From then on it just seemed easier. Somehow you didn't annoy me any more. I took delight in your company, laughed at your jokes, and invited you to every trip our friends took. See, by then, it wasn't my friends and you, you were a part of us. You somehow fitted in with alarming ease, to the point where we missed you when we were ill and off school.
I even invited you out on a solo trip, remember that first one at the start of the summer holidays? We just went to the cinema in town, watched a bad kids film (I don't even remember the name), and walked around for hours. I didn't mind that I was tired, or hungry, or that the film was terrible. I was just happy to be in your company. That was so strange for me then. Not only had I gone from hating to adoring you in a few months, but I wanted to spend all my time with you. Not out of guilt or pity, as you claimed yesterday, but I genuinely wanted to be with you.
Remember how we spent all our summer together, in the park, just lying in the grass talking and laughing? Occasionally the others would come, but I didn't often let them know we were there, even when I told you I had. I preferred it when it was just us. We used to pour over the free newspapers off the bus. Laugh ourselves silly at some of the articles, like that one about the foot long toenails. I loved it when there was any vaguely political ones in, because I'd have to explain the background on them to you. It was the only time I felt intelligent in your company, the only time I felt like I was worthy of being your friend. I always found it amazing when I'd give my opinions on particular issues, and you'd agree. I just loved every time I discovered something we had in common.
I guess that was a sign of things to come really, if only I had noticed earlier.