A/N: There is technically a second planned chapter that tackles Shawn's perspective of Cory's struggles, friendship, etc., but this can also just be read as a stand alone. And since I'll probably never get around to actually posting a chapter two, that's probably how it'll always be read anyway.

Enjoy, or don't.

Sometimes I forget there was a time in my life when Shawn Hunter didn't exist. Back when all I had was loneliness, and friends who came and went.

Sometimes I'll lay in bed at night and recount the moment I met my best friend: as he showed me how to pick the locks of my playpen, or saved me from a llama enclosure when we were five.

Sometimes I forget it really took me ten years to find him.

But when I focus on the moment—when I'm not just making things up—I really can't forget the day I happened upon Shawn Hunter.

It was a pretty dreary morning, clouds lining the sky as far as the eye could see, creating an expanse of gloom that seemed to tug on everyone's mood. The curtains were drawn, the lights were dim, and I felt groggy from the moment I opened my eyes, like a weight of sleep still hovered above my nose that my tired arms were too weak to shove away. Like swimming through a pool of pudding. Like trying to move while your feet were slowly being superglued to the floor.

Mom had whisked into the room, ushered Eric out of bed and whispered my name insistently until I'd finally looked towards her.

"We're already running late, Cory," she'd practically yelled to my sensitive, early morning ears. "Hurry up so you can grab something to eat before we head out."

But it was school, and no kid in their right mind would willingly leave the comfort of their bed, just to make it on time to school. Especially not today. So, I'd drifted back to sleep. For a minute.

It was enough to make us late.

When I'd thrown on a pair of jeans and a clean shirt, and hurried down the stairs everyone was already in the car. I didn't have time to grab breakfast, even though my stomach grumbled its protest of the idea. I'd just have to wait for lunch. I'd be fine. What was one meal?

Aware that I would probably need something in case the rain didn't let up any time soon, I'd scanned the kitchen for a light jacket. My eyes traveled the length of the kitchen table, which still hosted remnants of the meal I hadn't gotten to in time, and rolled across the island, cluttered with hastily stacked plates, a brown paper bag, and a half-eaten loaf of bread. I was tempted to just grab a slice of bread, but decided against it when I heard the car horn sounding from outside.

No jacket either.

I'd left the kitchen and rushed around the side of the house to find Mom impatiently sticking her head out the driver's side window. Her hair plastered along the side of her face in the rain, and thin lines of makeup smeared under her eyes. For once she didn't seem to care that she was coming undone.

"Come on, Cor! Hurry it up!" Eric called from the other side. "Some of us don't want to be late!"

I stuck my tongue out at Eric, taking a little longer than necessary to close the car door, which earned me an angry remark from Mom, but at least Eric didn't have his way.

"Since when do you even care about getting to school on time?" I'd snarked as the car took off down the street.

Eric replied a little too fast. "I just like being a good student."

"Eric…" Mom warned. "What did you do?"

I, for one, knew exactly what he'd done. It involved a tennis ball, and Mom's favorite vase that used to sit in the living room. Eric was quickly backed into a corner and forced to admit to breaking the vase, and revenge was sworn by threats of never seeing the light of day again.

I laughed. My stomach laughed with me,although far less enthused.

Unfortunately, I was dropped off before I got to see Eric beg for forgiveness, my school being slightly closer to home than his. It was probably a good thing anyway. I wouldn't want to change the events of that day in the slightest.

Most of the morning was normal. I met up with some of my buddies before class, mocked Mr. Feeny when he asked if we'd completed our homework for the day, and received the usual serving of detention with the same familiar words, "see you after school, Mr. Matthews." Then I'd glare at my traitorous friends for not joining in on the mocking and just standing there while Feeny added an extra hour of school to my day. Blah, blah, blah. That was just how things went. How it always went. Nothing exciting. Ever.

Except on this particular morning we had a new student joining us. A new student who somehow was instantly flocked by the masses like he was some kind of magnet that attracted attention. Normally I wouldn't care about this kind of thing. The popular were always best avoided unless you had something worth offering them to get in their good graces. Or a death wish. But the kid was showing something off in the center of the hall and everyone was gasping, quite a few people backing away in disgust.

I had to know what it was.

So I'd snuck to the fringe of the crowd, barely able to see the top of the new kid's hair—which I was instantly jealous of, despite it being matted and dripping wet. I heard a couple more gasps, squeezed myself in closer.

Standing in the middle of the group was a boy, my age, dressed in loose fitting jeans, and three layers of oversized shirts that plastered together from the rain. Water streamed off of him as if he'd walked from wherever his home was located to school, instead of driving—I honestly couldn't guarantee that wasn't the case. Already a puddle had formed around his feet.

I gasped.

A wet floor is a deadly floor, I thought, echoing one of Janitor Coles favorite lines. No wonder everyone here looked shocked. I was too.

