"Any change, Adrien?" My mother comes back with two cups of hot chocolate. This is a tradition Mother and I have. Before Santa Claus comes, we watch for the first snowflake. Its been blustery all day and so cold. I hug my stuffed cat like it could bring me warmth. "Adrien, take a sip. It will warm you up."

I take a sip of the hot creamy liquid. Mother is right, soon I'm feeling warm. As we gaze outside, Mother speaks. "What would you like for Christmas this year, Adrien?"

I sigh. I'm not like normal little boys who asks for trucks or something. No, I want is a friend. Can your imagination be your friend if that's all you have?

I know I may be an eleven-year old boy, but I like my stuffed animals. I'm home schooled, so I don't get out much. I should answer Mother's question, instead of daydreaming. "A friend. Like I ask for every year."

I look at Mother with my green eyes. Some say my eyes are intense, some find them calming and warm. Same boy, same eyes.

Maybe that's why Mother and Father don't let me out. Am I really that different then normal boys my age? I like having the weekly tea party with the teddy bears and dinosaurs (that all get along.) If I had girl friend to play with she could bring her dolls and the even the stuffed animals would make new friends.

"Adrien, your Father and I are very busy. With my acting and him away on business, there's not a lot of time for friends." My father is a famous fashion designer, maybe the best in Paris. And Mother's an actress.

"Its fine, Mother. Its just a wish after all," I say. Maybe that's why like snowflakes so much. Tiny secret wishes, fluttering and vanishing.

Sometimes I feel angry and Mother and Father. I need friends! How do they expect me to have a good career when I can't interact with others?

But I sallow down the anger, the hurt. It tastes bitter, and the hurt. I stare at stuffed cat in my arms. Black and smelling like lavender. I've read about superheroes in books, and they have freedom. And not just the escape kind of freedom.

Freedom to love, freedom to help others with kind deeds. Maybe when I'm a little older, that's what I'll want to be.

"Maybe some new stuffed animals and a few colors books?" I relent. Coloring is a special world of my own.

You can create your own world and escape to it. Your key is your brush, your crayon. "That sounds like something Father and I could manage." I smile and give her a hug.

I take a deep breath, letting the anger go down the drain. My parents do the best they can for me, so I try to be extra good. Okay, not easy all the time, but mostly.

About a week ago, Father came into the room as I was having one of my tea parties. I stood up, giving him proper attention. "Yes, Father?" Maybe he wanted me to practice the piano, or maybe they needed a extra model.

Father smiled! Father rarely smiles. That was a gift itself right there. "Would you have one more spot at the party?" "I think we can make room. Can't we everyone?" I turn and look at the small table one of Father's friends made for me. "What did they say?" I smile back. "Yes."

Then I give my Father a hug. He smells like new clothes, and fabric and coffee. He may be very busy but he's still my daddy.

Is it my imagination or do even my animals look happier? The food chef made is even tastier. After all the sweetest thing there is love.

I wonder about a baker, his family. Does he get to enjoy the holiday, or is he satisfied with making others happy?

Last week, we stopped at a place called the Dupain-Cheng bakery. Would I ever want to help with that?

The place was warm and friendly. Even though it was snowing out, the warmth of the lights spilled out onto the snow.

A cheerful bell above the door sounded. "Hello," a small voice said. I turn and there she is. A girl about my age. "My name's Marinette. What's yours?" she fiddled with a lock of dark hair, which she has in cute bunches. "Adrien. We're picking up some holiday pastries," I explain.

"Did you my dad's the baker?" I want to make a joke about the candlestick maker from the poem, but I hold it back. After all, I just met this girl. She seems serious, but playful. "does he like what he does?" I ask. "Oh, yes. Grandpa Rolland taught him everything he knows."

I want to say more but Mother and Father call, "Adrien!" I grin at Marinette. "I hope to see you again." I can't help noticing her pretty blue eyes, like a bluebell or a forget-me-not.

When I get home I start to draw. I draw pretty Marinette in a field of flowers. I sigh. Will I see her again? She's the kind of friend I would like to have.

"Adrien! Look!" Mother points to the window, the snow is here! Whirling, twirling past the window. "Go on, make a wish!" I close my eyes, and I wish that Marinette and I could be friends.

I look at Mother, wondering what her wish could be. She touches the cold glass gently. "Are you all right, Mother?" I ask.

Mother hugs me close. "yes, I love Adrien." "Your not having another headache, are you, Mother?" Mother continues to hug me close. "Just a little one, sweetie."

I look back to the window, where the snow is now swirling just like the thoughts in my mind. They are swirling too. I want a friend, but I want Mother to be better. "Please make Mother better," I whisper.

I walk Mother over to the fireplace where it is warm. I grab a blanket gently covering her shoulder. "Your such a good boy, Adrien." "Thank you, Mother."

Mother winces a little, and I grab her hand. She touches my face lightly. "You'll be a wonderful hero, someday."

Huh? "Just rest, Mother." I crawl under the blanket where it is warm and safe. What did she mean by that? The snow twirls past the windows. At least Mother her wish. The first snowflakes of winter, she got what she wished.