Thirteen Candles

"Happy birthday, dear Kyle... Happy birthday to you too!" I was truly happy. Finally eleven—not a teenager yet, but old enough that people were starting to listen to me instead of treating me like a little kid. Everyone was singing while Dad brought out a big sheet cake with eleven candles on it. We were all sitting in our swimsuits around a patio table next to our fenced-in pool. How cool to have a pool party in December!

My birthday cake was decorated with a vinyl record with a tonearm resting on either side and visible sheet music. Ironically, I was about as anti-vinyl as an audiophile could be, but nothing embodied music better than the image of an old-fashioned record player, and that's exactly what was on my birthday cake.

I wasn't satisfied with most digital music either. Not by a long shot. The songs were okay, but 99.999% of today's music is mastered for streaming, which I consider a war crime. While vinyl is phenomenally better than CDs, which are far better than Spotify or Apple Music, it's fragile, and even the best vinyl deteriorates over time. So Neil Young made it his life's work to save music by digitizing the original multi-track recordings in high resolution, saving them in a format that preserved the music's full dynamic range and would last forever. I had a huge collection of high-resolution music on my computer, and nothing—not even vinyl—could compare to it.

Not many eleven-year-olds I knew were as passionate about music as I was, and then again, not many eleven-year-olds I knew were in their senior year at Stuyvesant High School, one of New York City's elite high schools. Not many eleven-year-olds I knew were open and proud of their music, either, and they didn't have a friend like Freck. Freck was another child prodigy, but a few years older than me. In a few weeks, it was his birthday, and he would be turning thirteen. Freck was about to become a teenager.

After I blew out all the candles, my cousin Jason from California and my friend Asher White broke into a rendition of the Beatles' "Birthday Song." Jason, who was thirteen and had won national competitions with the jazz band he started at nine, played the keyboard, while the two boys sang along. Asher, fifteen, was a soloist with the Stuyvesant Men's Chorus and had a great voice. After singing "Birthday Song," Jason started banging on the keys, and he and Asher moved on to "Crocodile Rock" by Elton John, followed by "Pinball Wizard" by Stevie Wonder of The Who, "Sir Duke" by Carole King, "Every Breath You Take" by David Bowie, "I Feel the Earth Move" by The Police, "Let's Dance" by Billy Joel, and finally "Piano Man." To be honest, I liked all kinds of music, including classical, jazz, country, and even hip hop, but my all-time favorite was classic rock. The sixties, seventies and early eighties were a special time when music recording reached its peak before the digital revolution came and destroyed everything.

My baby and I danced until we couldn't anymore. Only then did I realize I hadn't eaten my own birthday cake yet. Even though I had drastically reduced my caffeine intake, I still loved the taste of coffee and never missed an opportunity to eat something coffee-flavored. Dad had been searching for a long time for a baker who could make a real Kahlua-flavored birthday cake, and boy, was the cake incredible. Served with Häagen-Dazs coffee, it was perfect.

We finally got to open the presents. I had a Sony PlayStation, and some of the gifts were new games for it, but I wasn't a hardcore gamer. I enjoyed playing for fun now and then, but not enough to be competitive, so I never got into online gaming. I got a few Kindle books, including the latest Orson Scott Card book, which I was dying to read. I got a Blu-ray version of the latest season of Star Trek Discovery, and even though I wasn't a hardcore Trekkie like Asher or Seth, I knew I'd enjoy all the extras that weren't available on streaming CBS All Access.

Freck gave me two premiere tickets for the new Star Wars film as part of a package that included limited-edition Star Wars 3D glasses, a limited-edition signed movie poster, and a soon-to-be-released steelbook set with a 4K HDR Blu-ray of all eleven films. I had to chuckle at the thought of receiving a collection of eleven films for my eleventh birthday. My boyfriend, a die-hard Star Wars fan, would be even happier than I am. It would definitely be great to see the latest Star Wars film on the big screen with him on premiere day.

Because my birthday was so close to Hanukkah, my family only gave me one present each year for both of my birthdays. This was pretty unfortunate because my gifts combined were never worth as much as the two gifts my brother Roger received each year. However, I had a feeling this year might be different, as it would be my last birthday living at home. I was wondering what kind of present I would get this year when my dad handed me a sealed envelope. Last year, I had gotten my portable music player from A&K, which cost $1,800. I already had one of the latest iPhones and would probably get a new laptop for graduation. I was way too young for a car, but a new bike would come in handy if I got accepted to MIT.

I took the envelope from Dad, opened it, and began reading. The MIT letterhead immediately piqued my interest, but what followed was completely unprepared. "Dear Mr. Goldstein, we are pleased to offer you a position as a graduate student in the program..." I couldn't read any further because my eyes filled with tears. Finally, I turned to Dad and asked, "How did you get the letter? Acceptance letters won't be sent out for a few months."

"Let's just say it helps to know a Nobel Prize winner in physics," Dad replied. Dad meant Dr. Jeff Franklin, a foundation professor at the American Museum of Natural History and partner of my friend Seth's grandfather. But then a critical thought occurred to me and I asked, "But what about Freck?"

"If you read the rest of your acceptance letter," Dad replied, "you'll see that they approved your request to share a dorm room with your 'friend,' François San Angelo. Speaking of which, consider this an early birthday present," Dad added, handing Freck a similar envelope.

Moments later, Freck let out a cheer and repeatedly said, "I'm in. I'm in!"

“The joint program in architecture and civil engineering?” I asked my friend.

"Absolutely!" he replied. He practically jumped up and down next to me, but then he got a confused look on his face and asked, "Not that I'm not grateful for the news, but how can this be a birthday present?"

"Are you kidding?" Dad replied. "You and Kyle, the combined tuition costs over a hundred thousand dollars a year, not to mention room and board."

"But my parents will pay my share," Freck countered, "and you'd be paying Kyle's tuition anyway, so you still owe him a birthday present."

"Indeed," Dad replied, handing me another envelope. I opened it and immediately noticed the logo of the American Museum of Natural History. I'd looked at several summer internships at top labs around the world, but of the few that accepted participants under 18, none were for people as young as me. I hadn't read anything about an internship at the AMNH—not one open to high school students, let alone those under 18 or even 16. And yet here I was reading an acceptance letter for such a program. How was that possible?

Before I could even ask the question, Dad replied, "The museum doesn't even offer summer internships for students. Of course, there are always learning programs, but these are more geared toward a basic STEM curriculum. There are a limited number of positions associated with specific research projects and exhibitions, most of them for graduate students. Undergraduate internships are rare, and high school internships are unknown. But there has never been a Nobel laureate holding an endowed chair who has made such a request."

"Internship?" Freck asked.

"Yes, you both have internships there this summer," Dad continued, handing Freck a letter. "Of course, there couldn't be any compensation for the internships. Aside from being open to high school graduates regardless of age, the only requirements were that one required fluency in five or more languages other than English, and the other required completion of advanced courses in vector calculus and complex number theory."

"Man, I wonder where they find applicants who are still in high school and meet these requirements?" I asked.

"Believe it or not, there were several applications for both positions," Dad said, "even though they weren't advertised directly. They're not the only exceptional kids out there, you know."

“That’s a scary thought,” Roger interjected, making all our friends laugh.

“I hope you understand that these internships are truly a gift, even though they didn’t cost me any money,” Dad added.

“Of course I understand,” I replied and Freck nodded.

I literally spent days preparing, including petitioning the governor and our two senators. There's hardly any precedent for allowing eleven- and thirteen-year-olds to participate in advanced internships. Seth's grandfather, however, is a case in point. He was only thirteen when he participated in a University of Iowa summer program for sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds. Therefore, Dr. Franklin insisted there was no minimum age requirement and that age would not be a factor in selecting applicants. Nevertheless, we had to obtain waivers from state and federal regulations in each case.

"So you'll both be busy this summer, and even though your internships will both be at AMNH, you'll be doing completely different things and may not see each other all day. In many ways, it will be similar to MIT."

The thought that Freck and I would be going our separate ways during the day hit me hard. I'd always known things would be different in college, but I hadn't really thought about what that would entail. At Stuyvesant, I was way ahead of Freck in math, but he was much further ahead in languages. Still, we had many classes together and ate lunch with our friends every day. I didn't see my baby for more than an hour or two, but otherwise, we were always together.

MIT would be different. Not only would we be at different levels in math, science, and humanities, but we'd also have completely different curricula that might not overlap at all. We might take a creative writing or history class together, but that would mean spending a few hours a week together at most, nothing more. If we were lucky, we might take a computer science class together, since programming skills are central to both fields. Otherwise, we'd only see each other for breakfast and dinner, and if we made an effort, lunch too. At the very least, we'd spend our evenings together.

But when I thought about it, wouldn't our lives be the same from now on? Each of us would have our own profession and spend our days separately. Freck, being an architect, would probably be away for weeks at a time, working on his projects on-site. And wouldn't that also apply to me in my field? Particle accelerators don't exactly grow on trees, and the most powerful ones aren't even in the US. I myself would be away for maybe several weeks at a time, collecting data from my experiments. It would be an enormous effort for Freck and me to even have a life together. And as much as I would love to start a family, what kind of life would our children have if their fathers were constantly on the road?

I guess I was getting a little gloomy when Freck took me aside and said, "My office can be anywhere in the world, Ky. Find yourself a top academic position—maybe even an endowed chair at one of the best physics universities. Wherever you go, I'll go with you, and when we have kids, we'll hire a nanny. It wasn't being raised by a nanny that broke me, Ky. It was being treated like a poster child by parents who never loved me. That will never happen to our children," he concluded, pulling me into a hug and squeezing me tightly. How did he know what was bothering me?

"It won't be easy, Freck," I replied. "Governments are no longer investing in particle accelerators, which means we have to make do with upgrades to existing ones and improvise a lot for our experiments. Today it's the Large Hadron Collider at CERN in Switzerland. Tomorrow it could be Fermilab in Illinois. Particle physicists can't choose their country, let alone their lab."

"Maybe this is a sign that the field is overcrowded," Freck said. What a welcome thought! "Maybe this is a sign that you should keep your eyes open for the next big thing," he continued.

"Particles are the building blocks of the universe," I explained. "When there are major discoveries, they are made by particle physicists."

"If that's the case, what particles does dark matter consist of?" asked Freck. "What happens to the quarks in a black hole? Which particles triggered the Big Bang?"

"You know there are no answers to these questions," I replied. "There were no particles, but what does that have to do with anything?" In the so-called Big Bang

"Is it because the answers have not yet been found or because we are not asking the right questions?" Freck countered. "Why is it still not compatible with the theory of relativity?" can we use quantum theory

I was about to respond with the obvious answer when I realized it wasn't so obvious. Maybe Freck was right. I had to stop, open-mouthed, as he continued: "The answer isn't so obvious, is it?"

"You see, we've just reached the point where we can measure gravitational waves. Not so long ago, there wasn't even evidence of their existence. Not so long ago, we only knew of the existence of nine planets in the universe, regardless of Pluto's status. Today, we have mapped the existence of thousands of planets, some of them Earth-like.

I don't have your mathematical knowledge—at least not yet—but it seems to me that today's greatest discoveries aren't coming from particle accelerators. Chris Nolan made a movie called Interstellar. His depiction of what a black hole looks like was based on the latest theories, and guess what we saw when we actually glimpsed a real black hole for the first time? The astrophysicists nailed it, and not a single particle was destroyed in the making of the film. It's a damn awesome, exciting time.

"Discover the true nature of gravity and unlock the secrets of the universe. Find out why mass and momentum are conserved and unravel the mystery of interstellar space travel. And we just happen to be spending the entire summer with two of the world's greatest astrophysicists."

It was like an epiphany. I had been so focused on the big discoveries underlying books when I first became interested in science—discoveries of the late 20th century—that I had ignored the big discoveries made in my lifetime. Freck was absolutely right—if I could unlock the true nature of gravity, mass, and momentum, I could free humanity from the shackles of Newton's First Law. As Chris Nolan put it in Interstellar: Humanity has never figured out a way to go anywhere without leaving something behind. Maybe I could change that, and what better place to learn astrophysics than one of the world's greatest astrophysics labs?

I was so excited that I grabbed my sweetheart and kissed him passionately, which caused all our friends to cheer and shout.

