On Saturday morning, I wake up at 10:30. Kessler is at my door, and he tells me to hurry up and get dressed. I make him leave so I can get ready. I decide while I'm pulling on a pair of ripped black jeans that I will tell Kessler about our customer.

When he hears me, he's excited. He asks me all kinds of ridiculous questions, and I ask for a favor.

Today we will set up a stakeout at Hemder's Department Store. I will bring my old binoculars and we will skate around all day. If I happen to see him, I will inconspicuously bump into him and recognize him. We will then start a conversation and live happily ever after.

Kessler likes the idea. I wear my hat shaped like a chunk of cheese.

We're across the street at the mouth of an alleyway, sitting back and rolling the wheels of our skates between our fingers. Kessler says he sees baggy pants, and I raise the binoculars to my eyes. I say its not him, and tip the cheese hat back on my head. Every few minutes, someone will stroll into Hemder's, and Kessler and I will visually stalk them until we realize its a young boy. An old man. A woman. Stakeouts are not easy. We get hungry and decide to buy oatmeal cookies.

Gretchen is at her usual counter, and Allen Hemder is at Kessler's. Register two is closed. We go instinctively to the end of aisle one and grab our lunch. We take the long aisle along the back of the store to aisle four, where we turn, and I bump into him.

My cheese hat falls off, and I almost get knocked back on my skates. The customer grabs my arm to steady me, and I drop my oatmeal cookie. He leans down like any courteous stranger would and picks up my mess. My mouth is open again, and I can't hear anything. Like an idiot, I say his name, River.

He says yes and do I know you and continues to shop.

At this point in time I remember how much I grew. I must look so different. But I just nod like a retard and shove my oatmeal cookie into my cheese hat. He says sorry that he doesn't remember me, but we should hang some time to catch up. He says three numbers and the name of a road. Our road. Crappy Road. And suddenly, things fall into place.

River and Redd are brothers. They moved back to this polluted town after twelve years, but why. I ponder and try to remember the three numbers as River walks away and Kessler puts his lanky arms tightly around my shoulders.

The day had come. My eyelashes weren't long and beautiful, and he was still a mile taller than me. He even traded in his droopy band tee for a fitting tank top. But I would be his friend.

We take Sponge Lane to Hemder's on Sunday. We take a break near my father's old workplace. We sit with our backs against the cold glass. Kessler lifts his shirt and leans into the window. I don't know how he can do it, it is already cold. It will be December in a few days. 

We finish our trek to Hemder's and stumble through the door. The bell rings over my head and I instinctively look to my counter, number two. There is someone standing there.

I make my way to register three where Allen Hemder stands casually. I ask him who is that, being very careful not to use words not in the vocabulary of a good little sixteen-year-old. Hemder can see I'm angry, maybe frightened for my job. But he just tells me Wesley is here for the weekends, and he will work the stock room during the week. Register two is all mine. I mumble that be better not rearrange anything or I'll kick his butt.

I stroll up to little Wesley's weekend hideaway and reach out my hand to grab his. I say my name, Van, and he says his as he shakes my hand. I tell him this is officially my register and he can stand here on the weekends, but if he so much as touches the computer screen during the week, he will have to deal with me. I'm really not this territorial. I just want to scare him. He looks a few years younger than me. I can see that I have done my job, so Kessler and I head to aisle four where I grab a pack of red sponges. My mother is on dish duty, and we're getting low.

I use my employee discount, five percent off, which reduces my total to less than a dollar. Gretchen gives me this big goofy braces smile, and I try to force one back at her. I think she can tell I'm struggling, so she just says goodbye as I grab my sponges and take off towards the door. Gretchen is one of those too nice people. She's a goober, wears her poofy curly brown hair in two pigtails on either side of her head under her ears. She wears these thick glasses that magnify her eyes tenfold, and sometimes I can see myself reflected in her eyes from behind the counter. She made one of those "Hi, my name is" name tags out of cardboard. Her name is written on the front in messy purple script. 

Kessler and I head back to Sponge Lane where we take another break at this old fabric store that only carries various colors of cotton and mesh. I think about my pink Easter dress. 

We sit and trace the life lines on each other's palms and talk about our futures. I hear footsteps and look up at the empty building across the street. I see baggy black jeans and can't help but smile, but I don't say anything. I tap Kessler until he looks up. I can tell he's about to say something, so I punch him in the arm.

