Tacoma, Washington, present day. June seventh, Saturday, six days into summer vacation. Eight-forty PM. 

The streets were crowded, full of summertime revelers. Although it was noisy and people were packed in the downtown core, and even though it was hot out and cigarette smoke and odors of food and beer filled the air, I was excited simply being there. 

And why not? I’d aced my final tests, no summer school, nothing until September, and I’d finished my first week on the job at All-Brights Ice-Cream Emporium just a half-hour ago. One of the perks of working at an ice-cream shop was getting a few free cones whenever I felt like it.

Jim Steele, my coworker, had helped me get this job. We went to the same school, took Calculus and Physics together, and he’d spoken to the owner. I had a brief interview, and the result was a three-month contract. Done deal. 

I worked my butt off because I owed him one. Jim was a stand-up guy, so the least that I could do was to make a good impression on our employer and my friend.

During our first few days on the job, we’d had fun greeting the customers and scarfing down ice-cream when the shop was empty. Today, though, it had been ultra-busy, due to the hot summer weather and everyone just had to get their chocolate-vanilla swirl fix on. 

Everyone—especially the kids. They wanted to not only have samples but also eat everything, and there was the usual assortment of adults who wanted to taste-test all forty-two flavors our shop carried. Oh, and they complained about the prices, too…but they still bought cones and cups for their children who’d been stamping their feet to reclaim their parent’s precious time for themselves.

And through it all, I had to smile, even when the kids dropped their cones, even when they cried, and, worst of all, even when they messed up the toilet by missing or heaving. Jim and I always did the rock-paper-scissors thing to see who’d brave the spills and smells first.

I usually lost.

But now that the job was over, we’d cleaned the equipment, mopped the floor, made sure the electricity was on to keep the ice-cream cold, and the night was mine.

Just before I left the shop, I asked Jim what he was going to do. “I have a date,” he replied with an ear-splitting grin and a bucketful of enthusiasm. “Fiona Zinner. You know her, man. She’s in our Calculus class. She’s beyond fox status, you know? Hey, I got the key from the owner. I’ll lock up. I’m meeting my girl later on, so don’t worry about things here. Have a good time.”

Fiona…oh, yeah, I’d seen him talking to her during class breaks. She was attractive enough, tall and slender, with dark hair and a ready smile. 

Odd thing, though. Jim, though nice, wasn’t much better looking than I was. On the short side of five-four, pudgy and with a head full of brown stubble, he didn’t come across as a chick magnet.

However, one thing he had that I didn’t have was supreme confidence with the ladies. If a girl turned him down, he tried again with another girl. It didn’t matter if they thought he was a jerk—and he wasn’t. He never stalked anyone, and if a girl told him no, that meant no, so he didn’t try again.

Jim had even managed to score a date with Julie Verna, the head cheerleader, about three months ago, a fact that didn’t sit well with her boyfriend, Bill Timmsen, our school’s star quarterback. 

When Bill cornered Jim after school, his answer was, “Hey, she didn’t tell me. If you can’t hold onto your lady, don’t blame her for choosing someone better.”

That earned him a beating until I stepped in to break it up along with Julie, who promptly told Bill to get lost and just as promptly told Jim she’d changed her mind. Right…and Jim, in all good humor, black eye or not, shrugged and said, “There’s always someone else.”

Yes, there was, and now, he was probably making out with his girl while I was on my own. Bright lights, medium-sized city, fun-fun-fun ‘til your daddy takes something-something away. I’d always liked that song, even though I’d never had any expensive toys that could be taken away. 

I had a roof over my head, courtesy of my mother. 

I had a decent education, courtesy of the Tacoma school system.

I had my health.

That was about it, but it was enough. Sam Knowlen, age seventeen, about to enter his senior year in September, was on the prowl. Mr. Independent, Mr. Solo, Mister…whatever term I wanted to describe myself. 

Then I laughed, if only silently. My eighteenth birthday would fall on June sixteenth. My watch told me that it was eleven PM, which meant that I had to be heading home soon. I’d soon be considered an adult by the state, but I still had a curfew.

Honestly speaking, curfews sucked. To my way of thinking, they were for those who had limits, either internally imposed or externally imposed. Curfews were for those who couldn’t police themselves, those who weren’t responsible. 

Call me nothing if not responsible. I was the typical dutiful son, good to my mother and polite to older people. I’d never missed a day of school. Never cut class, either. That earned me the rep of being a brown-noser, someone who sucked up to the teachers—not true—or other leaders in the school—also not true, and someone who wanted to be liked by everyone.

Oh, wait, that last point wasn’t true, either. I didn’t care if everyone liked me or if anyone liked me. I went my own way most of the time. Jim was a decent friend, and I had a few others. That was enough.