He was coming up on my left, walking confident. I admire him, I admit it. He’s brave, sticks to himself and what he loves – unlike all the other gingerbread men at this school. Cut from a mold is what they are, truly. He isn’t. The cowboy hat bobbed above the crowd, sliding in and out of the makeshift foliage. “Nice hat,” I ventured when he was in front of me and a little to the left. He nodded thanks and swept the hat off his head with smooth movements and set it on my head. I like to imagine that my face held and expression of happiness, but I do believe I looked a bit more appalled. He smiled, but I thought ahead. “When shall I give it back to ya?” I questioned. He was confident, unfazed by the question. “After school,” he told me, as we were parallel now. He turned down the adjacent hall and I continued on to my class, confidence perched on my head, I soared.