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Although we celebrated my birthday on Sunday, today was actually my eleventh birthday, but it was a Monday and a school day. My friend Freck, on the other hand, always had his birthday off because it was the day after Christmas, a time when no one thought about something as mundane as birthdays. Even at our house, we usually celebrate a traditional Jewish Christmas. By that, I mean going to the movies and having dinner at a Chinese restaurant. In our case, we usually went to see the latest Hollywood blockbuster and had dinner at one of the best restaurants in Chinatown.

This was the first year Freck spent Christmas with our family, which presented us with a dilemma. Although he was one-quarter Jewish, he had been raised Roman Catholic. His parents were not religious at all, but always celebrated a traditional Roman Catholic Christmas together as a family, and it showed. As honored guests of the Archdiocese of New York, they celebrated Midnight Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral to express their gratitude for their generous donations to the church.

On Christmas morning, there was a formal gift exchange, always attended by special customers. Freck's gift was meant to be a combined Christmas and birthday present, but the day after Christmas, Freck's actual birthday, there was nothing—not even a birthday cake.

Well, this year would certainly be different. Freck's birthday would not be forgotten. But what would we do for Christmas? Freck had resolved to study Judaism, and he and I were even preparing for a joint Bar Mitzvah service the following year. He was looking forward to an authentic Hanukkah with us, but I hated that he was neglecting his Christian upbringing. I actually knew that Judaism leaves no room for belief in Christ as the Messiah, and Freck considered himself an agnostic. But with so many mixed-faith children celebrating both faiths, why shouldn't Freck celebrate Christmas and Hanukkah?

The two holidays happened to coincide this year, so there was still time to make a plan, but not much time. Christmas was just over two weeks away. And the next day, he would turn thirteen. Not only was it his first birthday with my family, but it was also a very special birthday, as Freck was just becoming a teenager. As his friend, I had to make sure we made it extra special. But what should I get him? Freck already had everything a boy could want.

Finding time to discuss plans with the fathers proved nearly impossible. With their busy schedules and on-call duties, it was simply impossible to find the two of them together when Freck wasn't there. But even finding one of them alone was difficult. I knew they wanted to accommodate Freck, but their workload at the hospital always increased around the holidays, and this year was no different. My older brother, Roger, always had an inexhaustible wealth of ideas, most of them completely impractical. My best friends were Asher and Seth, but they were two years younger than me in school, and I only saw them at lunch—with Freck.

The only opportunity to talk to someone was after school at basketball practice. Our good friend Carl was one of the top scorers on the varsity team, and his friend Clarke always sat in the stands at practice and most games. Since Freck was on the swim team and had to train himself, he missed most of the basketball games and practices. So on Tuesday afternoon, the day after my eleventh birthday, I sat next to Clarke at basketball practice.

“Clarke,” I began the conversation, “you come from a wealthy family and you’ve always gotten what you wanted, haven’t you?”

Clarke laughed heartily and replied, "Oh yes, I come from a wealthy family. My father went to college but began his career as a garbage collector and worked his way up in the union. Although we were never poor, we lived in a much more modest neighborhood when I was growing up. It was a single-family home, but in reality it was a row house with about a foot of space between the houses—just enough for me to tend to what passed for grass. The entire backyard was taken up by a pool—an above-ground pool on a wooden deck that was too shallow for diving and too narrow for swimming. It wasn't until my father endorsed an outside candidate for mayor, and the jerk actually won, that we were able to move into our current apartment. And then it was more likely kickbacks, bribes, and embezzlement that made it all possible.

"Now we have a beautiful house, but it's on Staten Island—not in Riverdale. I think you know what it's like to grow up in a wealthy family, Kyle."

"Gee, I'm sorry, Clarke," I replied, feeling a little embarrassed to bring it up. "I just thought you'd always lived in that mansion you're in now. Our house is really small compared to all the condemned houses around us. It's what they call a split-level. I never really thought of us as wealthy or anything. I mean, people think all doctors are rich, but my dad's still paying off his medical school debt, and he only finished his residency around the time I was born..."

"How much did that fancy music player you always carry around cost?" Clarke interrupted. "And isn't your swimming pool indoors?"

"Technically, it's under a deck that was added after the house was built," I replied, "so it's an outdoor pool that was later covered and heated, but yeah, I guess we'll be okay. It's just that Freck grew up in a damn penthouse apartment in the shadow of the World Trade Center, with billionaire parents, all the toys a boy could want, and season tickets to the Met..."

"And by eleven, he was already a stoner," Clarke interrupted, "and he tried to kill himself. He was filthy rich, but bankrupt in love. I know what that's like. My father beat me up all the time and then donated so generously to the church that the nuns looked the other way. Even when I got to Stuyvesant, he made me realize how worthless I was. That's why I became a bully, because my father taught me that the only way to earn respect was to scare others. How shitty was that?"

“Yes, but you really turned your life around after you met Carl,” I remarked.

"Without a doubt, that kid saved my life," Clarke admitted, looking down at his sweaty tank-top-clad friend sinking one three-pointer after another. "Seems to me you also saved Freck's life, literally," he added.

Shaking my head, I countered: "He had a serious relapse the summer we were in Paris. A silly little argument about Parisian architecture was enough. He thought he knew better than the Parisians, and when I stood up for them, he took it as rejection and ran away. It took us three days, 25,000 euros, and a dedicated investigator to find him, but that was the least of our problems. The worst part was when we had to go to the morgue to identify something the police thought was his body."

"Shit," Clarke replied. "I couldn't bear to see something like that happen to Carl." Then he looked directly at me and continued, "I guess the real difference for me is that I've found closure with my parents' time in prison. My wounds were mostly physical, and those wounds have healed. Now that my brother has moved back home and my boyfriend and his mom have moved in with us, I have more than enough people to love me and show me that I'm not a worthless faggot."

"Freck's wounds are all internal," Clarke continued, "and even though he now has you and your fathers, he still doesn't feel safe. There's no easy solution to this, either. It will take time for him to feel worthy of your love."

"We're both in therapy," I replied. "He sees a therapist once a week, and we also have family counseling every week. We'll continue doing that until we go to MIT in the fall."

"Maybe going straight from Stuyvesant to MIT isn't the best thing for either of you," Clarke suggested. "You're both academically ready, but the pressure to live up to adult expectations might be too much. I mean, Freck will be thirteen and you'll only be eleven, and you'll be around kids who are mostly eighteen. Freck may look like a teenager, and his voice has changed, but he'll still be a good six inches shorter than many of his peers. It'll be even worse for you, but I think Freck is more fragile, and what you dismiss could hurt him deeply."

It was like a flash of lightning. I'd been worrying about what to get Freck for his thirteenth birthday, although that was nothing compared to the stress that lay ahead for both of us the following fall. We were just months away from graduating from one of America's top high schools, would be interning at one of the world's leading astrophysics labs that summer, and then would be freshmen at MIT. We'd already gotten into college in our desired subjects and our career paths were set, but we were still kids, both legally and emotionally. Freck was barely out of his teens, and I was still a teenager who didn't even need to use deodorant yet. How could we expect anyone to take us seriously?

But what other choice did we have if we didn't go to MIT next fall? Living at home would make it easier, but the stress of navigating the adult world wouldn't be any less at Columbia. But if we postponed starting college for a year, what else would an eleven-year-old and a thirteen-year-old do in the meantime? It wasn't as if I'd never heard of a gap year, but we were nowhere near old enough to work, and we couldn't travel the world on our own. I simply didn't see any alternative to our plans to study at MIT.

"Yes, I think you should seriously consider staying in high school for another year or two, or maybe even doing something else entirely," Clarke continued. "I know it's not uncommon for some students to take five years to graduate. There are even schools that offer five-year programs for students with special needs, and it's not because they're stupid. I don't think you have to graduate if you have enough credits. So maybe you can postpone graduation and study for another year. At City University, you can take dual-credit courses and earn credits that can transfer to MIT. You might even have enough pre-med and college credits to start there in your sophomore or even junior year."

Clarke's idea was a revelation. I had thought the only alternative to MIT the following year would be to study somewhere else, but that wouldn't change anything. By extending our time at Stuyvesant, we could take most of our freshman year courses at City University Community College, which was right across the street from Stuyvesant and where the students were accustomed to having Stuyvesant students around. And we would have another year of Stuyvesant's support, including all our friends, our dads, and Roger. Freck could even spend another year on the swim team if he wanted. It would be a chance for us to be kids for one more year. It would be another year for Freck to heal and deepen our love.

My worries about finding the perfect gift for Freck's thirteenth birthday were quickly forgotten. No matter what I gave him, Freck would probably be happy because it was from me, but that was irrelevant. The opportunity to spend another year at home with our fathers and another year with all our friends would be priceless.

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2025-09-24, 02:12 PM (This post was last modified: 2025-09-24, 02:16 PM by Frenuyum.)
I almost shared my thoughts at dinner, but decided to wait until I had more information. And so, the next day, I found myself sitting in the counselor's office. It was the first time I'd met him since I started at Stuyvesant last year. I wanted to schedule an appointment first thing in the morning, but with winter break approaching, Mr. Reynolds didn't have many appointments anyway, so he asked if I wanted to meet with him then. Of course, I agreed.

"Mr. Reynolds," I began, "I don't know if you remember me..."

"It'll be hard to forget you, Kyle," he interrupted. "As far as I know, you're the youngest student in this school, and your attitude is, let's just say, unforgettable. What can I do for you today?"

“Well, that’s really a question that concerns both my friend François San Angelo and me…”

"Has Freck finally spoken to you?" Mr. Reynolds asked. Huh? I had no idea what he was talking about. I guess he saw the confusion in my face, because he continued, "I assume he hasn't, and that's a shame. You two really should talk to each other and your fathers instead of trying to solve your problems in isolation, but I'm getting ahead of myself."

"As you know, the conversations we have privately with our students are strictly confidential. You may know that Freck has met with me several times this year..."

"Did he?" I asked, surprised. "Why didn't he talk to me about it?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to ask him," Mr. Reynolds replied. "Of course, I would be happy to meet you both in person or arrange a meeting with your entire family. But in the meantime, what can I do for you today, Kyle?"

“As you may know,” I began, “Freck and I have applied to MIT for next fall.”

"And you were both accepted," Mr. Reynolds interjected. "Congratulations to both of you." Seeing my shocked expression, however, he added, "Don't be surprised that I already know about your admissions. The academic advising offices are constantly contacted and often receive notification before the students themselves."

"I didn't know that," I replied, and continued, "I asked you to meet today because I'm afraid Freck and I aren't ready to go to college yet. Don't get me wrong—MIT has always been my dream, and studying architecture and civil engineering together is a perfect fit for Freck. I probably don't need to tell you that Freck has his issues, and I'm afraid the pressure of competing with kids five years older than him might be too much for him. Not that he's academically unready, but he's still struggling with the disapproval of his biological parents."

"In my case," I continued, "I've never felt threatened by older children or adults, but I worry that despite my outgoing nature, no one will take me seriously until my voice changes. I'm not worried about the other children, as I've been around older classmates my entire life. But if the professors and teaching assistants treat me like a little kid, how am I supposed to be treated fairly?"

Mr. Reynolds folded his hands, leaned back in his chair, and replied, "You really should talk to your friend about your concerns. Without going into the details of my conversations with him, I'll just say that he has many of the same concerns as you, with the added concern of holding you back..."

“You mean he wants to postpone his studies, but hasn’t even mentioned it to me because he doesn’t want to ask me to make that sacrifice for his sake?” I asked.

“I can’t answer that either, although I must admit you’re very perceptive,” replied Mr. Reynolds.

“But it would be beneficial for both of us to wait to go to college,” I replied.

"I completely agree, Kyle," he replied. "It's not that you're incapable of meeting the academic requirements, but you're not even a teenager yet and haven't yet developed the coping skills that most college students take for granted, however immature they may be. One more year would make a world of difference, and two more years could mean the difference between sinking and swimming. Learning isn't a race to see who finishes first. My goal, which should be your goal as well, is for both of you to succeed."

"Two more years, and I'd be a teenager by the time I started at MIT," I continued. "I'd have hit a growth spurt and, given my dad's and brother's height, I'd probably be close to 6 feet tall. My voice would have changed by then, and while I wouldn't have shaved yet, I'd at least have broader shoulders and a more chiseled chin. I might still be around kids six or seven years older than me, but at least my professors would take me more seriously."

