The boy always sat on the tree stump at the end of school, precisely at 2:50 in the afternoon. In earlier days, he would’ve gotten up and gone marching across the worn roads. However, he had company that day and for the rest of the year.

The boy stood up, waiting impatiently and glaring at the red sign where he and his brother had planned to meet. The school bell had rung seven minutes ago. 

The boy impatiently messaged his brother, asking where he was. There was no response, and the message remained unread. The boy watched his friends cross the road while the yellow-wearing crossguard waved her stop sign. He sighed and sat back down, only to message his brother again.

“Where are you?” the boy messaged. No response again, just an unread message.

The boy glanced back at the school. Perhaps his brother was waiting by the wrong sign. So he scanned the face of every student on the school’s front steps. Then he and another student, who had just strode out the gate, locked eyes. He had glasses and somewhat spiky hair. There the brother was. Upon spotting the boy, the brother lifted his backpack with orange accents and began meandering towards him. The boy tapped his foot and stared disapprovingly. 

The boy was already crossing the yellow-painted crosswalk when his brother caught up.

“Hello,” said the boy.

“Hi,” his brother said dully.

“You know, if you want to catch a train, you’d best be there on time, ready. Once the train gets going, it won’t stop for you. What took you so long?”

After a few seconds, the brother dryly responded, “I was talking with my friends.”

The boy didn’t speak after that as the pair moved on. Yet, the brother began to fall behind. The boy’s stride remained unchanged.