When I failed my first driving test at sixteen, he came to my house carrying two ice creams.
“Why two?”
“One because you tried.”
“And the second?”
“Because you drove badly.”
I threw a pillow at him.
Another time, I wanted to quit art after a girl mocked one of my paintings.
The next morning, I found my terrible childhood dinosaur drawing taped inside Ethan’s locker.
“Ethan!”
“What?”
“Why is this here?”
He examined it.
“Still looks like a potato with arms.”
“Then remove it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
