Michael turns and puts his arms round me. It takes me by surprise so I don’t have time to react and my arms are once again trapped at my sides. “I had a really good day,” he says, holding me. “So did I.” He lets go. “Do you think we’re friends now?” I hesitate. I can’t think why. I hesitate for no reason. I will regret what I say next almost as soon as I say it. “It’s like,” I say, “you really … you really want to be friends with me.” He looks slightly embarrassed, almost apologetic. “It’s like you’re doing it for yourself,” I say. “All friendships are selfish. Maybe if we were all selfless, we would leave each other alone.” “Sometimes that’s better.” This hurts him. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m pushing his temporary happiness out. “Is it?” I don’t know why I can’t just say that we’re friends and be done with it. “What is this? This whole thing. I met you, like, two weeks ago. None of this makes any sense. I don’t understand why you want to be friends with me.”
