Y’all, I have to be honest with you. I have looked at all the pictures, watched all the videos, and re-read every headline and story about Nolan Wells, and every time, my stomach drops the same way it did the first time.

An 18-year-old goes out on a boat with a group he calls friends. Somewhere in those final hours, the stories stop matching up. One group says he chose to stay behind. Another says something else. And now a grand jury, a family attorney, concerned celebrities, forensic experts, and honestly, all of Beyonce’s internet are trying to piece together what actually happened to that baby.

I’m not writing this post to solve the case. I don’t have that information and I’m not sure who does. But as a clinical psychologist who has spent almost fifteen years studying racial trauma and healing, and as a mom who has to send my own son, Roman, into a world full of friend groups I don’t get to supervise, I keep coming back to one question that has nothing to do with what happened on that island and everything to do with the conversations we’re having about friendships, race, survival, and joy as our birthright: Does your child actually know how to tell a real friend from a convenient one?

Because here’s what I notice every time I see a story like this in the therapy space, at a school, or on the news or social media. Somebody’s kid was left behind. Somebody’s kid didn’t speak up. Somebody’s kid was harmed. Somebody’s kid told a different story once the group was no longer together. And every time, parents across the country ask the same devastating question: Would my child’s “friends” have done the same thing?

We spend so much of August buying bookbags and labeling folders and rehearsing “have a good day at school” that we skip the conversation that actually protects our kids and teaches them, concretely, what a real friend does and doesn’t do.

Reciprocity, Not Proximity

In my training as a therapist, and now as a researcher and professor teaching the next generation of clinicians, I remind practitioners constantly: proximity is not intimacy, and popularity is not protection. A kid can be “in the group chat” and still be the one nobody speaks up for. Developmental research backs this up and shows that reciprocal friendships, the kind where a child consistently gets chosen back, correlate with lower anxiety and stronger identity development through adolescence. One-sided friendships, where a child is more invested than the group is in them, don’t offer that same protection, even when they look identical from the outside.

So, before your child walks into a new classroom or sits at a new lunch table this fall, sit with them and ask: “Who checks on you when things go wrong? Who speaks up for you in front of others? Who tells the truth about you when you’re not in the room?” That’s the friendship test: not “Who do you sit with,” but “Who would still be honest about you if it cost them something.”

Tips for Black (or Other Marginalized) Parents: Naming the “Only One” Danger Out Loud

Growing up, my parents had a rule that used to embarrass me: I was only allowed to sleep over at my family’s houses: real family, play cousins, godparents, and other extended family who had known me since I was in diapers. At the time, I thought it was overprotective. Now that I’m the one raising a son, I understand exactly what they were doing. They weren’t just being strict. They were making sure that if something ever went wrong in the middle of the night, the adults in that house already loved me and already had reason to tell the truth about what happened to me.

That’s the lesson I want to give Roman, and it’s the lesson I want to hand you, plainly:

Give racism a name before school does. Kids will encounter racist jokes, racist assumptions, or racist treatment whether or not you’ve prepared them. Naming it clearly at home means they recognize it the first time it happens instead of the fifth.
Teach them to notice who speaks up and who stays quiet. In a mixed group, ask your child: when something goes wrong, who tells the adults what really happened to you, and who lets someone else’s version become the story?
Set concrete rules for overnight and unsupervised situations, the way my parents did with me, and say the “why” out loud instead of just enforcing the rule silently. “You can sleep over at a house of people we know well, because I want grown-ups in that house who already love you” is a sentence a child can carry with them.
Give them exit language for tokenized spaces: “I felt like I was there to be the target of jokes, not because they had my back” is a feeling an eight- or nine-year-old can learn to name and bring home to you.
Celebrate the differences, don’t just survive them. Being the only one in a room doesn’t have to mean shrinking. Talk with your child about what it means to bring your full self (like, your language, your hair, your music, your family’s traditions) into a friend group instead of changing yourself to fit in.

This isn’t about raising suspicious kids or isolated kids. It’s about raising kids who know the difference between being included and being valued, and kids who know that “I’m the only one here who looks like me” is information worth paying attention to, not something to ignore.

Tips for White (or, Majority) Parents: Raising Kids Who Know How to Be an Ally

This part matters just as much, and it’s the part that gets skipped most often. White children need direct, explicit coaching in how to actually be an ally to their Black friends. They don’t need colorblind or vague “be kind to everyone” messaging, but specific, rehearsed language for the exact moment a Black (or other marginalized) friend is being excluded, blamed, tokenized, or left to explain themselves alone.

Teach the word and the sentence, not just the sentiment. “That’s racist, “That’s not fair, let’s go find them” or “She wasn’t even there, why are we blaming her” are sentences a six- or seven-year-old can practice and use. Kids can spot “that’s not fair” faster than they can spot racism, so we should teach both the sentiment and the word. Teach kids that racism is not just slurs and name-calling, but who gets blamed, who gets included, who gets excluded, who gets left to explain themselves.
Explain what tokenizing looks like from the outside, so your child can recognize when a friend is being included as “the only one” rather than as a full member of the group, and can actively work to change that instead of benefiting from it.
Normalize speaking up even when it costs social capital. An ally isn’t the kid who agrees quietly afterward. It’s the kid who says something while the group is still watching.
Celebrate differences with your kids at home, out loud, so noticing and naming a friend’s culture, hair, food, or traditions feels natural and respectful rather than awkward or invisible.

Silence in difficult moments isn’t neutral. It’s a choice. And staying vague about racism so it “stays age-appropriate” is its own kind of silence that causes harm. Racial socialization research is clear that these conversations, in both Black and white households, are protective. They are not the things that create division. Silence is.

Before the Bookbags

This school year, before you get to the “don’t talk to strangers” talk, have the “who talks about you when you’re not there” talk. Role-play it. Ask your kid to name one friend who has already shown, in a real moment, that they’d tell the truth for them. If they can’t name one yet, that’s not a failure, it’s information, and it can be taught while teaching our kids how to recognize (and be) good friends.

Nolan Wells’ family is still waiting for answers none of us can give them. What we can give our own kids is a clearer understanding of racism and a clearer definition of loyalty before they need it.