Friendships are like a garden--they can either exist until the end of time, or they can die within a week. Some people say that imaginary friends are the best type of friend because they always understand what you go through, even if no one else does. This short tale will explain just why those friends stick to your side.

Lost and Found
By Ivy Cooper

So, how many of you viewers used to have an imaginary friend? Some would play hopscotch with Hannah, football with Fred, or draw with Dana. On the other hand, of course, there are those kids out there who like to break dishes or shave the family cat and then say, “Chuck did it.” There are friends out there who are just indispensable. They can’t be backstabbed or forgotten. So is the case of my imaginary friend, Alex.
I first adopted him when I was about five years old. He was nothing more than a lonely soul when I found him. My family and I were walking around downtown, which is pretty deserted except for all the restaurants, hotels, and banks over there. I was pretty disappointed at the fact that I didn’t see anyone around my age to play with.
When we passed by an especially run-down motel, I was almost blown over by a huge gust of wind. My ears were suddenly filled with the most gut-wrenching sobs I had ever heard. Somehow, my family was unfazed by the wind, and judging by their faces, I didn’t think they heard the wailing.
As we continued down that street, the moans grew louder, more intensified. I could barely hear my family over them. There would be points where it’d just be a dead zone, and then next thing you know, bam! It’s loud enough to knock you over. Finally, when we reached an empty alley, I found the source of the cries.
A boy with shaggy teakwood-colored hair, raggedy clothes, bare feet, and cracked Coke-bottle glasses was curled up in a ball next to a dumpster. Scrapes and bruises covered his arms and legs, and his hands were pressed against his ears, as if he were trying to drown out something. Tears streaked through the sand and grime on his face.
Finding my family engrossed in a painting, I slowly tiptoed away from the group until I was in front of the alley. Checking to make sure no one was watching, I trotted into there until I was right next to him.
I bent down next to him. “Are you OK?”
He jerked upright, startled, revealing the most captivating denim-blue eyes I had ever seen. “Y-you-you can see me?!?”
I couldn’t help but giggle. “Uh-huh, of course I can see you. Is that breaking the rules?”
His cheeks blushed to a shade of pink. “N-no! It’s just…no one ever notices me,” he stammered, scratching his head.
“What about your parents? Your family? Your friends?”
“They’re…they’re dead. They died a year ago. I don’t have a family anymore. I don’t have any friends, either. They all just laughed at me and threw things at me.”
“Oh.”
I immediately knew I was pressing on a sore spot, so I changed topics. This boy…he had so much to look forward to, and being a street ragamuffin scrounging in trashcans was definitely not one of them.
Inching closer, I asked, “Do you wanna be my friend?”
He jumped at my proposal. “R-really?!” he squeaked. “You mean it?!”
“Uh-huh. I’ll make sure you aren’t forgotten. I’ll make sure you get plenty of food, clothes, and a bed. Pinky promise?”
“Pinky promise,” he repeated, locking fingers with me.
The moment was too perfect, until—
“IVY! TIME TO GO HOME!”
I huffed. Leave it to my siblings to ruin a good moment. “Well, are you coming?”
“Wait, what?!” he looked at me with big eyes.
“We don’t come here a lot, and I don’t know if I’ll see you when we come. Do you want to come home with me?”
“Y-yes!”
“Well, come on, then! I’ll race you there!” I took off, speeding out of there.
“H-hey, wait up, Ivy!!” he protested, laughing, as he ran up next to me.
Ever since, our souls have become one. We’ve known each other for 9(soon to be 10) years, but we haven’t argued, gotten mad at each other, or given each other the silent treatment, a punishment soon forgotten once in a pillow fight. Sure, we would get playfully mad at each other if, for example, I ate all the candy. However, we’ve never held a true anger for each other.
No one really understood why I was suddenly talking to thin air. So that it would make more sense, I called him my imaginary friend. Alex(that’s his name), however, was so much more than that.
We grew up together. We learned together. We ate together. We slept together. We played together. We explored together. We got into mischief together. We goofed off together.
Most of all, though, we accepted each other for who we are.
I’m not exactly ugly, but I can guarantee just about anyone that I’m not going to be on the cover of Seventeen. I’ll admit it right off the bat, I’m weird looking. I mumble, I’m awkward, I lack social skills, and I have a…interesting sense of humor. Those who talk to me notice that I hide behind a mop I call hair, I can’t maintain eye contact for longer than two seconds, and half of my speech consists of ‘um’ or ‘uh’.
He accepted me for it, and even taught me that beauty came from within.
As for him, he’s way beyond ordinary. Over time, he developed the ability to touch solid items, and to fly. Sometimes, he’d sneak out from my window and follow me to school.
Did I mention that Alex developed the mind of a mad prankster?
He’s always goofing off during my classes, and it takes all of my strength(and then some) not to burst out laughing in the middle of class. Or to whack the crud out of him with a World Geography textbook. Or both. Like once, during a lesson in creative Writing, he shut the door, but no one knew he did it, spooking Ms. Jordan AND half the class. When he brought it up that night, we were both in hysterics.
Thanks to him, he has taught me how to be myself without being afraid of what others might think. He made me feel good about myself, and even made me feel like a celebrity, even when I was wearing a Sonic the Hedgehog T-shirt and Hot Topic clearance rack X-Men sweatpants. Also, he made me feel like a star while screeching the lyrics of “Anything You Can Do I can Do Better” and “Love Is an Open Door” from Frozen.
I’m not lying. He once said, when I was moping because I was too young to celebrate at the Valentine’s Day party, “Roses, chocolates, jewelry, parties—they don’t REALLY express love. Sure, buying and receiving them are nice, but they wither, expire, or rust. Showing someone that you care—that will never rust. True love doesn’t die. You can’t buy someone love. You have to show that you love someone in order to be loved.”
 

So, what do you guys think? Not too shabby for a short story, eh? Well, thank you so much for reading!