"This is especially true at MIT, Kyle," Mr. Reynolds interjected. "Because MIT is MIT, they can rely on their teaching assistants more than almost anyone else. I've heard stories of students who didn't even recognize their professors when they passed them in the hallway. Just by virtue of your height and deeper voice, you're in a much better position to be taken seriously by the teaching assistants, who are still children themselves."

"I think my friend will also handle college life much better at fifteen than at thirteen," I continued, as Mr. Reynolds nodded. "Plus, he'd have two more years with my family to build a sense of security. He'd be able to cope much better."

"My first question, Mr. Reynolds, is: Do we have to graduate this year? I know we'll both have enough credits, but do we have to graduate from Stuyvesant once we meet the prerequisites?"

Smiling, Mr. Reynolds replied, "That's a good question, Kyle, and the answer is no. We are legally obligated to provide you with an education until you turn 16, whether you graduate early or not. Admittedly, our course offerings are limited, but thanks to our university partnerships, you can take the full spectrum of college courses with dual credit at a significant discount and without the hassle of applying. Of course, you would still have the same problems being taken seriously, so this isn't a panacea."

"Maybe you should also consider the High School for Mathematics, Natural Sciences, and Engineering," he suggested. "It's a much smaller, more individualized school with only 100 students per year instead of 700 like here." Holy crap! Why hadn't I thought of that before?

One of New York City's best specialized schools was located on the main campus of City College in Harlem. Freck and I had chosen Stuyvesant because it had the best ratings and we both wanted a broader education than one focused on STEM subjects. My first choice had actually been Bronx Science, but I was happy with Stuyvesant to be at Freck. Now, maybe we could transfer to HSMSE for an extra year of high school before going to MIT, or maybe we could take advantage of the HSMSE curriculum without changing schools. Actually, most of our classes would be at City University anyway, but at City College, Freck could take all of his freshman engineering classes, and I mean my physics and science classes, in an environment where they were used to being around other high school students.

"You could also consider a gap year," Mr. Reynolds continued. "Many students these days take a gap year between high school and college to gain practical experience."

“Yes, but it’s not like Freck and I can join the Peace Core or travel the world for a year,” I emphasized.

"No, but there are many gap year programs here in New York," Mr. Reynolds replied. "I heard you're planning on spending the summer at AMNH anyway," he added, much to my surprise. "Like college admissions, the academic advising office is often the first point of contact for such programs, so of course I knew about them. There are many such gap year programs, and while most are only open to adults or at least sixteen-year-olds, there are exceptions. The New York Times, for example, offers a gap semester program that is an excellent option, and they are flexible when it comes to accepting exceptional children. Or perhaps you would like to spend a year at AMNH after graduating from fifth grade of high school. Whatever the case, I know we can arrange something.

"But you absolutely have to discuss this with Freck and your fathers. The last thing you want is for Freck to think you're postponing your studies just for his sake. You have to convince him that this is your idea and not something you've taken from me. If he thinks that, not even I can reach him."

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At dinner that evening, I had the opportunity to broach the subject of postponing college. Ken, my father's husband, had just told me about his niece, a freshman at Princeton University, an elite university. According to her, her assistant, who taught her English class, had asked her out, and she was afraid that saying no might hurt her grade. "Of course, I reminded her that she would also be in a very difficult position if she went out with him," Ken said. "I told her that it was her assistant's responsibility to avoid a relationship with a student—that even asking for a date could be considered sexual harassment. So she suggested that next time he was there, he read the section in the student handbook on sexual harassment."

Laughing, Roger said, "At least none of us have to worry about a vet hitting on us."

"You're not so sure," Dad replied. "You should read Michael Crichton's book 'Disclosure,' or at least watch the movie."

“Is this about a male student and a female teacher?” asked Roger.

“A male engineer and his female boss,” Dad replied.

“And there’s always the possibility that a gay male TA will harass a male student,” Freck pointed out.

"A TA could get into serious trouble if they do something with an underage student," Ken replied. "In Massachusetts, the age of consent is 16, and any sexual contact with someone under that age is considered rape, even if it's consensual."

I saw my opportunity and interjected, "I'm just afraid of not being taken seriously. Being asked out would be a significant improvement over being ignored, which I fear."

“What do you think, Kyle?” Dad asked.

"Look at me," I replied. "I'm barely 5 feet tall and I sound like a little kid. My growth spurt and my voice won't change for another year. Even though the professors and teaching assistants know I wouldn't be in their class if I didn't belong there, they'll still treat me like a little kid. They won't take me seriously."

"That never bothered you," Dad replied. "You always shrugged it off, and your attitude quickly disproved any assumptions based on your age."

"But that's just casual conversation," I countered. "It would be different in the classroom. Why should I pay to study at MIT if I get less attention than a middle school kid?"

“But it was always your dream to go to MIT,” Dad replied.

"And I'll still go to MIT, but maybe going there right after high school isn't such a good idea," I explained. "Or maybe it would be better to start my studies at one of the local colleges and then transfer to MIT in a year or two. Or maybe I should take another year of dual-credit courses, postpone graduating for a year, and then take a year off so I'll at least be a teenager when I start..."

"It's about me, isn't it?" Freck interrupted. I had tried to focus on my own concerns, but I should have known that my friend would see through my strategy immediately.

I sighed and replied, "Freck, I admit I was worried about you at first, but then I thought about what it would mean for me to go to college at eleven, especially to a big school like MIT, and I imagined what that might be like, and I didn't like what I saw. I already feel like an oddity at Stuyvesant, but with so many little Asian kids studying there, I don't stand out as much. Plus, I have friends there and come home every night to a house with loving parents. At MIT, on the other hand, I would look like a dwarf compared to all the eighteen-year-olds. I'd probably be the only kid there. Yes, we'd have each other, but would that be enough?"

"No, it wouldn't," Freck agreed. "I've talked to my therapist and my academic advisor, trying to figure out a way to delay my visit to MIT without discouraging you. That's been the hardest part—knowing that MIT has been your lifelong dream and not wanting to discourage you. But if I get to MIT next year, it would be so easy to relapse into weed under pressure, and once I do that, I might as well jump off the GW bridge right now, and I couldn't do that to you. Never again."

"I was thinking about going to Columbia," he continued, "because then we could live at home, but we'd have the same problems mingling with the other students. And while Columbia is still one of the best universities for architecture, they don't offer a dual degree in civil engineering and environmental science like MIT. It's not the best university for you either, Kyle. Columbia isn't known for particle physics, and they don't even have an astrophysics program. MIT is by far the best choice, with Harvard a close second.

Interestingly, we don't have to graduate this year. So, as you mentioned, we could stay at Stuyvesant for another year or two and take dual-credit courses equivalent to those at MIT. Stuyvesant has relationships with all City University of New York campuses, not just the community college but also Brooklyn Tech. However, I think the best option would probably be City College of Harlem, since they already have a joint program with HSMSE. We wouldn't be an exception.

"I've been working with Mr. Reynolds, our advisor at Stuyvesant, and I have some ideas about what we could do if we stay here next year. I've even come up with courses we could both take at City College that would transfer directly to MIT. A year at City College would give us both enough credits to start at MIT as juniors, but I suggest we take two years off before going to MIT. You'd be thirteen and a full-fledged teenager, probably just under six feet tall with a deep voice like Roger. I'd be fifteen and would be able to fit in much better and resist the temptation to do drugs. We could take courses for three semesters and participate in extracurricular activities with our friends at Stuyvesant. I could even join the swim team if I wanted. Maybe we could sign up for a gap year program for the last semester, like the one we're doing this summer."

“Would it be an option to start at MIT mid-year, in two years?” Ken asked.

"I've thought about it," Freck replied, "but the semesters don't coincide with Stuyvesant's. The spring semester at MIT starts right after winter break, in early January, while the fall semester at New York universities doesn't end until the end of January. Besides, I think the extra time would be good for me. We're not in a hurry, unless you just want to get rid of us," Freck added, smiling at Ken. "I just didn't bring it up because I didn't want to hold Kyle up."

a timetable. "Don't worry about me, idiot," I replied. "I think I need the extra time just as much as you do. But you've made it your mission to create one for me for next year at City College?"

Instead of saying anything, Freck opened his phone and handed it to me. It showed a spreadsheet of my courses for the next three semesters, starting in the fall. I was impressed because he had listed courses that were practically identical to the ones I was planning to take at MIT, plus some foreign language and humanities courses that definitely interested me. I handed him the phone back and replied, "That looks really good, Freck. You've obviously put a lot of thought into this, and I like the suggestions you're suggesting."

“So you’re okay with us living at your fathers’ expense for another year?” asked Freck.

"Kyle would be the only one to take care of the children," Dad explained, "since your parents are supporting you under the guardianship agreement. But we would love for you to live with us for a few more years. Freck, we consider you another son."

“If you wait a few more years to go to college, you’ll have more time to save up for my college expenses, so you might even get a better deal,” I suggested to my dad.

"Since tuition is rising much faster than inflation, I don't know how much this will help us, Kyle," Dad replied. "But Ken and I will miss you terribly when you leave. I really think postponing it is the right decision."

<> <> <>

After we'd settled the matter of postponing our studies at MIT, I started thinking again about what to get my boyfriend for his thirteenth birthday. It had to be something special. Something unique that he wouldn't think of on his own. If he was celebrating his bar mitzvah this year, maybe I could get him something similar, like a custom-made tallit, or prayer shawl. While he would need one for his bar mitzvah, a really nice, custom-made one could cost thousands of dollars. Maybe I could talk to the dads about buying one together for his bar mitzvah. Somehow, that seemed more appropriate.

But there were plenty of other things I could give him that were relevant to his newfound interest in his Jewish roots. Maybe a sterling silver kiddish cup or a designer menorah for Hanukkah. It was just an idea, but at least I knew he didn't have those things. There were plenty of shops in Riverdale that sold Judaica, including our synagogue's gift shop, but there was one shop in the East Village that sold seemingly unique items I hadn't seen anywhere else. It had caught my eye while riding by on the M14A bus with Asher and Seth.

By chance, we had a double date with our friends on Friday night and were staying over at their place. So I hatched a plan. Asher's dad insisted that he and Seth take a break from working at the Cajun restaurant. We wanted to go to dinner with them and then to a movie. We took the 3 subway from Chambers to Fourteenth Street and then walked the short distance to the Good Stuff Diner, which Asher considered the best diner in all of New York.

Having grown up with the Riverdale Diner nearby, I had my doubts, but he was right. I ordered the salmon burger, which came with a divine lobster bisque. It came with sweet potato fries, because no burger is complete without fries. The salmon burger was the best I've ever had, and the fries were outstanding. Even though the dessert counter looked incredible, I just couldn't eat anything else.

Freck ordered Chicken San Francisco, a whole chicken breast with asparagus, topped with a kind of vodka sauce, along with soup or salad, vegetables, and potatoes or rice. Following Asher's recommendation, he chose lobster bisque, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Asher and Seth shared the so-called Captain's Table, which included salmon, crab-stuffed sole, scallops, and shrimp. They also ordered an extra cup of lobster bisque, sweet potato fries, and mashed potatoes, along with spinach and green beans. They could barely finish it all.

We still had plenty of time before the movie started at the Regal Theaters in Essex Crossing, so I put my plan into action by saying, "Guys, on the way to the movie, there's a store I want to visit, over at Avenue A and Third Street. It's a Judaica store, so maybe you'd like to do something different and meet me at the theater."

"I'm willing to come," Freck replied, as I had already suspected. I had expected this, because I wanted to see if he liked anything in the store before giving him a birthday present. What I hadn't expected was that Asher and Seth wanted to come too, so why not? We all boarded an M14A SBS bus and got off at Fifth Street, Avenue A.

"Hey, this is cool," Asher said as we walked past a large retail space on Fifth Street, simply labeled "Space for Artists." Through the windows, we could see that the store consisted of a large, open space divided by partitions into smaller areas, each labeled with the name of an artist. Paintings and photographs hung on the partitions, and there were also displays of sculptures, art glass, and other decorative items. "I bet the landlord was tired of his space sitting empty and decided to do something useful with it."

"By providing the space for free, he can probably still claim a large tax break," Seth noted. "I wish more landlords would do something like this—want to take a look?"

