Confettie
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Summary
It's been three months, and he doesn't have a single friend. Not one.
White kids play with white kids.
That’s just how it is.
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“…I’m Lucas,” he says after a moment.
The boy hesitates. “…Will.”
Lucas shifts a little where he’s sitting, then slowly lifts his hand, holding it out between them. “We can- we can shake hands. If you want. I’m not dirty, I promise.”
Will sniffles, eyes flicking up to Lucas’s face, then down to his hand. Slowly, carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed, he reaches out and places his hand in Lucas’s. His fingers are cold. “... I’m not dirty, either.”
Or, Lucas has been having a rough time at school. His neighbor's friend seems to be having a rough time, too. They both get it, somehow, even if it's not quite the same.