The street is a loud mess of TLC’s "Waterfalls" blaring from a passing hatchback and the rhythmic *thwack* of my brother slamming a heavy brass slammer onto a stack of Pogs on the sidewalk. I just roll my eyes and adjust my plaid mini-skirt, trying to block out his annoying celebration because he’s totally trippin' if he thinks he’s keeping my holographic ones.
My tiny backpack is digging into my shoulders, and the heat is a total buzzkill, but the local radio DJ just announced a contest for the *Apollo 13* premiere. I’m leaning against the brick wall, listening past the screech of traffic, just hoping the signal stays clear enough for me to be the tenth caller.
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