The Beginning of Everything

by Robyn Schneider

“DUDE,” TOBY WHISPERED as we took our order receipt. “Did you know that Justin Wong worked here?” I shrugged. “Must pay well.” Justin was in my math class. He was a pretty forgettable guy, except for his car—this ridiculously souped-up Honda, the kind kids at school referred to as a rice rocket.

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“Tumbleweed,” Toby noted. “Fifty points if you hit it.” “In Soviet Russia,” I said, doing a terrible accent, “tumbleweeds hit you.”

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