Jordans family is everything mine isn't. He has five brothers and sisters that love him ,and never resort to physical violence to solve their problems, and two parents who are still in love, and rarely fight. they were the perfect family that you could only see on reruns of the old TV shows from the 50's.

Jordan and I have lived next door to each other since he moved there when he was three. Back then he had an older brother, who didn't get along with my older brother, and a baby brother. My mother always said that the moment Jordan and I met we were best friends. I let him use my play-do. I never let anyone use my play-do. In return, he made me an ice cream cone. Of course, I don't actually remember any of this. My mother has told the story countless times. I don't blame myself for letting Jordan use my play-do. He was the cutest thing. He had blonde hair, the color of golden honey, cut in a pageboy style, and ice-blue eyes that constantly sparkled and danced. A smile was constantly on his face, and when he laughed, you couldn't help but laugh with him, even if you didn't know what he was laughing about. More often than not, that was the case. We could have been talking, and he would burst out laughing thinking about something he saw on TV the night before, something he read in 'Highlights' magazine, or just something he made up in his head.

We grew up to be best friends, which surprised everybody. We were complete opposites. He had a bubbly personality, spoke his mind, and could make friends with anyone. I was shy, almost never spoke to anyone outside my family or Jordan, and had almost no friends at school. No one wanted to know me. But when I was around him, I changed. I could talk to him, and just be myself around him. Whenever someone asked him why he was friends with me, he would reply "opposites attract".

One day, when we were both ten, in early spring, I got into a fight with my brother. I don't really remember what it was about, it was so insignificant, and pointless, and stupid. The fight was worse than usual, though. He pushed me, and I pushed him back, but I was no match for him.

Finally I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of the house, and snuck over to Jordan's. I climbed the treehouse we built a couple of years ago with his brothers.

I had just started eating our stash of Jelly Belly jelly beans, when he came into view.

"Isaac said he saw you come up here."

"Sorry."

"Why are you sorry? You helped build it. You can come up here anytime you want."

I smiled weakly at him.

"What are you doing, eating my jelly beans?" he asked in mock indignation.

"Ha, ha. I bought them this time, so technically, they're mine."

He grabbed the bag from my hands. "So what's wrong? I could hear yelling coming from your house."

"I had another fight with Eric."

"Again?"

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Yes, again."

"What about this time?" he asked, stuffing his face with another handful of jelly beans. Some bits sprayed on me as he spoke.

"I dunno. It was stupid. He said something like I broke his Gameboy. It's not even his Gameboy. It's ours. And it's not even broken. The batteries ran out because I used them in my walkman. But instead of getting new batteries, what does he do? Yell and scream at me, of course. I haven't even used it in weeks. He never lets me. Mom gave it to both of us for Christmas, but he thinks it's his, and he started yelling at me for using it and not replacing the batteries, and I yelled back at him because it's mine, too, whether he likes it or not, and then he pushed me, and I pushed him back, but you know he's bigger than me, and he grabbed my arm." I showed him the red mark on my arm, and he looked closer at it. "And he wouldn't let go, so I pinched him, and dug my nails into his arm, and he finally let go, and that's when I came over here." I looked at Jordan, out of breath and glad that he let me talk without interrupting to ask questions.

He moved closer to me, and put his arm around my shoulder. I leaned my head against him, and asked the question that had been on my mind almost as long as I've known him.

"Why?"

"Why what? Why is your brother such a jerk?"

"Why? Why is it that you can get along so well with your family. Why are you best friends with your brothers, while I can barely go a day without getting into a fight with mine?"

"Because."

I looked up at him, and he explained. "Because we're different. Because we were brought up different. My parents always talked to me. They encouraged me to do what I like, to do the best I can at whatever I want to, whether it's soccer, or karate, or singing, or playing the piano. Your mother works all day, while Aaron baby-sits, and when she gets home, she's too tired to do anything other than cook dinner. She's a single parent who works hard so you can have food, and clothes, and everything, while my mother gets to stay home because my father has a good job, and she home schools us, so I spend all day with my brothers, and sisters. Most of all, you're too different from your brothers. You love reading, and writing, and art, and dancing, and you're always in your own little world. Your brothers play sports, and they hate school, and anything to do with it. You might like the same TV shows but that's not enough. My brothers and I like a lot of the same things. We all like music, we all like writing songs, we all like reading. We even like the same books. Sure, Isaac might be trying to write a book, not something I would do, and Zac mthers, that I hated my family. I always knew that he was wise beyond his years, that he was much smarter and more articulate than anyone gave him credit for. I guess I never knew how much, how different we really were.

I smiles back. "You better not change either. You're too good to me, Jordan. Sometimes I wonder why you would even choose me as your friend."

Even though I was just trying to joke around, he gave me a serious answer. "Because you're cool. You let me play with your play-do," I smiled at this. "Because I can be myself around you. You don't always expect me to be happy. You're the one who really understands me."

"But why me? Why not someone else?"

"Because," he paused, then smiled again. "Because opposites attract."

Jordan moved away not too long after that afternoon, because of his fathers job. We tried to keep in touch, but he kept moving, and it was hard to keep up with him. Eventually we stopped writing. I still get the occasional letter or postcard, but they rarely say much.

He taught me so much that afternoon. He was right. As we all grew older, my brothers changed, and we started to get along better. We aren't best friends yet, but you never know.

I hope I get to see Jordan again, someday. He owes me a bag of jelly beans.