"Could we go to the store I wanted to see first?" I asked. I didn't want to miss it since we had to go to the movies, so we walked to the corner and entered a tiny shop with Judaica in the window. There were Hanukkah menorahs, Seder plates, wine goblets, and the like, mostly in modern designs made of metal and glass. Everything looked elegant, and the prices were in line with my expectations for New York—not exactly cheap. I also noticed that, in addition to Judaica, there were other art forms, as well as plenty of clocks, fountains, and other decorative items. Despite the many items on display in such a small space, nothing seemed cluttered at all. Everything was tastefully presented.

Just as I noticed a large display case filled with jewelry and a variety of watches, an elderly gentleman came in from the back of the store and asked, "Can I help you with anything, gentlemen?"

"We're just looking around," I replied. "We drive by here all the time on Highway 14A, and I immediately noticed your selection of Judaica in the window."

"It's a shame that, despite how trendy the Lower East Side and the East Village are, my store is one of the last of its kind in the area, and I'm not exactly young anymore. I should have retired ten years ago, but what would I do then? This store is my home. It's my life. My name is Jacob, by the way. Do you guys live nearby?" the man asked.

"Seth and I," Asher replied. "We live in Co-op Village on the East River. My parents own an Asian restaurant on Grand Street, and we recently opened a Cajun restaurant on Orchard Street..."

"Wait a minute," Jacob interrupted. "I read about you in the Times. I ate at your restaurant. It's the Ragin' Cajun, isn't it?"

Asher blushed and replied, "When my mother was hit by a child on an electric bike, my father had to take her place at the Asian restaurant. He was close to filing for bankruptcy, but I wasn't going to let that happen. My father is Creole, and opening an authentic Cajun restaurant was his dream. My boyfriend and I did our best until my mother was back on her feet enough for my father to take a break from the Asian restaurant."

"Yeah, but how old are you? Fourteen or fifteen?" Jacob interjected. "You're something of a legend around here."

I didn't think Asher could blush any harder, especially with his mocha skin, but damn, he was going to blush bright red. "I'm just glad we could help keep my father's dream alive until he could realize it again."

“Yes, but you’re still responsible for the menu,” Seth noted, “and you’re still developing the recipes for everything we serve.”

"Actually, it's Seth who puts together the menu and decides which dishes are suitable for the standard buffet and which justify the higher price of the premium buffet," Asher replied.

“It’s a team effort, guys,” Freck chimed in.

"Any way you look at it, you've opened a phenomenal restaurant in a city that's brutal when it comes to restaurants," Jacob replied, "so you have a lot to be proud of."

"Man, you have an incredible selection of watches here!" exclaimed Freck, peering into the display case in amazement. At that moment, I knew what his birthday and Hanukkah present would be. Like most of us, he had never owned a watch. Why would he when we could tell the exact time on our phones? But I had to admit, there was something special about wearing a small piece of technology on my wrist. I'd even considered getting a smartwatch, but I just couldn't think of a good reason why I needed one.

My father, on the other hand, owned several truly beautiful watches that he wore regularly—some for everyday wear, some for going out. While he didn't necessarily need to keep track of time, since clocks were all around him at work, there was something elegant about wearing a beautiful watch. It was a kind of jewelry and, at the same time, an expression of technology. While he didn't wear a Rolex or anything similar—those cost as much as a car—his watches were unique and each reflected his personality. It was time for Freck to own one.

"Not many children are interested in watches these days," Jacob lamented. "The miniaturization of a watch hardly seems relevant in an age where an entire computer fits in your pocket."

"Yes, but smartphones are nothing more than integrated circuits," Freck replied. "Any decent computer engineer can design computers on a chip. There's nothing magical about a smartphone. A watch, on the other hand, is a true marvel of miniaturization," he continued. "When you look at the movement, it's like gazing into another world of tiny mechanical components, perfectly synchronized and precise. There's something special about watches. I've always been fascinated by them, even though my father was an asshole when it came to the watches he wore."

"Look at this," said Jacob, taking a watch from its case and handing it to Freck. The dial was transparent, and the inner workings of the watch were visible; they seemed to be pulsating. "Now turn it over," Jacob instructed Freck, and he obeyed.

“Wow!” exclaimed Freck when he saw that the back of the watch case was also transparent.

"Now shake the clock," Jacob commanded, and Freck did so. As he did so, a piece of metal continued to rotate, acting like a kind of pendulum. It was immediately clear that this piece, this pendulum, was winding the clock.

"This is an automatic watch," Jacob explained. It uses a mainspring, like mechanical watches have used for centuries, but it doesn't need to be wound, as the kinetic energy of the movement does the work. And in terms of accuracy, thanks to a Japanese movement with a quartz crystal to regulate the balance, it's almost as precise as any other commercially available watch. Not even a Rolex can match its accuracy. The only downside to an automatic watch is that it has to be worn to stay wound. If you leave it in a drawer for more than a day, it will wind down and need to be reset. Some people even buy watch winders to keep their automatic watches from winding.

"That's so cool," Freck exclaimed. "How much does something like that cost?"

"This is one of the more expensive models," Jacob replied. "It has a Japanese movement, three sapphire crystals, and a day and date display. I normally charge $750 for this model, but I'd give it to you for $500 if you wanted it. I also have a few automatic watches for as little as $150, but none as elegant as this one."

"Do you have it in a black ceramic case with a black ceramic strap?" Freck asked. Damn, it sounded like he was buying it for himself. So much for my gift idea.

"I'm afraid this model is only available with a stainless steel case or stainless steel with electroplated yellow or rose gold plating. The gold version would cost a hundred dollars more with your discount. Upgrading the strap from leather to stainless steel costs another hundred dollars, and from leather to gold, $150."

“Can’t you get it in black stainless steel?” asked Freck.

“I’m sorry, but they only make it to the three finishes,” Jacob replied.

"Damn," Freck replied, but then he seemed to have an inspiration, looked up at the man, and asked, "Do you have anything designed for swimming? Not just waterproof, but with features like a stopwatch and lap counter that could be used in competitive swimming?"

“It sounds like you’re on a swim team,” the man replied.

"Stuyvesant High School," Freck replied. "We're all Stuyvesant High School students."

“You look way too young to be in high school,” the man replied.

“I’ll be thirteen in a few weeks,” Freck replied.

"Yeah, but you're a senior at Stuyvesant," Seth chimed in. "So is his friend Kyle," he added, nodding at me, "and Kyle just turned eleven. They're going to MIT next year."

"Actually, we've decided to postpone our graduation for another year or two and take classes at City College next year," I explained. "I'm sorry, but we just decided a few days ago and are still working out the details. We both realize that no one at MIT would take us seriously, no matter how young we look. And we're not ready to do our own laundry yet."

“That’s complete nonsense,” Asher reprimanded me.

"Actually, it's mostly about me," Freck began. Then he looked at Jacob and explained, "My biological parents are billionaires who only had me as a poster child. At ten, I was a total stoner, and at eleven, I tried to kill myself. That's why I now live with my boyfriend up in Riverdale. Still, I relapsed last summer..."

“What?” Seth asked, surprised.

"Yes, Kyle and I had a small disagreement, which didn't seem so insignificant to me at the time. I ran away and started using a lot of weed again. I lived on the streets in a Paris suburb for a few days and even joined other street kids. I was completely devastated."

"Why didn't you tell us about this?" Asher asked. "I thought we were your best friends."

"You are, without a doubt," Freck replied, "but that was so terribly shitty and I'm not proud of it."

"The worst part was when the police called us to the morgue to identify Freck's supposed body," I added. "I couldn't go through that again. We're in therapy now, and Freck has his own therapy sessions. I think that experience last summer made us realize that neither of us is ready to live on our own yet. We still want to go to MIT, but not until we're both a little older. At the very least, I have to be a teenager first. No one will take me seriously if I sound like a little kid."

"Sounds like you guys have a lot to talk about," Jacob chimed in. "At least you guys don't seem to be afraid of homophobia—not that it doesn't exist anymore, but you're all open and proud of it and don't seem to care in the slightest what others think about your sexuality."

"Why should we?" I asked. "I mean, I'm not going to walk hand in hand with my boyfriend through a small Texas town, but here in New York, no one bats an eyelid when Freck and I hold hands. We feel safe here, and our parents fully accept us. Even my father has finally accepted his own sexuality, and he and my other father got married last June."

"It wasn't always like this, you know," Jacob replied. "I wasn't here when Stonewall happened, but I moved here shortly afterward and participated in the first Pride parades in New York. Did you know that at the first Pride parade, we were actually given instructions on what to do if we were arrested? Homosexuality was still illegal back then, and demonstrating for the right to break the law was itself considered illegal. Those were tough times, and it's only thanks to the courage of those who came before you that you can enjoy your freedom today, but you must never take it for granted. With recent judicial appointments, the rights we fought so hard for could still be taken away."

“Shit,” I said so quietly that I wasn’t sure if anyone else heard.

But then Seth put his hand on my shoulder and said, "As long as my father is in Albany, New York will always be a safe place. New York will always be a sanctuary for mental health."

“So…” Freck interrupted, turning back to Jacob, “I asked about watches for swimmers?”

"There are some very good ones," Jacob replied. "You may have heard of Nixon watches, designed by surfers for surfers. The only problem with Nixon watches is that they're huge, and you're not ready to wear a dinner plate on your wrist."

"I do have something that might interest you," he continued. "The problem is, it's one of the most expensive watches I sell." Jacob then pulled out a very impressive black stainless steel chronograph with a copper-colored bezel, but it looked different than any stainless steel I'd ever seen. "This is black titanium," Jacob continued, "and that's the natural color of the alloy, so it retains its color even with deep scratches. If you pick it up, you'll see that it's incredibly light and extremely thin, which is why it's a good swimmer's watch. Not that you'd want to wear a watch in real competitions, but as thin and light as it is, it won't affect your times."

When Freck took the watch from Jacob, he exclaimed, "Shit, this is incredible. It barely weighs anything."

"Let me see," I begged, and Freck gave it to me. He was right—it weighed about as much as a few quarters, if that. As I handed it back to Freck, however, I noticed the price tag dangling from it: $7,500. Damn! That was way over my head.

"The crown is screwed down, as befits a diving watch," Jacob continued. "In this position, the watch is safe to depths of over 500 meters. Nevertheless, the watch's chronograph functions can be used without compromising its water resistance. You'll also notice that the crown and pushers are located on the inside of the watch, where they are better protected than on the usual exterior."

The most remarkable thing about this clock, however, is that it's designed so the case never needs to be opened. There's no battery. The clock is solar-powered and can run for four months on a full charge, even in a drawer. It never needs to be adjusted. It uses the same GPS satellite signals as your phone to synchronize itself to the correct time anywhere in the world. Daylight saving time is adjusted with the push of a button, but that's the one thing about this clock that isn't automatic, and that's only because it can change at the whims of Congress.

"Wow, I love it," Freck replied. "And it looks great, too." I had to agree. It had a copper-colored bezel—I think it was rose gold and matched Freck's red hair perfectly—a black dial, and a black strap with copper accents. The copper numerals seemed to glow, and then I noticed they really did glow. Behind each hand and numeral was a border that practically glowed in the dark. Three small subdials complemented the watch perfectly, offering chronograph functions without making the dial too large. The subdials also had dual functions: they displayed the day, month, and year in addition to the standard date. The watch was absolutely cool, but the price was ridiculous! Not like a Rolex, but way out of my budget.

“I hate to ask this,” Freck continued, “but how much does it cost?” Apparently, he hadn’t noticed the price tag dangling from the belt.

"Of course, the markup on these watches is enormous," Jacob replied, "and to prevent black market and internet sales, the warranty is only valid if the watch is sold by an authorized dealer."

“How much?” Freck asked again.

“I am not allowed to sell this watch for less than the list price of $7,500.”

"Damn, that's way more than I want to spend on a watch," Freck replied. "I mean, I really want the watch, but I'm not going to spend that much on it. Not even half that much."

"Guys," Seth interrupted, "if we don't leave now, we'll never make it to Essex Crossing in time for the movie." We were watching Black Christmas, a scary new movie about a killer stalking a group of college girls. What a fitting film for Friday the 13th.

In a last-ditch effort, I asked Jacob, “Could you take less for that?”

He sighed and replied, "If you pay cash, I can give it away for half and even cover the taxes, so it would be $3,750."

"Could just as well be 37,000," Freck replied. "The problem is, I don't want anything else now."

