My friend who liked to stick her fingers in her armpits and then press them to my face to smell, the one who wore the oversized t-shirts with frogs on them, the one who went to a raptor sanctuary with me and together we looked at owls and condors, the one whose nervous dad practiced square breathing by counting to 5 four times, and whose mom dressed like she was from the pioneer days, the friend who looked at me with a gooey kind of smile, a smile made of soft, warm cake, or hot fondant, who looked like a frog herself sometimes, that’s the friend who swam with her t-shirt under her one-piece and never, ever cried, not even when her dad killed a doe on the way to Frontier Town. The car was exhaling like a dragon on the side of the road, and we were in the backseat while he was pacing and crying and trying to call AAA on his car phone and all my friend cared about was if I was an Animorph, what animal would I be?