Started my daily ficlets to make the hiatus pass, then decided to keep going with a 2nd cycle, and then a 3rd, 4th, etc through 66th cycle. Now cycle 67!

"One Day I Met A Girl"
6yo Mike & Tina
Chang Squared series
(all series now listed under the communities tab in my profile)

His mother had picked out his clothes for him, insisted that he put them on even though, already at age six, he could tell he would look completely ridiculous and get laughed at for the rest of his life, and she fixed his hair, what was left of it after the haircut she'd gotten him the weekend before. She handed him his bag, then stood back to take in the full effect, like an artist who'd just finished their latest work. She was satisfied, so after a few pictures – more than she'd planned, but he had needed some convincing to smile for her – they had left for his first day of school.

He didn't want to look like it, but part of him was excited to go, to find out what it would be like. Of course now that he'd been made up by his mother, he was rethinking his enthusiasm. His picture-coaxed smile had turned back into the sulking pout he would wear all the way to school and until his mother hugged and kissed him and left him there in the school yard. Everyone else seemed pretty pleased with how they were dressed, so they were discovering school more pleasantly than he…

"No, I don't want to go!" he heard a squeak and turned. He couldn't see where it was coming from, there were too many people around, but they could all hear it, too. "Mommy, don't leave me here!" a girl was screeching.

"Stop that now, you look fine," a woman was saying, the girl's mother obviously.

"No I don't, I look like the circus!" the squeak returned, and Mike chuckled, at the comparison, not the girl he couldn't see. He tried to picture what the circus might look like as clothes, then looked at himself. Maybe it wasn't that bad. It could be worse. He didn't look like the circus.

With his mood slightly lifted, the next stretch of his day had been lifted, too. Before long, he was called to join a group of other children his age. He'd just gotten in line when he caught a glimpse of red and turned around. There was a girl behind him, Asian like him, her long black hair pulled in not two but three tails, two in the sides, one in the back, and each one was topped by some kind of pom pom, he wasn't sure what to call it. She wore a red skirt, white tights and red shoes, and a red and white striped shirt. She also wore a glare to challenge his mother's when she was upset.

"Circus girl?" he asked, wondering. This might not have been the best choice of words, and the girl had shoved him. "Sorry!" he stumbled and regained his balance, getting back in line and facing forward.

She was in his class, sat by his side. As soon as she'd gotten her seat, she'd folded her arms over her desk and planted her chin on them. She was going to scowl her way through this day. He sort of felt bad for her, especially with how she'd made him smile earlier. He wanted to return the favor, but she probably didn't care too much for him right now.

"I like your hair," he whispered to her. She turned to him. "I mean it," he smiled.

"No you don't," she frowned.

"Sure I do. It's… it's…" He had to think of a word or she was going to shove him again the first chance she got. "Different!" he finally nodded.

"Different?" she repeated, unsure.

"It's a good thing, isn't it? I think it is," he shrugged. She considered this, sat up a bit. "It's better than mine," he turned his eyes up, frowning. Then she laughed.

"But you're a boy."

"So?" he tapped his head apprehensively.

"It's not so bad," she told him, and she looked a lot better with a smile on.

"I'm Michael… Mike. What's your name?"

"Tina. Just Tina." He smiled at that. "I'm sorry I pushed you."

"It's okay," he shrugged. A boy who'd passed between their rows had bumped into her pencil case, sending the thing tumbling to the ground. He never stopped to say sorry or help pick it up, but Mike was quickly on his feet, and he got it, putting it back on her desk.

"Thanks," she told him, while he was busy noticing the small cardboard thing the teacher had placed on her desk. He had one, too, with his own name. He was still learning how to read, but he could spot out his name easiest of all. So when he saw those letters on hers, too, he blinked.

"Your name's Chang, too?" he asked.

"Cohen-Chang," she nodded with a frown like it had been a pain to write out since she'd learned to do so. She stretched her neck to see his card. "Michael Chang," she read. "Do you think we're related?"

"Maybe. I'll ask my mom tonight," he nodded.

They would soon learn that, no, they weren't related, though some people would take longer to convince. And while they would eventually make new friends, who would occupy their time and draw them apart, neither of them would forget the very first friend they made that year. They wouldn't tell each other this, but sometimes when they'd be upset, thinking of this day would get them smiling again. Moments like these could have been insignificant, or they could have the power to turn everything upside down.

For years, even if they didn't spend much time together, they would often find themselves brought together for one conversation or another. They were friends, whether or not they exercised that friendship as much as it might mean to them. it would be eight years before they ever really bonded the way they had started to on this day, but when they would, they would remember all those small moments in between, strengthening them before they ever really knew what for.

THE END

A/N: This is a one-shot ficlet, which means that signing up for story alert will not bring you any alerts.
In the event of a sequel, the story will be separate from this one. And as chapter stories go, they are
always clearly indicated as such [ex: "Days 204-210" in the summary] Thank you!