Milo and the Goodbye Party

Milo Chen had opinions about everything.

He had opinions about breakfast — waffles should be crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, and syrup should go in every single square. He had opinions about socks — they should match, obviously, but also the seam should never, ever touch his toes. He had opinions about the way his mom cut sandwiches — triangles, not rectangles, because triangles tasted better, and that was a scientific fact.

So when Milo found out that his best friend Jaylen was moving away — far away, to a place called New Mexico, which wasn't even new and wasn't even Mexico — Milo had a very strong opinion about that too.

"That's the worst idea anyone has ever had," Milo told Jaylen on the playground. "And I'm including the time Marcus tried to eat a pinecone."

Jaylen laughed, but it was a quiet kind of laugh. The kind that faded too fast.

"My mom got a job there," Jaylen said, shrugging the way people shrug when they don't want to shrug but don't know what else to do with their shoulders.

Milo kicked a wood chip. Then he kicked another one. Then he kicked a whole pile of them, which wasn't as satisfying as he'd hoped.

That night, lying in bed, Milo stared at the ceiling and made a decision. If Jaylen had to go — and apparently nobody had asked Milo's opinion about this, which was ridiculous — then Jaylen was going to have the best goodbye party in the entire history of goodbye parties.

Not a good party. Not a great party. The best.

Milo got out his notebook — the one with the dog wearing sunglasses on the cover — and started making a list.

The list said:

JAYLEN'S GOODBYE PARTY 1. Decorations (not boring ones) 2. The best cake in the world 3. Music (loud) 4. Games Jaylen actually likes 5. A speech (by me, because I'm good at talking) 6. Make it so fun that Jaylen remembers it FOREVER

He underlined "FOREVER" three times.

The next morning, Milo woke up early. He had work to do.

First: decorations. Milo found streamers in the hall closet, but they were plain blue. Plain blue was fine for a regular Tuesday, but this was not a regular Tuesday. This was The Most Important Party Ever. So Milo got his markers and drew tiny pictures on every streamer — basketballs, because Jaylen loved basketball, and lizards, because Jaylen also loved lizards, and pizza slices, because everyone loved pizza and if you didn't there was something wrong with you.

It took a very long time. His hand got a cramp. He kept going.

"Milo, what are you doing?" his older sister Bea asked, stepping over him in the hallway.

"Creating decorations. Obviously."

"They look like blobs."

"They look like art," Milo corrected. "And you're stepping on the pizza streamer, so if you could move your giant foot, that would be great."

Bea moved her foot. But she also sat down and started drawing on a streamer too. Hers were better, but Milo decided not to have an opinion about that. Just this once.

Next: the cake. Milo had opinions about cake. The best cake was chocolate with chocolate frosting and then more chocolate on top, but Jaylen's favorite was vanilla with strawberry frosting, which was wrong but also this wasn't Milo's party. So fine. Vanilla with strawberry it was.

Milo's mom helped with the cake, but Milo was in charge of frosting, and he wrote JAYLEN in big wobbly letters. The J was too big and the N was too small and the whole thing leaned to one side like it was falling asleep.

Milo frowned at it.

"It looks a little—" his mom started.

"It looks perfect," Milo said firmly.

His mom smiled. "You're right. It does."

Then: the speech. Milo sat at the kitchen table with a fresh piece of paper and his favorite pencil — the one with exactly the right amount of sharpness — and wrote:

Dear Jaylen,

He stared at the paper for a long time. Then he wrote:

You are

He stared some more.

The thing was, Milo had opinions about everything. He always knew exactly what to say about waffles and socks and sandwiches and whether it was okay to wear shorts in winter. But right now, sitting at the kitchen table with the cake drying on the counter and the blobby streamers draped over every chair, Milo couldn't find the right words for the one thing that actually mattered.

He tried again.

You are my best friend and New Mexico is very far away.

He put the pencil down. His eyes felt hot and stingy, the way they got right before something happened that he didn't want to happen.

"I don't want to write a speech," Milo said quietly.

His mom sat down next to him. She didn't say anything. She just sat there, which was exactly right.

"If I write the speech," Milo said, "then the party happens. And if the party happens, then it's real. And if it's real, then tomorrow Jaylen is gone."

His mom put her hand on his back.

"I thought if I made it the best party ever, it would feel okay," Milo whispered. "But it doesn't feel okay."

"No," his mom said softly. "It doesn't."

Milo sniffed. A big, loud, not-at-all-graceful sniff. "This is the worst opinion I've ever had. That things should stay the same."

His mom pulled him close. "That's not a bad opinion, Milo. That's just love. And love is always worth it, even when it hurts."

They sat there for a while. The kitchen smelled like cake.

Then Milo picked up his pencil.

At four o'clock, Jaylen came over.

He saw the streamers — the beautiful, blobby streamers with tiny basketballs and lizards and pizza slices hanging from every doorway and lamp and curtain rod. His eyes went wide.

"Milo. What did you do?"

"I made you the best goodbye party in the entire history of goodbye parties," Milo said. "You're welcome."

They played all of Jaylen's favorite games — HORSE in the driveway and freeze dance in the living room and the game they'd invented called Sock Ball, which had rules that only they understood and that changed every single time.

They ate the cake. Jaylen saw his wobbly name in frosting and grinned so big that Milo could see the gap where his tooth used to be.

"The J is huge," Jaylen said.

"That's because you're a huge deal," Milo said, and Jaylen laughed — a real laugh this time, not a fading one.

Then it was time for the speech.

Milo stood on the bottom step of the staircase, because speeches needed a stage. Jaylen sat on the couch. Bea and Mom and Jaylen's mom stood in the doorway.

Milo unfolded his piece of paper. He cleared his throat.

"Dear Jaylen," he read. "You are my best friend. New Mexico is very far away, and I have a lot of opinions about that. But here is my most important opinion."

Milo paused. His eyes did the hot stingy thing again. He kept going.

"My most important opinion is that you are the best person to play Sock Ball with, and the best person to sit next to at lunch, and the best person to tell stuff to. And I don't think that's going to change just because you move to a place that isn't even new."

Jaylen was smiling, but his eyes were shiny.

"I'm going to miss you so much," Milo read, "that I'll probably have opinions about it every single day."

He folded the paper. "That's it. That's the speech."

Jaylen stood up from the couch and hugged Milo so hard that they both almost fell over. Milo had strong opinions about hugging — it was fine but shouldn't last too long — but this time he decided the hug could last as long as it wanted.

When Jaylen finally stepped back, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve and said, "That was the best goodbye party in the entire history of goodbye parties."

"I know," Milo said. "I planned it."

Jaylen laughed. And this time, the laugh didn't fade at all.