Then I realized what the real source of everyone's gaze was.

"Wow!" I took an involuntary step forward. Wrapped around the boy's neck and right arm was a snake. A rather fat snake, with a rather long body. Sleek, solid black scales stretched across the creature's form, making it look dull, though they contained a subdued glint when the light caught them.

"What you aren't scared?" The boy looked at me in the same shock everyone else directed at the snake.

Scared? I was mystified! I'd never seen one so big.

"You want to hold her?" The boy extended his arm as the snake slid further down it, reaching towards me.

I shook my head. I wasn't that mystified.

"Where'd you get her?" I breathed.

"I found her on the side of the road on my way up here." He grinned, flashing his smile around the group. "My folks stopped to rescue a little turtle before it became the next piece of roadkill, and I found this beauty just lurking on the sidelines."

My mouth fell agape. Was it even legal to have this snake? I didn't know. I didn't care.

This was the coolest kid I'd ever met. And I didn't even know his name yet.

I vaguely registered the bell ringing and the thinning crowd, but I was too captivated by the snake to care. How did someone get something that large through the front door, much less on display in the hall without getting caught.

"Does she have a name?" I'd asked.

The boy nodded. "'Course she does…"

I waited for the name to follow with high expectations; a snake like that had to have a great name.

"...but she's shy about personal information getting shared," he'd continued. "She's killed everyone who's heard it."

"So do you know her name?" I'd asked, fully intrigued at this point.

"Do I look dead to you?" The boy replied, miffed.

I scanned him once more. He was still wet, but the way his eyes sparkled as he spoke, like they were hiding a laugh behind them, and the way his face contorted in animated expressions was definitely not dead.

"I guess not," I'd settled on.

And we stood in silence for some time as the second bell rang above us, casting away the last couple of stragglers.

"I'm Cory Matthews by the way. What's your name? Or do I get killed if I know that as well?"

"Nah, I don't kill. Not for my name anyway. I'm Shawn-"

"Ahh…Mr. Hunter I presume?" Mr. Feeny strode around the corner, his timing impeccable as always.

Hunter. Now that was a cool last name, even Mr. Feeny couldn't make it sound boring.

Shawn froze, eyes wide. "How did you know?" He gasped.

Mr. Feeny didn't even look perturbed by the snake as he reached out a hand towards Shawn. "I've been hearing rumors around school that a new student brought in a…pet. Seeing as you're our only new student since the beginning of the semester, and the only person I've seen on school grounds with an animal, well, I'd say it's a pretty safe bet, wouldn't you, Mr. Matthews."

I'd been subtly trying to make my way towards the still open classroom door.

"Uh…yes?"

Mr. Feeny glanced back at Shawn, shaking his head. "I read your record, Mr. Hunter. I wasn't in need of a demonstration for some time yet."

Shawn laughed nervously. "Oh…in that case, I guess I didn't need to bring Ebony in today. My bad. I'll just…" He pointed towards an exit as if Feeny would let him leave.

"It looks like you won't be alone today after all, Mr. Matthews," Mr. Feeny said, almost looking amused. Almost.

"Detention?" Shawn asked, directing the question towards me.

Well, he was certainly quick.

"Detention indeed, Mr. Hunter. And do try not to be so late for that."

Mr. Feeny directed a custodian that had followed him into the hall to take the snake from Shawn, assuring him that it would be returned by the end of the day. Then Feeny walked into the classroom without a look over his shoulder, he knew we would follow, he knew everything.

By the time the morning classes were over I was double starved, ready to dig into my meal, even if mom had insisted that I take a home packed lunch. I would probably have eaten anything at that point. It was only when I'd sat down at one of the cafeteria's tables that I cursed bringing lunch to school. I'd forgotten mine on the counter back home and had no money to buy a meal.

I dropped my head to the table, cursing the torture of being a fifth grader.

"Hey!" The chair beside me scraped against the floor.

I'd lifted my head squinting at Shawn, standing behind the chair, holding a brown paper bag, a smile stretched across his face. "Oh sure," I muttered, "come rub your privilege in my face."

Shawn looked confused for only a second before noting my lack of lunch. He dropped into the seat and pulled his food from the bag, splitting its contents between us—though I noticed most ended up on my side of the table, something I probably should have argued, but I was too hungry to care about equality. Plus I hadn't had breakfast that morning, it was practically fair.

"Thanks," I'd mumbled around a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly.

Shawn crunched on an apple, shrugging. "No problem, man. I totally get not having food on you from time to time. You can feel free to share with me anytime you need."

I grinned at Shawn.

Shawn grinned at me.

This was the start of something great.

Sometimes I forget that Shawn doesn't complain about any of his gifts, or his clothes, or his food, because he's just happy to have something.

Sometimes I forget and let insensitive things slip without realizing.

