Jackson and Rob walked down Main Street, past the antique shop that Rob's grandma owned. They greeted her by the front door and Rob asked her what new wares she'd received over the weekend. While they talked, Jackson stuck his hands inside the tiny pockets of his hoodie, which he'd been wearing since eighth grade, and watched the morning traffic chug along between orange cones and construction trucks blocking off turn lanes. The sky was smog grey and every building looked slightly dilapidated. "What a shitty town," he thought.
He started fantasizing about Alyssa Carnahan. Alyssa Carnahan from last year's Physics, with her enchanting dark brown, almost black, hair parted from her forehead to show eyebrows Da Vinci would have been proud to trace; eyes Jackson imagined as blue, because he never got close enough to see their true color; a slim, dancer's figure that advertised little, but suggested so much; Alyssa who was currently single, or so the gossip went, and who had posted a Facebook status last night that read: "Final year! Wow!! I can't believe it's been 4 years! I'm looking forward to all the great times and new people and graduation. Live big cuz you don't know what's gonna happen. ;)"
Jackson took that as a sign. He liked her status, along with ninety-eight other people, and spent the whole night and most of that morning imagining how to distinguish himself from the pack.
He woke up to a pair of fingers snapping in his face.
"Hey! Earth to daydreamer!" Rob lightly slapped Jackson's cheek. "You're wanted at Garfield High School."
"What the fuck?" Jackson snapped. Thankfully, Rob's grandma had unlocked the door and slipped through it before she could hear him. They continued walking. "We've got twenty minutes. Chill the fuck out."
"You don't expect you'll get Alyssa, talking language like that," Rob said, grinning.
Jackson glared. "How do you know I want Alyssa?"
Rob scoffed. "Dude! That's all you've been talking about since sophomore year! Come on, man, you've got, like, two weeks to ask her out before some cute choir guy has her taken. And that's an optimistic estimate."
"Yeah, yeah, Mr. Writer," Jackson grumbled. "I'm just thinking about it, okay? No commitments. I'll see who's in my classes, and - you never know - could be someone cuter."
"I doubt it," said Rob, with a shrug. He adjusted the strap on his brown leather satchel - his substitute for a backpack - and wiped the dirty-blonde hair away from his eyes before sighing: "I get you, though. I've been trying to win back Melanie all summer, but she's not biting. You've got to do something special, whether it's flowers or jewelry or standing outside their window with a boombox over your head. You can't just beg them."
He caught Jackson staring at him blankly. "Boombox?" Jackson said.
"That's OK," muttered Rob. "You wouldn't know it."
They arrived at school five minutes before the first-period bell. Three empty school buses idled at the curb, and a few other stragglers were scurrying up the front steps. Rob said, "Race you to the door," but just as he started running something slipped from his satchel and clattered on the sidewalk. It shone blindingly in the sunlight.
"Hold a tick!" Jackson yelled. He stooped down and gently lifted the shining, metal object, trying to make it out through the glare...
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