Rust and Frost

One

At a crossroads, two streets led to different schools. Firstly, a blue one to the left where Ronnie and Mark went to receive the sorry excuse of an education Henderson, Nevada had to offer in the 2000s. And then, on the right, sat the red brick, private Christian school. It was a glorified shithole with crosses nailed to the walls, whereas the blue, public school was simply a shithole. That crimson place was where Brandon and Dave had the misfortune of attending high school.

On Fridays, the bell would ring at three o'clock. Mark and Ronnie would cross the street to meet Brandon and Dave by a stop sign.

Their lives didn't all collide until after Middle School. Brandon and Dave had been by each other's sides since elementary, whereas Mark and Ronnie started kickin' it in seventh grade.

During freshman year, in 2005, Brandon typically spent what little money he had at a gas station. He'd stop by as he walked home. One day, Mark made the mistake of agreeing to cover a friend's shift at the shop. He didn't work there, and he wasn't sure if fourteen-year-olds were allowed to work, but he made it a habit to not ask questions. He ran to the gas station as soon as school ended in order to make it on time. A promise was a promise.

Brandon waltzed on in as usual. When Mark saw the sliding doors open, he took the hint and took one of his earphones out. Brandon grabbed a red Coca-Cola can, caffeinated, the type his parents wouldn't let him drink, from the glossy minifridge. The appliance was plastered with faded brand stickers. He walked up to the register. Mark nodded, a sign of acknowledgment as he scanned the soda of glory.

"Hey, what're you listening to?" Brandon asked. He was a little jealous of Mark's shiny new iPod.

"Hendrix."

"Nice." Brandon stressed the 'e' to show he meant it.

Mark put Brandon's receipt into a plastic bag along with the quickly-warming soda can. He handed it over, proud of himself for knowing how to work a cash register flawlessly. Meanwhile, Brandon had a feeling he shouldn't walk away yet.

Mark asked which of the two schools Brandon went to. Brandon answered, naturally, and introduced himself while he was at it.

"The red school? That's tough. Sorry to hear it," Mark replies, only half-joking. "I'm Mark, by the way."

"I think you've got it so much worse over there. Nice to meet you, Mark!" Brandon laughed as he turned away.

Mark smiled to himself and mistakenly assumed he'd never see this spunky stranger again. Just another face, as always. He had no problem with being proven wrong, but just two weeks was a bit brash.

Ronnie worked at a music store. It was actually a thrift shop with a large vinyl section, but 'record store' took a softer blow to his ego. Not that anyone who spent their time after school working instead of playing football or video games had much ego to begin with.

Exactly two weeks, fourteen days, after meeting Brandon, Mark biked to his best friend's house. He figured his Friday afternoon would go like so: he and Ronnie would get up to their usual antics, be it an intense game of 'Uno' or ding-dong-ditching their neighbors, and they'd have a grand old time.

Mark was about to learn a valuable lesson, which was to keep his expectations low, and his head lower.

Mark knocked on the shabby front door. He fully expected to see Ronnie once it opened. However, what he actually saw was Ronnie's mom, who was just about to leave for work. That was when he realized he'd made a mistake. Every other Friday, Ronnie's mom had an evening waitressing shift at a local restaurant. Ronnie worked at the thrift shop those same Fridays.

This meant Mark made a severe miscalculation and biked in the opposite direction he needed to.

"Mark? Ronnie's at the shop already."