Sometimes I sit with Shawn for hours and complain about a family gathering, or that Eric gets to go out when he still has homework to do, or that Morgan never gets in the same amount of trouble as everyone else. I complain about my parents and how they don't really care about me, because there is a conspiracy against middle children. I tell Shawn that he's lucky to be an only child because siblings are just excuses for parents not to pay you any mind.

Shawn sits across from me and nods and agrees. He mocks Eric and joins in my complaints about my parents. Most of the time he just listens…and not in that way that wants you to get over yourself, he listens like he actually cares.

Sometimes I wonder if Shawn just appreciates hearing about my family because it gives him a glimpse of what life is like for people like me. Maybe he just appreciates the little problems.

The thing is though, Shawn never tries to compare my problems with his. He never acts like I'm being silly for not wanting wool for Christmas or for being upset when I'm forced to work on my homework instead of going out to play. He never really gives me reason to feel bad for complaining.

Sometimes it's Shawn's turn to complain though. He tells me about his parents going out on "shopping trips" where they do not return for a week. He tells me about how he has to cook and clean and do homework while his parents are busy fighting or sleeping. He tells me about his dad not even looking for a job despite all his promises and his mom whose only solution was to argue.

"You know, Cor," he'd turned to me one day, on our way to the park the summer before our eighth grade year. "Sometimes I wish I could get my folks to just listen to what they're saying to one another, but I can't even make out what they're saying half the time."

I'd laughed because what else was I supposed to do? "Yeah. Fighting is like that, isn't it?"

Shawn nodded. "I suppose. It's just frustrating 'cause it's all insults, all the time, but I don't even know if they know why they're doing it. Habit at this point, I suppose."

I hummed in agreement. "Sure. Mine are the same way. What else do parents have to fill their days with anyway? I'm sure it'll blow over soon though."

The next day he told me that his mom left them, that she'd packed up and said she'd never come back. He tells me that his dad needs to go look for her even though they never get along anyway. He tells me that he has to look out for himself for a while. Again.

I never know what to say to that. Comforting words fall flat when my mom trickles into the room to check on us and ask if we want a snack, when my dad returns from work exhausted but still invites us to join him for a game of basketball. My complaints of my own parents bickering resurface in my mind along with an overwhelming guilt for thinking there was some comparison.

Shawn sleeps over some nights while his parents are gone, and it's obviously strange to him being in a home where the water is always warm and meals are prepared without him lifting a finger. He'd marvel at how large my bed is and call me a princess for having such soft carpeting. He'd grin at my parents as they rested their heads on one another to watch TV before bed.

And I hated myself just a bit more.

Then Shawn would be happy again and I'd forget these things ever happened.

Sometimes I forget that Shawn's life is so different from my own.

Like when we're out on the streets, or sitting in the classroom, when money isn't brought up, when we aren't talking about something that involves our families. When we're just two boys sharing a good time, not caring where the other lives or what they eat or how they dress.

But there are always sleep overs and shared dinners and stories too good to pass up. Or days when school lunches are so vastly different you can't help but notice.

I make a point not to bring up these differences and most times that's easy. Most times it's just background noise that we pay no attention to, because it really doesn't change anything.

It can be hard though. When Shawn's dad is laid off of work. Or both his parents leave him alone for a weekend, that somehow becomes a week without anyone noticing. Or the future is brought up and us staying on the same path doesn't seem likely.

Shawn talks about never going to college, never being more than "trailer trash" because that's what everyone tells him. Shawn talks about traveling the road, seeing what's out there beyond the little world that we've settled into. Shawn talks about big things, things that lots of people would rather just ignore.

I talk about the life waiting for me after school. About college. About marriage. About a family. I talk about the life I have and the life I want, two things very similar in practice. Things that are imperceptible when placed against the world.

Shawn talks about ideas.

I talk about moments.

Shawn can't wait for change. For the inevitable day when he can free himself from everything and everyone that tells him how to live his life and find his own way in the world.

I don't want things to change. I like the consistency of knowing what I need to do each day, knowing I'm safe and secure and surrounded by people who love me. Shawn likes this too, but in a different way.

We used to sit outside after a night out, gazing at the stars because that was something Shawn liked to do. It was times like those I think I understood him best, when we sat there in silence and you could see just how big the universe was. I think there was something to that greatness that Shawn always connected with, something that made him appreciate the little things better. Something that allowed him to think beyond friend's houses, and schools, and Philadelphia.

I always saw things differently. Saw the big things as all the more reason the little things were so important. I think Shawn saw that too, when we played games in the confines of my bedroom, and stole cookies meant for a bake sale. When we could spend time one on one and appreciate the moments as they happened. Then we laid outside under the stars and they didn't stick so much with him.

It didn't really matter though, that we lived different lives, had different struggles, different ideas for the future; I think Shawn helped me see a life I didn't live.

I think I did the same for him.

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