As we walked down Avenue A and crossed Houston Street to Essex Street, I couldn't stop thinking about that watch. I knew Freck really wanted it, but I just didn't have the money. I got a decent allowance, but that was all I had to pay for my cell phone, clothes, and even school lunch. I didn't have to pay for my own home broadband connection or free minutes because we had a family plan with unlimited data, but everything else came out of my allowance. I had planned to buy a new iPhone next fall, and that was easy to postpone, but I was bound to have a growth spurt in the next year or two, and I just couldn't put off buying new clothes. But since my Bar Mitzvah was coming up in a year and I was sure to receive lots of cash gifts, could I ask Dad for a loan? Was it even worth spending that much money on a watch for Freck's birthday and Hanukkah? When I think about how he looked at it and held it in his hand, I think: Yes, it was worth it – if I could find a way.

Later that night, as Freck was pooping in the bathroom, a miracle happened. It began when Asher said, "Freck seemed to really want that watch."

"I wish I could afford to buy it for him," I replied. "I went to the store because they seemed to carry high-quality Judaica. I knew Freck was interested in his Jewish roots, so I thought something for a few hundred dollars might be the right thing. But when he fell in love with that watch, I knew I had to buy it for him. If only I could afford it."

“If the watch cost a thousand dollars less,” Seth asked, “if it cost $2,750 instead of $3,750, could you afford to buy it for him?”

"Do you think you can get Jacob to lower the price by another thousand dollars?" I replied. "Are you crazy? He's already deducting half the price, which is practically his entire profit margin. And he's collecting the taxes, or maybe not even reporting them. How is he supposed to deduct another thousand dollars when he's probably giving us the product at cost?"

"He wouldn't deduct the thousands," Seth replied. "Asher and I would."

"Guys, I can't possibly ask you to spend that much on my boyfriend's birthday and Hanukkah," I protested. "Absolutely not."

“Why not, we spent almost that much on you,” Asher said.

"No, you didn't," I replied. "Maybe half, and even that's too much."

"But if you add up our birthdays and Christmases, how much do you spend on us?" Seth asked. I didn't think twice about it. I hadn't spent that much money on them. Not five hundred dollars each. It was more like half.

Seth looked askance at my friends and admitted, "Okay, I know we're exaggerating a bit, but you're our best friends and we won't be together forever. Today is Freck's thirteenth birthday, and Ashe and I would like to help you get him the watch."

"We couldn't have afforded this a year ago," Asher admitted, "but the restaurant is doing well. Really well. Seth and I fully funded our college education. We have enough money for tuition, books, room and board. We can afford it."

At that exact moment, the toilet flushed, and all conversations ceased. Since Asher and Seth were each paying $500 of the watch cost, I would have just about enough. I would have to delay replacing my iPhone for another year, but most people wait three years or even longer to replace their phone, so the decision was easy. And so I would have enough.

<> <> <>

Before I continued, I searched for the watch and made sure it was exactly what Jacob claimed. It was clearly one of the best swimming competition watches money could buy. It came with an impressive five-year warranty, but only from authorized dealers. When I searched the list of authorized dealers, Jacob's store was on it. And as for the price, I couldn't find anyone selling it anywhere near Jacob's price. Obviously, he wanted to give the watch to Freck, even if he wasn't making any money from the sale.

Two days later, on Monday of the last week before winter break, I didn't have any classes. I didn't have much time, so I quickly disappeared into an unused classroom and dialed the number for Jacob's shop. When he answered, I replied, "Jacob, this is Kyle from Friday night. I don't know if you remember me, but I'm the little boy with a friend who was drooling over a swimming watch."

Jacob replied with a laugh, "It would be hard to forget you, Kyle. Nothing pains me more than a customer who truly appreciates the quality and value of one of my finest watches but can't afford it. I'll do anything to help such people, but I can't sell the watch for less than I paid for it. I wish I could."

"Look, I don't have much time, but would you be willing to cover the cost of engraving the watch?" I asked. "But when could you have it finished anyway?"

“Are you sure you can afford it, Kyle?” Jacob asked.

"No, I can't," I replied, "but with two of our best friends contributing $500 each, I can manage. Just barely. I'll have to make some sacrifices, most notably postponing my next iPhone for a year, but Freck is worth much more to me. He's priceless."

"I'd be happy to engrave the back of the watch with your engraving," Jacob replied, "but I need all the money in cash. Once the engraving is complete, there are no refunds. What do you have in mind for the engraving?"

“To François on his 13th, with all our love, Kyle with Asher and Seth,” I replied.

"And I'd have to talk to your father," Jacob continued. "Even if you have the money in cash, I need to be sure your father won't prosecute me for accepting such a large sum from a minor."

Sighing, I replied, "I have to talk to him about it anyway, but it won't be easy. I'm sure he'll give me the watch if I explain it to him, but he's an ophthalmologist and retinal specialist at New York Presbyterian, and it will be difficult to find an appointment without Freck nearby. But I'll do it and make sure he calls you."

"Is your father Jake Goldstein, by any chance?" Jacob asked. I was shocked! He knew my father!

“How did you know?” I asked.

"Your father and I have known each other for a long time," Jacob replied. "Your mother wanted to give him something special for his graduation, but couldn't afford a Rolex. She inquired with several well-known jewelers in New York, but they all charged exorbitant prices for custom pieces. Several of them, however, mentioned a Jewish freak in the East Village who made custom pieces at a reasonable price. I've since sold him several watches and some Judaica pieces."

At that moment, the doorbell rang and I said, "I have to go. I'm late for class. I'll call you in a day or two."

"That's not necessary, Kyle," Jacob replied. "I'll contact your father directly. I have his cell phone number. One of us will contact you as soon as the clock is finished."

"When the clock is ready," I told myself, hung up, and ran to class. Luckily, the teacher was still talking to another student when I sneaked in.

Friday was the last day of school before winter break, and I still hadn't heard from Jacob or Dad. If I didn't hear from him by the end of the school day, I'd have to confront him when he got home. Later that day, however, I finally got a response from Dad. He sent me an email:

Dear Kyle,

I'm sorry it took me so long to reply to Jacob, but there was a lot to organize. I had the item engraved, gift-wrapped, boxed, and couriered to my office, where it will remain under lock and key until Christmas. I hope you don't mind that Ken and I embezzled part of your gift, but the gift will still be from you and your friends, and he'll still have the internship from Ken and me. I can't possibly allow you to spend that much on a gift for Freck. And I can't subject Jacob to such a loss, either.

Jacob and I have known each other for a long time, and I have bought several watches from him. The menorah we light every Hanukkah I bought from his shop before you were born. The candlesticks we use every Friday night and the Seder plate we use every Passover also come from his shop. Jacob is a fantastic jeweler and designs his own watches. If you look closely, you'll see his name engraved on the faces of some of my watches. He always gives his loyal customers a tidy discount, but when you factor in his overhead, fifty percent is a loss. He really wanted Freck to have this watch. I'll pay the difference.

So I'll take Asher's and Seth's thousand and thousand from your savings, and Ken and I will cover the rest. No one except you, Ken, and me will know that you and your friends didn't pay full price for the watch. Consider it our gift to both of you.

Love, Dad

Damn! At first, I was angry that Dad had set such a limit on my spending on Freck, but then I realized that if I were him, I probably would have felt the same way. And he was right—it was a gift for both me and Freck, since I'd planned to cover the full cost myself. Thanks to Dad, I could give my boyfriend a very special thirteenth birthday present, and Freck would own the watch he loved so much. Not only that, but Jacob could also pay the rent.

That evening was the premiere of the new Star Wars movie, and we had tickets! Star Wars wasn't really my thing, but Freck was a Star Wars fan, and just seeing his enthusiasm made up for it. We could have seen the film at many other theaters, but the official New York premiere was at AMC Lincoln Square, the largest IMAX theater in the city. We met Asher and Seth there, as they had also bought tickets to the premiere. Even I had to admit, the movie was fantastic, and Freck was on cloud nine, thrilled to see the final installment of his all-time favorite sci-fi series in 3D on the biggest screen in New York City. We even got to keep the limited-edition 3D glasses and a signed movie poster as souvenirs. How cool was that?

<> <> <>

Two nights later was the first night of Hanukkah, but I had other plans for that Sunday. After a leisurely Sunday brunch at the Riverdale Diner, our fathers drove us up US Highway 9A to the Taconic State Parkway, a multi-lane highway that eventually became a scenic, winding road. Freck became more and more curious the farther we got from town, especially once we left the highway behind. But we continued driving without seeing anything. Finally, we turned off at a place called Hopewell Junction, just past Interstate 84. We drove a little farther until we came to a sign advertising Christmas trees, and we turned in.

"We're getting a Christmas tree?" asked Freck. "But we're Jewish."

I liked that Freck considered himself Jewish, but that wasn't the point. "I'm sure we're not the only Jewish family in Riverdale with a Christmas tree, babe, although many of them will be called Hanukkah trees. The point is, you were raised Roman Catholic and, even though you're not religious, you shouldn't miss out on Christmas just because we're not Christian," I explained.

"The way my parents celebrated..." Freck began, "well, that wasn't very Christian. Then again, Christmas wasn't even Jesus's actual birthday."

"And if you think we celebrate Hanukkah by lighting a menorah eight nights in a row because a lamp with just a few drops of oil in it miraculously burned for eight days, you're more gullible than I thought," I countered. "We celebrate Hanukkah because the Jews finally fought against their oppressors and actually managed to defeat the Greek army. That is the true meaning of Hanukkah."

"I guess you could say that Christmas represents the beginning of Christianity, for better or for worse," Freck added, "but it also represents the beginning of the end of the Roman Empire and the triumph of faith over a world dominated by paganism and fear."

"Let's pick out a tree," Jake suggested. "If we put it in the foyer, it's a good six meters from floor to ceiling, so a five-meter tree should fit perfectly." What a great idea! The front entrance overlooked a circular, two-story foyer that led into the great room. A curved staircase led from the entrance down into the great room, then on to the basement, and then into the recreation room where the pool was located. The tree would fit perfectly in the space, but it would be enormous, and we'd all have to lower it together.

It wasn't long before we spotted a large tree, but I knew from "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation" that what looked small on the property wouldn't be so small inside the house. Jake's Subaru Forrester was a good five meters long, and after it was cut down and tied to the car, a few meters of tree still stuck out front and back. One thing was certain: what seemed like a beautiful, winding scenic road on the way there turned into a much scarier stretch on the way back.

On the way back, we stopped at Lowe's in Yorktown Heights, where we bought a large tree stand and everything we needed to decorate and decorate the tree. When we got home, I found that Dad and Ken had already given a lot of thought to how they would lower the tree into place—and retrieve it again. I had considered lowering it through the front door, but that would have meant dropping it about 10 feet down to the lower level, and retrieving it would have been impossible. Instead, we rolled the tree on dollies back onto the deck and through the great room. Using a rope and a pulley attached to the top of the stair railing, we were able to lower the trunk into the tree stand. We then used the same pulley on the top railing to pull the tree all the way up and secure it in place. To remove the tree, we could simply reverse the process.

Decorating a five-meter-tall tree proved to be more of a challenge than expected, as the higher branches were unreachable, even with a stepladder. It took some creativity to hang the fairy lights and Christmas decorations, but when we finally connected everything, the effort was worth it. The star on the treetop was something I never would have expected. Dad somehow managed to find a lighted six-pointed Star of David online for the treetop.

When we were finished, Freck said, "You know, all the years we've celebrated Christmas in the condo, my parents always hired professionals to decorate the tree. At least it was a real tree and not an artificial one—an artificial tree would never have satisfied my parents in their quest for perfection, but they wouldn't have wanted a tree decorated by their children either, so they hired professionals. This is the first time in my life I've actually gotten to decorate a Christmas tree, and you know what? It looks a thousand times more beautiful than any tree my parents ever had."

By the time we finished decorating the tree, it was long past sunset and time to light the menorah, but better late than never, so we sang the prayers and lit the first Hanukkah candle. We were all hungry, but it was far too late to cook anything ourselves, so we ordered a traditional dish from the Riverside Diner: latkes, potato pancakes. Freck would have plenty of time in the coming week to "savour" the experience of making them from scratch.

