Play The Field.

During your school career, although you technically graduate from every grade, parents seem to only make a big deal of three of these occurrences; those of when you graduate from kindergarten, grade eight and grade twelve.

To tell you the truth, I'm still not sure why everyone gets all excited when their children graduate from kindergarten. In my mind, I don't think it's that special; all it pretty well signals is that you will now have to start doing actual work, no matter how easy it is, for the majority of the day, and you won't be able to have nap time anymore.

Funnily enough, the latter was one of the only reasons I was upset about advancing to grade one. Frank and I spent every naptime together, usually lying on our blue mats underneath one of the tables near the cubbies so we could talk without Ms. Kresin hearing us. That only worked for so long; in early February, she had forced Frank and I to stay on separate sides of the classroom while we were supposed to be napping. This arrangement didn't last long; by the beginning of March, Frank and I were permanently back together. I had finally gotten sick of not being around my best friend and stuck a thumbtack on Ms. Kresin's chair.

I'd gotten suspended again, but she got the message; the day I returned, Frank had placed his mat beside mine in our old spot, and she hadn't done a thing to stop him.

The day of our 'graduation' dawned clear, humid and hot, with promises of more to come. My Superman pajamas were soaked with sweat despite the fact I'd slept with my windows open and two fans going. Our school was no better; the air conditioning was broken and it was ridiculously hot inside. Frank was wearing a sweater like usual, this time a black Transformers one, and he looked like he was almost dying.

"Frankie, how come you're not taking your sweater off?" I asked, tugging at the hem of my plain red shirt. "Aren't you hot?"

"N-no," he stuttered, despite the fact sweat was dripping down his face in practical waterfalls. He glanced up at Ms. Kresin, who was rambling away about how we were such a good class, before absently tugging the sleeve of his shirt back down to completely cover his hands. I found the action a bit strange, but never really thought about it at the time.

"Frank, Mikey!" I looked up to notice Ms. Kresin giving us her now usual look, the one that oddly resembled a glare. "Will you two please be quiet while I'm speaking?" I simply rolled my eyes at her and rested my head on Frank's shoulder, taking a quick glance back at my mother, who was sitting near the back of the class. She didn't seem to care that I'd been called out in front of everyone, so I relaxed. Neither of Frank's parents were in attendance; he'd said that they'd both had work, but after my months of knowing at least Mrs. Iero by association, I had a feeling she wouldn't have came anyways.

Although I was still only five years old, I'd already come to the conclusion that Ms. Iero wasn't a good mother. The few times I'd seen her since Frank had moved in, her eyes had been bloodshot, her face had been flushed red and she had smelt like some of the homeless people that lived in the downtown area of Newark. The make-up she wore to probably help conceal all those features only emphasized them, and not even strong perfume could hide that other smell.

Mr. Iero however, whose name was also Frank, seemed like a very nice man. On his days off work he would bring both Frank and I home, sometimes even giving us a bag of gummy bears to share. I had never seen him be cross or even raise his voice to his son; he was always amazingly nice and kind. He'd even bought Frank a small red guitar, just like he promised.

However, it was quite obvious that Frank's parents fought a lot; on nights that Gerard and I played out on the front lawn, carefully supervised by our parents, you could hear their screaming going on behind closed doors. If Frank happened to be at our house when the arguments started, he would turn bright red and look down at the ground, obviously embarrassed.

It's never right for someone to have to endure stuff like that on a daily basis, but it's especially not right when that someone is a young child. It seemed to make Frank more scared of conflict in general; on the one occasion I had gotten frustrated with him, he had cried for at least half an hour.

At the moment however, Frank wasn't crying, nor was he sad or scared. Despite the heat, he actually looked... proud, I guess. Even as Ms. Kresin handed out our little diplomas stating that we'd officially graduated, he still had that same look on his face.

It was a look I thought I could get used to.

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We were allowed to go home at lunch time if we had permission from our parents, and Frank ended up coming home with us. His mother's car was in the driveway but I believe my mom deliberately ignored this point.

"Frank, do you want to stay over until Mikey has to go to soccer?" she asked as she was unbuckling me from my booster seat.

"D-do you think I could stay the night, Mrs. Way?" he asked quietly, barely audible. "I don't think I really wanna be around my mom tonight." He nervously glanced over as his house before smiling up at my mom. She smiled back and ruffled his hair slightly.

"Of course you can darling. You can wear some of Mikey's pajamas too, okay?" She ruffled his hair again and continued on into the house, us following soon afterwards.

"You don't mind that I'm staying, do you Mikey?" Frank asked as we dropped our shoes and backpacks off in the entranceway.

"Of course not Frank. I'm happy that you can stay the night. Is your mom going to be mad at you?"

"I don't think so. She doesn't talk to me too much. She probably won't care." Just listening to him say these things in such a casual way nearly broke my heart, although I was too young to really understand what that meant.

"Well, you can come over whenever you want to," I said, hugging him tightly. He seemed a bit surprised but hugged me back.

"You're my best friend," he murmured into my neck, for what would be one of only a few thousands time during our long friendship. And just like all those other times, I returned the acknowledgment, meaning every word of it.

After all, Frank was my best friend, and I loved him with all my heart. Even at such a young age, I knew quite well that I loved him like a part of my family.

Then again, maybe I loved him more than family, more than a friend. Maybe even at such a young age, I knew Frank was going to be a bigger part of my life than a mere friend would be.

Maybe. But maybe not. Maybe I was too young. Five isn't that old after all. However, neither is six, but things had already started to seem... different by then. It's amazing what a summer can change.