Of course he knew her.
He had been there for her when she fell over in the playground and scraped her knee and he had wiped her tears with his shirt sleeve. He had held her hand when she was scared that time the zoologist visited the school and showed off rats and lizards and spiders and snails. He had assured her that nothing was going to hurt her.
He had run around the neighbourhood on hot summer days shooting water out of bazookas nearly the same size as him, and he had laughed after she ambushed him and drenched him with ice-cold water.
There were those Halloween nights, accompanied by parents who walked behind them at a distance. The nights where they gorged themselves on sweets and chocolate and were secretly sick in their own houses after it was time to go home.
Or, they thought