<> <> <>

I offered to accompany Freck to midnight mass on Christmas Eve, but he was thrilled not to be able to go for a change. The next morning, we slept in and woke up on Christmas Day—at least for me, it was just a day off from school. Both fathers were already at work, making their rounds at New York Presbyterian Hospital. As they often did, they had both volunteered to be on call for Christmas Day. They would be home by early afternoon, in time for us to celebrate a Jewish Christmas together.

"Hey, there's nothing under the tree," Freck called as he trotted down the stairs in his usual weekend outfit. Although he was dressed a day early, it was his birthday suit. I was similarly dressed, and Roger wore his boxer shorts from yesterday and a T-shirt as usual.

“We get our Hanukkah gifts on the last night of Hanukkah,” I explained, “and you’ll get your gifts tomorrow for your birthday anyway.”

“They don’t even have stockings carefully hung by the fireplace,” complained Freck.

no “We have a fireplace,” I remarked.

“Just a formality,” replied Freck.

“Are you as hungry as I am?” asked Roger.

"Are you kidding me? I could eat a pig," Freck replied.

“Not in this house,” Roger replied, “but how about we make some authentic Hanukkah latkes?”

“Sounds good to me,” I replied.

"I'm in," Freck chimed in. He had no idea what was coming.

Roger held up a bag at a time and asked, “Russet or sweet potato?”

"Sweet potato!" Freck and I answered simultaneously. Sweet potatoes may not be the traditional ingredient for latkes, but sweet potato latkes taste so good.

Roger handed us the bag of sweet potatoes, and Freck and I began scrubbing and peeling the potatoes, while Roger sliced and diced a medium onion in our food processor. He then grated the sweet potatoes in the food processor while Freck whisked a few large eggs with two tablespoons of flour in a large mixing bowl. Roger drained the excess water from the onions and potatoes, and we mashed them with the eggs and flour, forming them into patties. Finally, Roger fried the latkes in a large pan in canola oil while I made the coffee.

I put a tub of low-fat sour cream and a jar of organic applesauce on the table, and we ate our creation. Man, those potato pancakes were delicious! This was a first for Freck; he couldn't get enough of them. Afterward, we showered and got dressed, not knowing when the dads would be home.

The dads didn't get home until just after 3:00, leaving barely any time to drive into town, eat at a Chinese restaurant, and go to the movies. Honestly, I wasn't really in the mood to see another movie, since we'd just seen the Star Wars premiere and there wasn't anything else I really wanted to see. The bigger problem was that it was usually Mom who reserved the table, and in her absence, Dad forgot. It was impossible to get a table for Christmas dinner at the last minute, so we had to try our luck without an appointment.

“Could you reserve us a table at Ragin' Cajun?” Ken asked.

Freck shrugged and replied, "I can imagine that. Half the tables are reserved for walk-ins, so it shouldn't be a problem to get a table as a friend of the chef."

“Would you be disappointed if we went there?” asked Dad.

"Of course not," I replied. "I'm sure Ashe has a special menu for Christmas, and his food is always incredible." Then I thought about it for a moment and asked, "Have you ever been there?"

Dad shook his head and replied, “We hardly ever get to Lower Manhattan anymore.”

Then Roger added, “I go to school in Lower Manhattan, but I’ve never been there.”

“Then you’re in for a treat,” I replied, pulling out my phone and dialing Asher’s cell number.

Asher answered on the fourth ring and immediately said, "I know you know I can't talk right now, so I assume you need a reservation?"

“Exactly right,” I replied.

"Just tell the maître d' that you are my guest when you arrive and you will be given the next available table," he replied and then hung up.

"Looks like we're done," I told everyone, and then we headed downtown. Despite the traffic, the FDR Drive took us right there. The only catch: We hadn't realized that when we got to the Houston exit and onto the FDR access road to Delancey, we had to turn right onto Clinton because the Williamsburg Bridge met the road at that point. This turned out to be a blessing, because turning left onto Rivington gave us much better access to the Essex Street parking garage, and the Ragin' Cajun was just around the corner.

The fathers were shocked to see the line outside the restaurant, which snaked around the block. "Is it always like this?" Dad asked.

“Pretty much, even on weekdays,” I replied, adding, “There’s a shorter line going the other way, just for takeout.”

"Damn," Roger exclaimed. "Why go to college at all?"

“For one thing, Asher must be pretty smart if he made it to Stuyvesant,” Dad replied.

“That’s him,” I interjected.

"Secondly," Dad continued, "tastes change, and there's no guarantee that the restaurant will always be this popular. Take the Carnegie Deli. After decades in business, it was no longer there. It's always good to have an education to fall back on when you're in the restaurant industry. Third, Asher won't always have Seth handling the business side of things. Seth will be pursuing his own career, and even if Asher hires someone else to run the business, he'll never know if he can trust them unless they know their way around spreadsheets. And if he ever decides to move on to bigger and better things, a business degree would empower him to make better decisions."

"He plans to expand once he finishes college," Freck chimed in. "He'd like to open another buffet in Times Square, exclusively for tourists, and perhaps an upscale Cajun restaurant uptown."

“He’ll need good management skills to keep three restaurants running,” Dad added.

We opened the door and went to the head waiter. Asher and our friend Joel were in the kitchen, busily preparing food for the buffet, and Seth was at the cash register, weighing the takeout orders. I waved to them, earning smiles from all three of them. The head waiter seemed to know us and was expecting us. "I have a table for you in five or ten minutes—wait, one just opened up. Just give Tim a minute to get it ready for you, and I'll seat you right away."

Normally, there would be a standard and a premium buffet, but not today. Because of the holiday, there was only a premium dinner buffet, which cost $30 for adults and $20 for children under 12. Haha! I could have eaten as much as any adult, but my dinner would have been a third smaller.

Asher was a phenomenal cook, and even though we had just eaten his wonderful Cajun turkey at Thanksgiving, I couldn't get enough of the incredible array of Cajun-Asian fusion dishes. I'd never experienced anything like it. Today's Cajun turkey was completely different from the one he served at Thanksgiving, with a crispy crust more typical of Peking duck. There were pumpkin dumplings with cranberries, seafood gumbo over lo mein noodles, spicy Creole shrimp and scallops, refried green beans with peppers and onions, blackened lobster with Asian vegetables, and much more. There were even some desserts, including pumpkin bread pudding and sweet potato tarts. It was a feast!

When we were finished, we all groaned. When Dad asked for the bill, the waitress told us the buffet was on the house. However, Dad insisted we pay, especially since it was a holiday. The waitress had strict instructions not to accept any money from us, so Dad gave her a $100 tip. Normally, we would have given her $30 or $40, so that was really generous.

Since we were already near Essex Crossing, Dad suggested we go to the movies after all. There were several options, including the remake of the musical "Cats" and a brand-new World War I thriller, "1917," but in the end we settled on a new Amazon release called "Seberg," which tells the true story of a 1960s actress who was targeted by the FBI for her support of the Civil Rights Movement. Man, I had no idea that was a thing back then. Damn!

It was late when we got home, and tomorrow was a big day for Freck, but I was determined to make sure it was a big night for him too. At his therapist's recommendation, we had separate bedrooms and slept apart most school nights, but today wasn't a school night!

We undressed and lay down in bed together. After I turned out the light, we cuddled together. We were both aroused because I felt Freck's penis against my thigh, and I'm sure he felt mine too. Slowly, I placed my hand on his shoulder and stroked it gently before sliding it under his arm, where he loved to be touched. I ran my hand lightly over his chest, circling his nipple, while I placed my lips on his and kissed him passionately. When we broke the kiss, Freck slid his mouth under my arm and kissed and licked me there while I slid my hand down his stomach, pausing to feel his belly button, then sliding my hand further down and grabbing it. I loved the feel of the silky-smooth skin over his stiffness.

Since Freck's mishap that summer in Paris, he knew the pleasures of our most intimate parts—something I've always found erotic. So, I caressed and teased him before entering him. Freck took a sharp breath. Then he licked his way down my torso before grabbing me and taking me into his mouth, while I did the same. He teased my most intimate part before he too entered me, and we thrust and prodded each other as we used our mouths and tongues to pleasure each other, bringing us to a shuddering orgasm. I loved the taste of Feck and regretted that I couldn't give him a taste of myself yet, but that would come in time.

We were briefly exhausted, but far from finished. I stuck out my tongue, teasing him, and then entered him. He moaned with pleasure as I gave myself more and more into his pleasure. Before, Freck would never have been interested in this kind of thing, but now he was eagerly mimicking me. More than ready, I pulled back and unwrapped a condom. I figured we wouldn't really need it, since we were totally committed to each other, and Freck had tested negative for HIV and STDs. But Dad would get suspicious if the stash of condoms he'd given us went unused. Freck was usually on top and I was on the bottom, so I turned back over and lay on my back while Freck did what he does so well. I'm sure Roger must have heard our screams as we came, because he was in the next room, but neither of us cared.

I discarded the condom and whispered, "Happy birthday, my love," into my baby's ear just before we fell asleep in each other's arms.

<> <> <>

Freck was already awake when I woke up the next morning, but I was pretty sure where to find him. Freck had been an avid swimmer since moving in with us, and he liked to start his day in our indoor pool. It was a true luxury to be able to swim in the middle of winter. After treating my full bladder, I padded downstairs and, sure enough, found my baby swimming laps. I waited until he swam away from me, then dove in and swam under him, reached up, and grabbed him right where I thought he was. That practically ended his swim. I quickly took him right into my mouth and managed to bring him to climax before I ran out of air. Then we cuddled and made out in one of the lounge chairs until Dad came down and told us to shower and get dressed, as the caterer would be right there. I didn't know Dad had hired a caterer for Freck's thirteenth birthday.

Although we weren't particularly hungry, we took some breakfast bars with us at Roger's suggestion, as it might be a while before we had access to the kitchen once the caterer arrived. In fact, it was almost 10:00 a.m., and Freck's party was scheduled to start at 12:00 p.m., so we didn't have much time.

When Freck and I got out of the shower, the caterer was already there and had already occupied the kitchen, so we quickly changed into our swimsuits. Freck looked so sexy in his swim trunks. As we entered the large room, I discovered that the caterer was Japanese! Wow! A sushi chef had already prepared a ton of sushi, and they set up a fryer for tempura. They were grilling yakitori and mushroom caps for appetizers, frying spring rolls, and also had teriyaki on the grill. It was going to be a feast!

At first, Freck was speechless, his mouth hanging open. When he finally found his voice, he said, "I can't believe your family is doing this for me."

"Why not," I replied. "I admit I'm surprised we hired a sushi chef, but Japanese is your favorite food, and you're more than worth it. After all, you're only a teenager once."

"You know, I kind of feel like I've always been a teenager," Freck replied. "I mean, I've always been around kids older than me. My parents left me largely alone from a young age, and my nanny stopped taking care of me after the twins were born."

“How old are the twins now?” I asked.

"In July it's nine or ten," he replied. "So I've been without real supervision for almost a decade..."

“Since you were three?” I interrupted.

He nodded and replied, "Three and a half. The twins took up all of my nanny's time after their birth. Like you, I could already read, was clean, and could dress myself. My nanny initially cooked everything, and we had other people clean up after us and do the laundry. Even then, I quickly realized that I preferred a tidy room and that I was the only one who could keep it that way. I had to grow up fast."

“But you started drinking and smoking weed,” I remarked.

"That's why I said I'm more of a teenager than an adult," Freck explained. "My parents were, too, by the way. It wasn't until I moved here that I learned what childhood is really supposed to be like. That's one of the reasons I want to wait a few more years to go to MIT. I have to learn to be a child before I can become an adult. I have to close the Freck chapter before I begin the François chapter."

“That’s pretty intense,” I replied.

"Yeah," Freck agreed. Then he tilted his head and asked, "Hey, do you want to go swimming until the guests arrive?"

Shaking my head, I replied, "There'll be plenty of time for swimming later. I think I'll just chill and watch TV. But don't let that stop you from swimming! Why don't you go?"

"Oh, okay," he replied. "Just pick me up when the first guests arrive. If the party is supposed to start at noon, you know no one will show up before 12:30 and the party won't start until 1 p.m."

"Sure," I agreed, and then Freck went down the stairs to the pool. But before I could pick up the remote, I heard him shout, "Oh wow! There are already so many presents here!"

I ran to the railing overlooking the entryway, looked down, and saw that there were indeed plenty of gift boxes under the tree. "I think these are all yours, buddy," I called over the railing. The Hanukkah gifts wouldn't be presented until three days later, on the last night, right after we lit eight candles.

