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One of Josephine Miller’s favorite assignments for any new class of middle schoolers is the best-friend-essay. Some of her rowdy kids moan and complain that it is childish and they are grown now, at the ripe old age of ten, so this sort of assignment is beneath them. Josephine, of course, knows better, because she has been grading this same assignment for years - always at the midway point of her first year with the kids, just far enough in that the kids are getting attached to each other - and it has never disappointed. They can snicker and complain in class all they want, Josephine is the one who gets to witness the sincere praise and admiration that gets put onto the page when you ask a tween to tell you about their favorite person. There hasn’t been a year without an essay that has brought her to tears yet, which, sure, might be because Josephine’s heart was built a bit too close to the waterworks, but she prefers to believe that anyone would cry at some of these texts. This year in particular opens up with the nuclear bomb of emotion that is an essay fittingly titled “My Best Friend” - the example title Josephine had put on the blackboard and encouraged the students to adapt to their taste. The script is neat, as is usual with this particular student of hers, and his name is tightly squeezed into the top corner of the page.
Shane Hollander is one of her quiet kids. He mostly keeps to himself, brings books to school to read in-between classes, and pays diligent attention to anything he deems important. The things he deems important usually do not pass the count of two, though: class material and Ilya Rozanov. Josephine is not entirely sure how this happened. The moment the year started, Ilya established himself as some sort of charismatic troublemaker - loud, boisterous, disruptive and annoyingly lovable. The blonde boy is friends with half the kids in her class and takes it upon himself to make sure everyone is entertained regularly, whether in class or outside of it. So, when suddenly, about three weeks into semester, Shane started gravitating towards him at any opportunity, Josephine had been very surprised. They seemed an unlikely match, frankly. But somehow it works surprisingly well. Shane forgoes the sanctity of the relative silence that the front of the classroom offers to sit next to Ilya telling one of his - definitely made up - stories about Russia. In exchange, Ilya will sit outside with Shane when it all gets too much, holding his hand and regulating his usually loud voice to a soothing whisper.
That all is to say, Josephine knew that Shane Hollander would write about Ilya Rozanov. She did not expect to hiccup through tears over the very first essay in her stack, however.
My best friend is called Ilya Rozanov. He is in my class and one month younger than me. Ilya is very funny and very nice, and he tells the best stories. When we walk home from school together, he holds my hand and swings it between us, which I like a lot. When we have a sleepover at my place, he always pets my hair before we go to bed, because he knows it makes me relax.
Ilya loves video games and brings them with him a lot when we hang out. I am worse at video games than him, but he never gets mad when he has to explain the controls to me many times. He makes fun of me, but he always makes sure that I know he does not mean it. When it is just the two of us, I forget that I am weird. He lets me be myself and he never complains. It makes me very happy.
Ilya is not just my best friend, he is also my first friend ever. I do not think he knows that, but I am not telling him. He is very proud of how much my mom likes him, and I do not want him to know that at least half of that is because of how relieved she is.
Ilya is the best. I am very happy and very lucky that I get to be his friend. I think Ilya’s best friend is Cliff. Cliff makes him laugh a lot louder than I do, and he is always up to pull pranks and be rowdy with Ilya. I want to be Ilya’s best friend, but I do not know how to be funny enough. I also am a bit scared of making trouble. I do not think I can be Ilya’s best friend. But that is okay. I always thought only mom and dad can like me, because I am too weird to have friends. But Ilya likes me, and I get to be his friend. I hope I can be his friend forever.
Josephine knows that she is being silly, and she should be reading the essays in order of her stack, but she really cannot help herself when she shuffles through the 30-odd pieces of paper until her eyes land on the one sporting the messy scrawl of Ilya Rozanov. She reads it immediately.
—
“I have finished grading all of your essays, and I want to congratulate everyone on a job well done”, Josephine addresses her class, the stack of essays laid out in front of her as she takes in the tired gazes of her students, typical for the first period on a Monday. “I thought it would be nice to have someone read out theirs in front of everyone today, so I picked out one that I liked a lot”, she continues, hoping that the praise will make the boy in question more amenable to this public display. Several kids let out a groan, clearly hoping she is not talking about them. “Ilya? Would you be willing to do the honors?”
The boy in question perks up and sports a wide grin as he shouts an affirmative and struts up to the front of the class, hands in his pockets in that typical pretend-casual way that young boys do to look cool and confident. Josephine has to hold back a chuckle as she hands him his essay. And then, because she really cannot help herself, she chances a look at Shane, whose table is conveniently located at the front of class. The freckled boy is looking resolutely down at his pencil case, his fingers fidgeting with his sleeve, and his poor lip being chewed on aggressively.
With a booming voice, Ilya starts reading out his essay. “The title is ‘My Shanya’”, he starts, the grin not having left his face, and the speed at which Shane’s head snaps up is almost a little concerning.
“My best friend, Shanya, is perfect. He is very smart and very funny. My Shanya studies very hard and knows many things and likes to tell me about them. He is also very nice and has many freckles on his face. They are very pretty.”
Josephine is probably being obvious with how she keeps looking at Shane to gauge his reaction, but she just can’t help herself. The young boy’s eyes are wide open, his lips slightly parted, and with each word from Ilya’s mouth, a heavy blush keeps spreading across his cheeks.
“I will be Shanya’s best friend forever because I am the happiest when I hang out with him. One day, when we are older, I will marry him, because then he will have to talk to lawyers to get rid of me, and lawyers are strangers and my Shanya hates strangers, so he will not be able to do it. I think this is perfect plan. The end.”
Ilya takes a deep bow that is rewarded with laughter from several of his friends, before handing his essay back to Josephine and walking to his seat with a large grin. When she looks over to Shane, she is greeted with the sight of his brown eyes glassy and teary, his mouth pulled into a small, private smile, as his gaze follows his best friend through the room. She silently tells herself that, as a 37 year old woman, she should not be this invested in middle school friendships.
Josephine puts down the essay on her desk, tracing the misshapen drawing of two stick figures holding hands, one of them sporting a curly mop of hair, the other’s face covered in little dots.
Ilya Rozanov did not technically fulfil the minimum word requirement of the assignment. She gives him an A anyways.
—
Twelve years later, Josephine gets a letter in the mail, the sender names ones she hasn’t thought of in quite a few years. Inside, there is a card.
Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov
are happy to invite you to their wedding
on the 6th of June
Josephine thinks that, at the age of 59, she deserves to be invested in these kinds of things. What else do you even become a teacher for?