He tells me River's house should be almost empty now, and we can go wait for him there. I remember his semi-annoying little brother, Redd. When I imagine him in my head, I automatically give him red hair. Because of his name. I cannot help it.

We wait for River to get to the end of Sponge Lane, and we get up and go the opposite way he is headed. As we walk, my mind wanders back to yesterday. I remember those three numbers lucidly flowing out of his mouth, his voice apologetic but smooth. I paste those numbers to the inside of my eyelids. Every time I blink, I see them, and my smile widens. 

We get to my house. River's is at the end of the cul-de-sac.

I prepare my hello. I have to keep it short because River is coming back. Kessler is Redd, and I am myself, and I quickly blurt out what I am to say. When I think I have it down, we leave my yard and stay off the sidewalk, headed straight to his house. I'm jittery with anxiety. My hands are in my pockets so they won't jump around. I try to breathe easily, but I can't. Kessler links his arm through mine, and we skip the rest of the way, taking the stress off my shoulders.

We ring the doorbell three times, Kessler's finger pressed firmly on top of mine. We finally hear a word, coming, and I grab Kessler's wrist and squeeze it. He grimaces as the door opens.

There stands Redd, tousled brown hair, wide eyes and a huge grin. I say hey, and can we come in. He says sure, that his brother will be back soon, but we can hang out on the couch. I lean in to enter and smell a decadent fragrance wafting from Redd's body.

The house is sort of small like mine. We enter in the living room; a small path behind a red couch leads to the kitchen. There is a large TV with stacks of movies on either side. The carpet is dull and tan, the ceiling crumbly like every building I've been in. Redd motions to the couch, but I wander into the kitchen.

The antique table only has two chairs, not matching the table or each other. The sink is full of dishes that I am compelled to clean. The smooth tile makes me want to take my flip-flops off, so I do. The refrigerator is yellowing and rumbling like an earthquake. The cabinets are closed, but I can tell they are mostly empty.

Kessler takes my hand and drags me to the couch were Redd is waiting. I sit with my feet propped on a coffee-stained table. I am processing the words I rehearsed at my house. They roll like a marquee through my head in perfect sentences, ready to leave my mouth. I am about to speak the first word, and the front door creaks open. A quiet wind flows into the room and rustles my hair off of my shoulders.

All three of us look to our left, to the noisy door that hasn't been opened all the way yet.

River steps in and kicks off his heavy shoes. His eyes shift from face to face, mostly focused on Redd's. I would almost say they read each other's minds, but I can't tell.

He lets out a gentle hello and removes his coat, throwing it on a lumpy green chair to the left of the door. It sits in front of a bare window. No shades, no curtains.

My inner smile is ready to jump across my face, but I calmly let it creep, bending my lips up until they can't move anymore.

He says he didn't realize we'd be having company, and I apologize for coming in on such late notice. Kessler agrees with everything I say with his short nods. River says everything's fine, he was just about to make lunch, and we should stay and enjoy his fabulous cooking. I can't tell if he's being arrogant or sarcastic. His tone is mysterious, and the beauty in his voice makes all of his words confusing to my ears. My mind can't even comprehend what is going on. It's like when you're reading something but you are just reading it. You aren't listening to the words you say, and you have to read it twice just to understand it. Every word that leaves my lips is exactly like that. Every thing he says is verbal Egyptian hieroglyphics, and I am a stupid French girl who doesn't even know her own language yet. 

River is in the kitchen, and my eyes are still on that spot by the front door where he stood. I blink as Redd's hand passes in front of my face. Kessler flashes a huge grin at me and gives me a thumbs up. My head is rushing with blood.

River makes spaghetti and garlic bread. He says he splurged for the snack packs, and hands us each a cup of chocolate pudding with a plastic spoon. He looks like he's about to head out again, but he tells me he's just stepping outside for some fresh air. After about two minutes of being in the same room with both Redd and Kessler, I decide it is time for some air too.

