polite to keep my guest waiting. Then I paused again. I realized I didn’t know his name.

I walked outside to see him waiting for me on my porch. He grinned when he saw the bowl.

“I love cherries!” he shouted, between mouthfuls of the red berry.

“I can see that,” I replied, grabbing one of the cherries without looking. I could eat them if I didn’t see them.

“Watch this,” he said, and I turned to look at him.

“What are you doing-” I start to ask, but stop as he pops a cherry into his mouth. I turn away at the sight, but turn back to watch. He moves his mouth around a bit, and then closes his eyes. After a moment, he opens them again. He reaches a hand into his mouth and pulls out-

“Ohmigod, that’s so cool,” I exclaim. The cherry is tied into a knot right down the middle. “How do you do that?”

“I dunno. I guess it’s just a gift,” he replies nonchalantly. He looks down at me, and then grins.

“Want another cherry?” he asks, offering me the bowl. I turn my head away from him again. I despise cherries.

“What’s wrong? You afraid they’re going to bite or something?” he questions, in a serious yet careless manner.

“No. I just don’t like them. They’re evil incarnate,” I grit out, my cheeks burning. He actually thought I was scared of a fruit? There’s only one thing I’m afraid of and that’s Goofy. Not like he’d ever find that out, but still.

“What grade are you going into?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Second,” I reply.

“So am I. At least I think,” he says, causing me to turn.

“You think? Of course, you’re going to school. Everyone goes to school.”

“I haven’t been to school in a year and a half,” he states. I look at him, puzzled, but he doesn’t elaborate.

“How old are you?”

“Um, well, I’m, um five and a half. I’ll be six January 7.”

“Knew you were smart,” he says smiling, as if that was the greatest accomplishment in the world. I smile back at him. He’d called me smart. Then I frowned. He never said we were friends. And I still didn’t know his name.

“My name’s Cyrus,” he says, sticking out his hand.

Flustered, I grab it and shake, muttering, “I’m Jesse.”

“I already knew that,” he states, staring at me with his green and brown eyes, “But I think I’ll have to change that.”

“Huh?”

“Your new name is Cherry.’

“Cherry, but I, but I hate cherries. You can’t, you can’t call me that.”

“Yeah I can.”

Once again, he makes a good argument.

“Fine, Cyrus.”

“Hey, aren’t you going to give me a nickname?” he asks.

I, look at him, puzzled once again. “No, why would I?”

“Because, I gave you one, so you should give me one and everything.”

I smile to myself. He doesn’t like his name. “No, no, I’ll think I’ll stick to Cyrus, Cyrus.”

“You’re evil,” he mutters, pouting.

We sit quietly for a few moments and my mind starts to wander. Are we friends? I mean, he did give me a nickname, but did that make us friends? Why am I so worried about this? It’s not like he needs to be my friend, so why am I so worried about him rejecting me?

“Cyrus,” I start slowly. He turns his head to look at me, locking me with his amazing eyes. “Will you be my friend?”

His mouth transforms into an ‘o’ of surprise, before curving into a smile.

“No…” he says, and I flinch. He doesn’t want to be my friend. Why does this hurt so much?

I fight back the tears and turn my head away from him, but he spins me back toward him.

“No, I won’t be your friend…I’ll be your best friend.”

I smile at him, my eyes shining with the premature tears.

“Thanks Cyrus,” I murmur.

“You’re welcome Cherry.”