All I remember before I fell was the sight of a pretty girl, and a misplaced Fritos wrapper under my feet. I had slipped forward, and fell flat on my face, turning it sideways at the last moment to protect my nose. But the beige pavement of the sidewalk still hurt just as bad.

The girl offered me a hand, and I gratefully accepted, using it to pull myself up to my feet. As I took a closer look at her, I realized it was Iris.

“Uh, thanks,” I said dumbly, regretting even putting myself into this situation.

“No prob! Next time watch out for those Fritos!” the sun reflected off of her long, blonde, lush hair. Her eyes were sapphires; her smile exuberant.

I caught myself in a daze, and snapped out of it. Upon my return to reality, I noticed she had already walked away, in the opposite direction.

“Sure! I will!” I did my best to shout, knowing I could’ve found something, anything, better to say than that.

“Evan! Wait up!” a girl from behind me called. I turned towards the voice, fantasizing that it’d be Iris. But it wasn’t. It was one of my best friends; Heather. She stood just as tall as me, which wasn’t tall at all for our age group. She wore her short, black hair sin a wisp veering off to the right, a single long, red streak decorating the left side of her head; her most prized possession; at least, that I knew of. She jogged until she was at my side, “Aren’t we meeting Joey’s?” she asked.

“I was just on my way there, until-” I was interrupted.

“Until you faked that fall. I got to give you props; you have a unique way of getting a girl’s attention. Usually guys just flex their muscles and what-not,”

“I didn’t fake that fall!” I corrected, “And I was going to say ‘until you showed up.’ I think I might need to go home first and take a shower. Your perfume stinks worse than usual today!”

“Whatever, I buy the same brand as all the other girls; and you obviously don’t mind theirs,” she laughed. I scowled and looked straight ahead, focused only on our destination.

A few minutes later, we turned onto Joey’s street, and located his small, red-brick house. His mom was bent over in a square garden in the middle of their yard, harvesting tomatoes. At the sound of us walking up the driveway, she turned, and waved to us with her dirt-caked hands.

“Hi Evan! Hi Heather! Joey’s inside, waiting for you! Feel free to grab a cookie on the way inside!” she greeted warmly.

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“Thanks, Mrs. Johnson! We will!” Heather replied, before I could get a word in. So I just waved, and continued with Heather up the porch steps.

On the inside of Joey’s house, everything was wooden. The furniture, the floor, the walls, the staircase, all had the cozy and simple wooden finish. The house smelled of his mom’s famous pumpkin cookies, and I was sure to grab one off of a platter on my way in. I sank my teeth into it, and my mouth tongue did a little jig.

“These truly are the best cookies!” I praised, and Heather shook her head fiercely in agreement.

“Who knew pumpkin could actually taste so good!” she exclaimed.

“Wait until you try her pumpkin pie!” Joey came jogging down the stairs, taking them two at a time. He wore his purple

and black soccer uniform, and some black shorts. His thick blonde hair was a mess, as usual, but that was his trademark, and it didn’t look half bad, “Ready to start that project?”

“Ughhh…,” Heather moaned.

“I take that for ‘no’” Joey laughed, “It’s actually not that bad! Come upstairs, I’ll show you!”

We followed an energetic Joey up the hollow wooden stairs, and turned right, into his bedroom. The room was small, and contained a bed, desk, closet, and dresser; all wooden. Sitting on his desk was a small, silver laptop, which seemed out of place in the house. He sat at the desk, and pulled up a word document.

“I’ve already started the brainstorming, and I think our topic has a lot of potential! Look!” he motioned us to look at his screen. Heather and I crouched down on either side of him and did. It was a bulleted list, with one thoughts on each line.

Our project was on the science and mathematics of probability in real life, and we were to come up with a creative way to teach it to the class for thirty minutes. And if you thought that was bad enough, we also had to write an eight-page essay. Joey’s list contained four thoughts: ‘Gambling,’ ‘Sports,’ ‘Relationships,’ and ‘Lottery’

“I think the lottery and gambling go together,” Heather suggested.

“Sure!” Joey revised the list, putting the two words on the same line. If I knew anything about Joey, it was that he was an expert at conformity; he liked to go with the flow.

“How does ‘relationships’ have anything to do with probability?” I wondered.

“That’s easy!” Joey guffawed, “For example: What is the probability that you’ll ever get a girlfriend?” Heather joined him in his bark of laughter, but I just folded my arms.

“Don’t be a grump, Evan, we’re only joking. You’ll get a girl, some-day,” Heather caused another round of laughter, before adding, “although the probability is very low,”

“I don’t see anyone special in your life, either!” I retaliated, and her giggling ceased. While I was still on top, I pressed on, “And Joey, how’s that Caroline doing?”

“You know, just as well as any of us, that her and I broke up last week,” Joey said, hurt. Heather remained mute, until Joey said something else, something so irrational, I couldn’t believe I ever had agreed to it, “Why don’t we make a ‘gamble.’ Homecomings next month, and all of us are single at the moment. How about whoever doesn’t bring a date, we make write the essay?”

“Easy for you to say,” I spat out, “You get a new girl every week!”

“And you could, too, if you’d just try! Come on, how about it?”

“Deal!” Heather extended her hand out for a hand-shake that would seal the gamble. I was reluctant to do the same, at first, but eventually, I decided I didn’t want to look like a wimp, so I shook Joey’s hand as well.

“It’s on!” I challenged.