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...the story continues...

"Hurry up, Puddles! Let´s go!" she yelled. Puddles didn´t answer, but she didn´t expect him to. He never said much, but she knew he would come. She wasn´t his mother, she just had that quality. She wasn´t his sister, either. Some people thought she was his sister, but only those people who saw them occasionally. Most everyone else thought she was his girlfriend. That term didn´t fit either. She certainly was his friend and definitely was a girl. In fact, they were best friends. It wasn´t a subject they talked about, but not because either of them were shy or embarrassed to talk about it; no, their friendship just was - and it seemed like it always had been. They were comfortable about it and had other things to talk about.

"Puddles, now would be a good time!" she called back. She knew he was doing this to irritate her. He was pretty good at it, too. Puddles Pinkerton . . . what a name, she thought. How could he stand it? He doesn´t even mind. I think he actually likes it! She liked it, too, really. Most of the time, she didn´t think about his name as meaning anything. She didn´t think about water or mud puddles or a kid wetting his pants when she said it. She thought about Puddles. Of course, she was the one who was responsible for his name. Even his parents called him Puddles! He really was a strange kid. Not bad strange or weird strange, but strange as in different. Extremely different.