“I should’ve just told her I was your guardian,” I whispered bitterly to Eli.

“I don’t think she’d’ve believed you,” Eli said logically.

“I know, I know,” from me. “Well, we can rent it then when it comes out on video.”

“Sure,” Eli said. He was studying the marquee to see which of the other 26 movies playing at the theater were rated something other than R. Our choices, he announced, were slim: “The Tigger Movie,” “Stuart Little,” or “Galaxy Quest.” But he seemed unfazed, not furious like I was because he is used to grown-ups limiting him because, of course, he’s 12.

By the end of the day, Eli and I had seen an 11:30 a.m. showing of “Galaxy Quest” at which we made up the entire audience; we had spent an hour at the video arcade on the University of Oregon campus, which Eli claims is the best arcade in town; and we had eaten at Sy’s, Eli’s favorite pizza place. Eli speaks with command about pizza places: Even though Sy’s is too expensive and it sucks that they don’t deliver, it is still the “best pizza place in the world,” i.e. Eugene, Oregon, population 130,000.

After a long discussion about what kind of car he wants when he turns 16 (a BMW, but he’d probably be OK with a Honda CRX like mine if he had to settle), I pulled up in front of Eli’s house. He mumbled a quick, “yeah OK, bye” in response to my attempt to make plans for the next day, and bounded happily toward his house. It had been a good day.

“Come on, fat ass.” Simon grins, slanting his eyes at Eli for a reaction. But Eli just twirls his fingers more tightly around Avivah’s leash and walks on. Devin, dragging his sneakers along the sidewalk with his toes while his heels hang out the back, is the target of Simon’s taunt, but he seems to care less than Eli.

Just last summer, Eli and Devin crouched in the dugout at a Little League game wearing jerseys and shorts. Their little boy faces were tan and smooth, their skin stretched from foreheads to chins in a sheath. It didn’t matter if they were up to bat or not; they ran everywhere anyway. That was the weekend after Devin’s 12th birthday, three weeks before Eli would leave age 11 behind.

In summer, Eli had been lean. By October, he had grown more sturdy. But it wasn’t just his weight that had been climbing. It wasn’t just the accumulation of pizza and burgers on his slight frame. Everything about Eli was expanding. His nose and lips were suddenly more defined, as were the muscles in his neck. His arms all at once were proportionate with the length of his fingers, and Eli’s legs were resembling his father’s more and more everyday.

Lorri, his mother, knew this from stolen glances at Eli as he rushed down the hall from his bedroom to take a shower before school. He would scurry – faster all the time – in only his underwear, which he’d recently decided should be boxers not briefs.