"There are gifts from all your relatives," Freck exclaimed. "Even from people I've never met."

“You probably met them at the wedding,” I replied, “but I don’t even remember some of them,” I added with a laugh.

“I guess I’d better save that for later,” Freck said with a sigh.

„Wenn du nicht willst, dass dich jemand in den Pool wirft“, stimmte ich zu.

„Wahrscheinlich wird mich sowieso jemand in den Pool werfen“, bemerkte Freck und ich musste ihm zustimmen.

Nachdem Freck aus meinem Blickfeld verschwunden war, ging ich zurück ins Wohnzimmer und ließ mich neben meinem Bruder aufs Sofa fallen, wo Roger bereits gedankenlos durch die Kanäle zappte. Nachdem ich ihm ein oder zwei Sekunden lang nichts einfiel, schlug ich vor: „Entweder schaust du dir etwas wie CNN an oder suchst dir einen Kurzfilm oder eine Folge von etwas, das dir wirklich gefällt, auf Netflix oder Amazon Prime. Warum gehst du nicht hin?“

mehr Spaß macht, dich zu ärgern „Weil es viel “, antwortete er.

„Gleichfalls“, stimmte ich zu und griff ihn dann mit aller Macht an. Das Kitzeln entwickelte sich bald zu einem regelrechten Ringkampf, als wir vom Sofa auf den Boden fielen und herumrollten, wobei wir darauf achteten, nichts umzustoßen. Es dauerte nicht lange, bis Roger mich festhielt, aber trotzdem hielt er meine Schultern mit seinen ausgestreckten Armen unten und ließ mich nicht hoch.

„Du bist vielleicht zwei Jahre älter in der Schule, Bruder, aber ich bin immer noch fast fünf Jahre älter“, rief er. „Übrigens, wie lange hast du heute zum Rasieren gebraucht? Ach ja, genau. Du bist immer noch haarlos – überall außer auf dem Kopf, wo du deine Haare länger trägst als die meisten Mädchen, die ich kenne.“

So viel stimmte. Ich hatte mir seit fast einem Jahr nicht mehr die Haare geschnitten, und sie reichten mir schon bis zur Hälfte des Rückens. Ich mochte lange Haare, und was noch wichtiger war: Freck liebte sie so. „Wie Sampson machen mich meine Haare stark“, sagte ich zu meinem Bruder. „Lass mich jetzt hoch, sonst wirst du sehen, was ich mit dir mache.“

Natürlich verstärkte das Verspotten ihn nur in seinem Entschluss, mich unten zu halten, aber da seine Hände meine Schultern und sein Körper meine Beine unten hielten, waren meine Hände und Arme völlig frei, und ich kitzelte ihn wieder wie wild unter den Achseln. Das war alles, was es brauchte, und bald saßen wir auf dem Boden und lachten miteinander, wie es nur Brüder können.

„Junge, das Essen riecht unglaublich“, sagte Dad, als er den großen Raum betrat, dicht gefolgt von Ken. Sie waren beide barfuß und trugen Badehosen, aber auch Poloshirts. Ich schätze, das war so, damit sie auf die Eltern, die ihre Kinder ablieferten, wie Eltern wirkten. Und vielleicht auch auf die Kinder selbst. Soweit ich wusste, war keiner der Eingeladenen Raucher oder Drogenkonsumenten, aber man weiß ja nicht immer, was die Schulfreunde privat oder auf Partys so treiben, daher konnte ich das Bedürfnis nach Autorität verstehen.

„Ich wusste gar nicht, dass Sie einen Sushi-Koch engagiert haben“, rief ich aus. „Ich wusste gar nicht, dass man japanische Caterer engagieren kann, aber das war naiv von mir. Ich liebe Sushi. Ich liebe alles Japanische, außer vielleicht die amerikanisierten Sachen wie Benihana.“

„Der Sushi-Koch war Teil eines Pauschalangebots“, erklärte Papa, „und die Caterer sind tatsächlich Koreaner.“

„Koreanisch!“, antwortete ich überrascht.

„Viele japanische Restaurants gehören Koreanern, und viele ausgebildete Sushi-Köche sind Koreaner – sogar die, die in einigen der japanischen Restaurants arbeiten“, erklärte Dad weiter. „Natürlich behaupten die japanischen Restaurants, sie seien authentischer und verlangen in der Regel mehr, aber die Koreaner haben durch die Erhöhung des Angebots die Marktpreise gesenkt. Tatsache ist, dass Japan während des Zweiten Weltkriegs die koreanische Halbinsel besetzte und koreanische Köche darin ausbildete, für sie zu kochen. So bildeten die Japaner eine Generation von Koreanern aus, japanisches Essen zuzubereiten, das dem in Japan servierten Essen identisch ist, und heute bilden Koreaner andere Koreaner aus und bedienen so eine wachsende Nachfrage auf der ganzen Welt.“

„Das ist echt cool“, antwortete ich, „zumindest bis der Fischbestand erschöpft ist.“

“That’s a bit pessimistic, don’t you think?” asked Ken.

"Not really," I replied. "Yesterday's worst-case scenario is today's best-case scenario. Scientists have repeatedly underestimated the speed of climate change. We are already in the midst of a global ecosystem collapse."

When I was your age, they talked about the greenhouse effect. "It's a shame - when I was, Kyle," Dad added.

"Actually, they taught that in school when your parents were my age," I replied. "We knew about it all along and did nothing. We've destroyed the Amazon rainforest—the world's most important carbon sink. By overfishing, overgrazing, and overplanting, we've only accelerated deforestation. Species proliferation is accelerating, and we're losing the very buffer systems that have absorbed carbon from the atmosphere throughout the planet's history. Not only are we releasing vast amounts of fossil hydrocarbons into the air, but we're also releasing enormous amounts of methane as the tundra thaws. People don't realize that the melting ice caps themselves are an important buffer for regulating temperature. Once the ice is gone, the only buffer remaining will be the boiling point of water. How will life survive when the oceans start to boil?"

"They're assuming a runaway greenhouse effect," said Freck, padding up the stairs, his hair still wet from a swim. "We're a long way from becoming another Venus, mind you. Not that it can't happen," Freck continued, "and James Hansen would agree with you, but Earth doesn't receive nearly as much sunlight, nor does its atmosphere consist entirely of carbon dioxide. Yes, solar radiation will eventually rise so much that the oceans boil, but not for about a billion years."

"Well, there's a way to find out," I replied. "We just have to keep burning fossil fuels and destroying the Earth's ecosystem, and then we'll get the answer."

"The good news, if you can call it that, is that China has the most to lose from climate change," Freck countered. "They have major corruption problems, but if they flood the market with cheap solar panels and wind turbines, not even US protectionist policies will be able to stop the deployment of renewable energy. The biggest problem is that carbon neutrality won't be achieved nearly fast enough to prevent sea level rise, hunger, and mass migration. And that's where I'll intervene: I'll build new cities to accommodate the migrants and massive skyscraper farms to feed them."

“And who’s going to pay for all this?” I asked.

Freck shrugged and replied: "The migrants could just as easily be us as them. It's cheaper to house and feed climate refugees than to wage war against them, especially when there are more of them than of us."

Ken chimed in. "Let's hope we all come to our senses before things get any worse."

“Amen to that,” Dad agreed.

"Man, the smell of all that food is making me hungry," Freck announced, as if we didn't already know that. Being the boldest of us, I walked over to the kitchen island, where a stack of spring rolls was cooling, grabbed one, and popped it into my mouth. I thought it would be hot, but not quite that hot. With nothing cold to drink nearby, I put my hand over my mouth and repeatedly blew on the morsel in my mouth until it was cool enough to bite into. Finally, I realized it was filled with shrimp, and it tasted delicious.

Freck was much more sensible and approached a plate of fresh chicken yakitori, grabbed a chopstick, blew on it, and put it in his mouth, bit into it, and pulled it back out. The smile on his face as he chewed revealed how much he enjoyed it. Roger grabbed a stuffed mushroom cap and popped it into his mouth, obviously also enjoying it.

"Boys, each of you can have one more appetizer before the guests arrive," Dad admonished us. This time I grabbed a mushroom cap, Roger ate a piece of beef yakitori, and Freck, the devil, took a shrimp spring roll, dipped it in spicy mustard, and popped it into his mouth. Perhaps it had already cooled down since my mishap, because he had no problem with it at all.

Just as I was trying to sneak in another appetizer, the doorbell rang. Of course, it rang just as I was about to sneak in a third appetizer, and I was caught with chicken yakitori in my mouth.

"What the hell is someone doing coming in so early?" Freck asked. It was actually ten to twelve, which could only mean one thing, so Freck and I ran upstairs just as Dad opened the door. Sure enough, Asher and Seth were standing on the other side. Only our very best friends would have the nerve to come in so early.

“You’re early,” I said as they walked in.

"No, we're not," Asher replied. "It's rude to be late, and given the vagaries of public transportation, we shouldn't have been expected until after 11:30. Everyone else is just late."

“They just wanted to be here before the best food was gone,” Freck replied.

“Damn right we did,” Seth replied.

“Same place to change?” Asher asked.

I nodded and replied, "Freck's and Roger's room for the boys, mine and the guest room for the girls."

“Swimsuits optional?” Seth asked in a teasing voice as he unzipped his coat, revealing that he was already shirtless.

"You know better," I replied. "First of all, Jessie may have the same equipment, but she's transgender and would be offended by being treated like a boy. Second, Freck invited some friends from school. Third, the caterers aren't all men, and for all we know, some of them might like boys too. And finally, we don't need rumors about an orgy or anything like that."

"We're not having an orgy?" Asher asked. "What kind of party is this, anyway?" He found it difficult to say it with a straight face, though, and then he lost it as he put on his signature Tiger Woods smile.

"Come in, everyone," Freck admonished our guests. "There's plenty of food, and we're all starving. You're our best excuse to start eating."

"In that case, we'll be right back," Seth replied, taking his friend's hand and pulling him toward Freck's bedroom, which was across the hall from mine.

“Oh, you can leave your presents under the tree on the lower level,” I added.

Asher stopped dead and asked, "You have a Christmas tree? But you're Jewish!"

“Freck was raised Catholic,” I explained, “and although he tries to learn about Judaism, we didn’t want him to lose sight of his roots.”

It seemed as if we had just come downstairs when the doorbell rang again. This time it was the guests from Staten Island, including Clarke and his friend Carl, Clarke's sisters Connie, Jasmine, and Ellen, and his brother Joseph, driving them to the party. No sooner had we led them to their bedrooms to change and told them where to leave their presents than Joel and Clark arrived. After that, a steady stream of guests arrived.

It took quite a while before we could go back downstairs. The main hall was now full of boisterous teenagers devouring sushi, all kinds of appetizers, and Japanese food. Everyone was wearing swimsuits, and an indoor pool awaited them. But for teenagers, food always comes first. Even for preschoolers.

I was completely starved, so I grabbed a plate and filled it with as much sushi as I could carry. I filled my plate with wasabi, ginger, and soy sauce, grabbed a pair of chopsticks, and looked for a place to sit. When I saw Freck's twin sisters sitting a bit off to the side, I decided to get to know them, since I barely knew them, let alone spoken to them. "May I sit here?" I asked as I approached a corner of the room where they were sitting on the floor.

“Oh, hi Kyle,” one of the girls said as I sat cross-legged across from them.

"I still can't tell which of you two is which," I remarked, even though I didn't even know their names. I remembered that their nanny, Freck's nanny before he moved in with us, was named René, but she was somewhere else at the moment.

“I’m Lisa,” said the one to my left, “and the idiot next to me is Debbie.”

“Idiot,” said Debbie, “I’m on the same level as you.”

“You’re in, what, fourth grade?” I asked.

“Sixth grade,” Debbie replied smugly.

"Sixth grade? You girls are in middle school?"

“We would be certain of that if we went to a public school,” Lisa replied, “but we go to a private Montessori school, which is why it was so easy to move up two grades.”

"We want to finish eighth grade by the end of next year," Debbie continued. "Next fall, we'll take the New York Specialty High School exam, and with any luck, we'll be accepted to Stuyvesant the following year."

"Shit, that means you're freshmen at ten, just like Freck back then," I said. "Genius runs in the family, I guess."