River is sitting on his welcome mat holding a cigarette. I realize this will be the downfall to our relationship, and I tell him that its bad for him. He says he knows and that he's been trying to quit for a year. I can't explain the urge I get, but I yank the lit cigarette out of his mouth and squash it under my flip-flops. He thanks me. I was thinking he would be mad, but I rejoice when he thanks me. I sit down next to him on the welcome mat and look up at the black sky. It is about to rain. 

We start a conversation. He tells me about how he used to live here about twelve years ago, and I just nod like I don't know anything. He tells me about how when his brother was born, he was so angry that he punched a hole in his bedroom wall. He later regretted ever hating the little bundle of joy, and they've been closer since then than any Kessler and Van could ever be. I occasionally nod and smile.

He gets into the deep, depressing stuff. How his mom left and his dad died, and Redd was left without a home, so he took him in. He says that he was more of a parent than either of his actual ones, and I feel a twinge of pain for him. 

It gets really fun when he starts asking me about my life. The first question he asks is something about if I graduated around here. My mind searches for an answer, but I decide the truth is better than any fake story I could come up with and have to keep track of. I tell him I'm a junior at Downtown High School and he laughs. I think he thinks its a joke. That's exactly what he thinks, he tells me. I say no, that I'm sixteen, and then I break into detail about my horrid past. I explain the Easter party and the deviled egg and the pink dress. He just sits and takes it all in, impulsively reaches for another cigarette until I stop him with my normally motionless hands. I expect sincerity, but once I'm finished he just stares. Stares at the little bristly W of the welcome mat. Bores a hole into the concrete with his eyes. I can see him staring into the very core of the earth. I tap his shoulder.

He looks up at the road ahead of his house. He turns to me. He says something like I'm only sixteen, I have to go. I have to go home. Maybe I can hang out with Redd at school. On the bus. Not at his house, though, because he's still unpacking and its kind of dirty. I fumble through my inner vocabulary. Words can't reach my mouth. They sit in mixed up piles in the inner reaches of my brain. The front door opens and Kessler walks out onto the little step in front of the door. I catch my breath and look up to see him casually chatting it up with the face behind the door. He tells Redd goodbye.

He looks down at me, and I'm still staring into him like a lost baby deer.

He grabs me by the elbow and says goodbye to River. I want to say goodbye too, but I just stare some more, and wave my hand jaggedly through the smoggy air. River nods, what a boring goodbye, and stares into my eyes. His expression is something of discomfort and agony. I look away as Kessler drags me towards my house. He fills his cheeks up with air and lets it all out in one obnoxious breath. I can hear our footsteps, but I can't feel us getting any farther away from his house.

I don't know why I'm so freaked out. Is it because I can't see River anymore, or is it because he actually likes me as much as I like him?

Monday morning, I wake up before my alarm goes off. I had a dream that River and I were both curled up in our attics, communicating through little black boxes with antennae. I imagined him leaning against the corner of the little room, enveloped in his baggy jeans, cradling a walkie-talkie like it was a child, holding down the button and saying unintelligible things to me. I was talking back in this same strange language. I heard a loud noise, and I woke up.

This day is so boring and slow that I may very well fall asleep standing up. I get the first hint of excitement when I stroll up to my locker and find that it has literally been stuffed with little green and red bibles. I don't know where anyone gets the time, money, and lock-picking skills to do this, but I am so angry, that I'm actually happy to have any emotion at all. I non-chalantly lug a garbage can to my locker and sweep the bibles out of it. Several witnesses stare or laugh. To whomever has the capacity to even react to what is happening, I give a little green or red or puce or mauve bible and smile as I swing my heavy bookbag over my shoulder and head to the cafeteria. Today we have lasagna, and I don't like lasagna.

Fourth period is about to end when I get called to the principal's office. I'm sure its because of a recent pep rally of which I did not attend, or some sort of falling asleep in class problem. I am wrong though, for when I make it to Mr. Jogger's (Because he jogs past my house every day) office, he tells me that I should do one of two things. Option A is simple enough. Recycle these bibles instead of just throwing them away. This could be the simple option, and I will probably think about doing it. Option B is to actually read one of these bibles, and then maybe the perpetrator will stop hassling me. I don't like this option. Eventually whoever is doing this will stop when they realize they are wasting God's precious trees. I tell Mr. Jogger I will think about my options and get back to him when I have made my decision. He nods like he believes what I just said, so I go back to class and wait out the remaining five minutes.