Here the Whole Time

by Vitor Martins

But of course I’m not about to say, ‘You, Caio. You are my best friend,’ because I don’t want to sound desperate. I also can’t say, ‘Friends? I have none,’ because that would be even worse. So I do what anyone else in my situation would. ‘My best friend moved to Canada last year. For school. We still talk, but not as much,’ I lie. ‘That’s sad. What’s his name?’ Caio asks. ‘Jake.’ I blurt out the first name that comes to mind, which, by the way, is the worst name I could have picked. ‘A Brazilian Jake? That’s fun!’ says Caio, and I can hear the suspicion in his voice. ‘His mom is American. He was born in Michigan and moved here when he was three. His family is always moving around because his dad sells … airplanes,’ I say. ‘Oh, I see,’ says Caio in the voice of someone who has just heard the most unabashed lie in history. ‘Jake doesn’t exist,’ I admit with a sigh.