“Don’t tell your boyfriend,” Lisa continued, “but Freck is our role model…”

"Academically speaking," Debbie interrupted. "We know we shouldn't drink or do drugs. I think maybe being close to each other keeps us grounded. And of course, we're not gay. We like boys."

"You're a snob," Lisa said, sticking her tongue out at her sister. Then she turned back to me and said, "You seem to really like sushi."

"It's one of my favorite dishes," I said. "So is Freck's, but you probably already knew that. Have you tried the sushi? It's really good." Both girls had plates full of teriyaki and tempura, but I thought they might have had sushi before.

Debbie grimaced and replied, "We hate sushi. We love fish, but only cooked and not canned. I'm not a fan of shellfish either, but Lisa likes shrimp and let me try the shrimp tempura, and I'm becoming more and more enamored with it. I even like the asparagus, broccoli, and cauliflower tempura, and I used to hate those vegetables at all."

"Your taste is growing up," I replied. "I used to hate asparagus, but now it's my favorite vegetable." Then I took a piece of California roll, held it out to her, and suggested, "Here, try this."

Debbie took it from me, put it in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Then she called out, "Hey, this is really good! What is this?"

"It's a California roll, and it's made with cucumber, avocado, and cooked crab meat," I replied. Then I held out another piece to Lisa and asked her, "Would you like to try it?"

She took it from me, ate it, and replied, “Yes, this is really good.”

“Are you ready to try something more daring?” I asked, holding out a piece of tuna roll.

"It's really, really red," Lisa remarked. "It looks sore."

“It’s yellowfin tuna and it tastes delicious,” I replied.

They both wrinkled their noses, and Debbie said, "I'm sorry, Kyle. I know it's unusual for New Yorkers not to like smoked salmon, but we hate it. We just don't like raw fish. We'll stick to cooked food."

"How long did it take you to grow your hair like that?" Lisa asked. Both girls were redheads and had freckles, just like Freck, and wore their hair teased but cut quite short.

"I've always worn it long," I replied, "but when I started this time last year, it barely reached my collar. So it took me a year to grow it that long."

"It's such a rich brown," Lisa continued. "Have you ever thought about getting highlights and maybe braiding it?"

"Man, that would be a lot of work," I replied, "and Freck likes to run his hands through my hair. I don't know how your brother would take that."

"What would you choose?" Freck asked, sneaking up behind me. "Hey Lisa, Debbie," he added, nodding to the correct twin with each name.

“How did you do that?” I asked as I stood up to greet my friend.

"Tell them apart?" Freck asked, and I nodded. "I've always been able to tell, for as long as I can remember, but I have no idea how I do it. It's like learning a language. I don't even notice it—I just know which twin is which. I can even do it in the dark, so it probably has something to do with how they sound to me. Maybe they breathe differently. I don't know."

"That's incredible," I replied, "and we were wondering what I would look like with braids and if you would like it."

Freck shook his head and replied, "Absolutely not. I like your hair the way it is now. I like long hair. Long hair is sexy, but not in braids."

“How long should I let it grow?” I asked.

"At least up to my butt," Freck replied. "Maybe up to my knees. Let it be as long as you can without tripping over it."

"You know I'll have to cut it off eventually," I replied. "No one's going to take Kyle Allen Goldstein, Ph.D., seriously when he has hair as long as Rapunzel's, right?"

"They will if you save the planet, Ky," Freck replied. "Besides, I'm more important to you than anyone else. So if I tell you not to cut your hair, let it grow as long as possible."

“Of course you are more important,” I agreed, “but sometimes we cannot escape society’s expectations.”

Sighing, Freck added, “Sad but true.”

“And why didn’t you tell me your sisters are in sixth grade?” I asked.

"As far as I know, they were in fifth grade," Freck replied. "They're probably smarter than me, so I expect they'll be going to college at the same time as us."

“Pretty cool,” I agreed.

"As the birthday girl, I have to mingle with the crowd," Freck announced. "And I have to get some of that wonderful food before it's gone. The sushi looks fantastic."

"That's it," I replied, looking at my almost empty plate. "Looks like it's time for me to get something to eat, too."

We both went back to the kitchen island where the food was laid out. I picked a selection of tempura and teriyaki, while Freck helped himself to a full plate of sushi. I'd probably eat more sushi myself after trying a little bit of everything else. On the other hand, I knew that for Freck's birthday, Dad had brought over a couple of Junior's cheesecakes and decorated them. One was Freck's favorite—cheese carrot cake—and the other was strawberry cheesecake for those who didn't like carrot cake. If you didn't like Junior's cheesecake, you were out of luck.

Freck went out to mingle with the guests, so I went in search of someone else to chat with during dinner. An opera was playing in the background—I think it was Carmen, Freck's favorite. I went downstairs to the lounge, which was on the same level as the pool.

Our house was unusual because it was a split-level home built into a hillside. It was actually one of the smaller ones on our street, and many people were buying up older houses like ours only to tear them down and build brand-new McMansions. For us, ours was perfect the way it was. Built in the early 1960s, it originally had four bedrooms at street level, including a study, laundry room, and utility room. In back, there was an enclosed kitchen, a formal dining room, and a living room. A large, unfinished basement led to a large, sloping backyard that was too steep for playing.

At some point, someone had a concrete patio and pool built and at the same time expanded the basement to convert it into a living room. The previous owners, who sold us the house, did a great job of modernizing it: They added the patio, enclosed the pool, combined the dining room and living room into one great room with a vaulted ceiling, enlarged and opened up the kitchen, and built a new master bedroom where the home office used to be.

The entrance was on the top floor. To the right and left were two bedrooms and a bathroom. A curved staircase led down to the great room, which had a high vaulted ceiling and large windows overlooking a terrace. A large, open kitchen occupied one end of the great room and was separated from it by a large kitchen island. A double-car garage led directly into the kitchen. The stairs continued down to the basement. On one side was the master bedroom with its bathroom, and on the other side were the laundry room, utility room, and workshop. The curved staircase continued down to the rec room, which featured a pool table, a ping-pong table, and several sitting areas. There was also a bar, a study, and several bathrooms with showers. A glass door led to the pool room below the terrace.

The Christmas tree was in the basement, and the tree reached up into the two-story foyer. Under the tree were tons of presents for Freck's birthday. I couldn't wait for him to open mine. No one was in the pool yet since almost everyone was eating, but Clarke, Carl, and Jessie were playing pool, so I stopped and watched them eat. Carl was clearly the best player of the three, but the other two were doing quite well. I watched them play a few full games before going back upstairs to get another plate of food, but I finally decided I'd had enough.

People flocked to the pool, and after giving my food some time to digest, I headed there myself. The dads set up a net, and we played water volleyball. It was great fun!

Before I knew it, it was time for the birthday cake. Dad brought out the carrot cheesecake with thirteen lit candles while we all sang Happy Birthday. Freck blew out all the candles while everyone clapped. The cake was decorated with what looked like the New York skyline—no doubt a nod to Freck's profession as an architect. Above the skyline was written "Happy 13," and below it, in large letters, simply "FRECK." The other cake, covered in strawberry frosting, was decorated with white frosting in the shape of a Hanukkah menorah. Below the menorah were the words "Happy Hanukkah and Merry Christmas," and the required number of candles were placed in the appropriate places on the cake. We lit the candles while singing the prayers and then immediately blew them out to eat the cake. I ate a slice of strawberry cheesecake, and it was wonderful.

Finally, it was time to open the presents, so we all gathered around the Christmas tree while the dads took turns handing out gift boxes, bags, and various awkwardly shaped objects to the birthday boy or girl. Most of the presents were simple things like iTunes gift cards, but there were also a few classic science fiction books in hardcover, which Freck loved, and even DVD-Audio with newly restored operas from the 1940s and 1950s that could be ripped and played in HD on our music players. Freck loved it. There were 4K HDR steelbook Blu-rays of Battlestar Galactica, all the Star Trek series, and even the older classics like The Twilight Zone, which were really cool. I couldn't wait to watch them all with my baby. Sure, we could have streamed them, but the Blu-rays looked better on our 4K OLED screen and offered extras that Netflix or Amazon Prime didn't have.

Most of the things the relatives sent were clothes, and they were a mixed bag, pun intended. Some things were a bit too big for Freck, but he'd probably grow into them. Freck's own parents gave him an Armani suit, a nice gesture, as his only suit was definitely too small for him by now. My great-great-uncle, who had been rather cold to us at Dad's wedding last June, sent Freck a really nice leather jacket that would have cost over a thousand dollars in New York. I guess he wanted to make amends. My great-grandfather sent an alligator belt with a silver buckle with ivory inlays, which were almost certainly illegal. We suspected that the alligator leather also came from an endangered species in the Amazon. No doubt he thought Freck would appreciate a gift that was hard to come by outside of Brazil, not knowing that he was a committed environmentalist. It would be a challenge to politely thank him for such a thoughtless gift.

Finally, we reached the last item, a cube-shaped box measuring about 10 centimeters on each side, wrapped in elegant gift wrap with gold leaf and a subtle embossed hexagon pattern. Upon closer inspection, the hexagons formed an endless pattern of six-pointed stars. The enclosed card, which I had purchased at the Papyrus store in 4 World Trade Center, was significantly larger than the gift box. The card, itself a work of art, was the perfect expression of my love for Freck. And that was a good thing, because it cost over 10 dollars.

Freck read the card and then kissed me on the lips. He carefully peeled off the wrapping paper without tearing it. I suspect he thought it was far too elegant to just tear off. I would have done the same. Slowly, an elegant box emerged, and Freck's hands began to tremble as he realized what it was. Slowly, he opened the box and revealed the watch he had admired just a moment ago. He could hardly believe what he saw, but then he looked straight at me and said, "I can't possibly accept this, Kyle. It's too much."

"It's inscribed," I replied, "so it can't be returned. And look at the dedication. It's not just from me."

Freck took the watch out of the box, turned it over, read the inscription, and then said, "Asher, Seth, I really appreciate the thoughtfulness, but this is too much." Then he looked back at me and added, "I could have bought this watch myself, but I didn't because it cost more than I wanted to spend. Don't get me wrong, I love the watch. I've never seen a watch like it, and unlike a Rolex, which is just about showing off, this watch is actually worth its price. It's a technical marvel, but the price is more than I want to spend."

"But isn't that exactly what gift-giving is all about?" I asked. "Isn't it about giving someone you love something you know they want, but would never spend money on themselves? A gift should be something special—something extravagant."

"Man, now I feel like an idiot," Freck replied. "What did I get you for your birthday? Tickets to the premiere of the new Star Wars collection on Blu-ray, a limited-edition souvenir, and the new Star Wars—things I would have loved to treat myself. I could have spent a lot more, but I didn't want you to feel pressured to spend a lot of money on me, and look what you got me?"

"But this is a special birthday," I said. "It's not every day you become a teenager."

"Every birthday with you is a special birthday, Kyle," he replied. "You spent way too much."

Seeing him pondering, I thought maybe he should know I had more than just Asher and Seth's help, so I asked, "Would it help to know I had extra help buying the watch? Dad didn't think I should spend that much either, but when I explained how much you wanted it, he offered to chip in so you could get it. I fully intended to buy it myself, and with Asher and Seth's help, I could have done it if I had put off buying my next iPhone for a year, but Dad wouldn't let me. He and Ken chipped in the difference, and I only let them because they were the reason I couldn't do it on my own. As Dad put it, it was a gift from them to both of us, because it allowed me to buy you the watch I wanted to give you, and you got the watch you wanted more than any other gift."

"Why don't you put it on, son," suggested Ken, whereupon Freck undid the clasp and placed the watch on his left wrist. It fit him perfectly and looked truly great on him.

"Every year, my parents gave me something to better showcase their favorite child. The Armani suit is a perfect example. As much as I needed a new suit, spending a few thousand dollars on something I'll outgrow in less than a year has more to do with them than with me. This is the first time anyone has spent that much money on me. It's the first time anyone has given me something I really wanted," Freck said, a few tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Be brave, sir,” Dad replied.

<> <> <>

Before we turned around, we sang Auld Langsyne, and then it was back to school. Except in the shower or at swim meets, Freck always wore his watch. As he said, it wasn't just about wearing an extraordinary watch. It was a constant reminder of the love it represented. There would be more gifts and milestones to come, but we would always remember that thirteenth birthday as the day Freck truly became part of our family.