I’m tugging at the smooth satin straps of my slip dress, trying to adjust my tiny backpack while my knee-high socks keep sliding down my calves. The air in the theater still smells like butter and salt, but honestly, my head is just spinning with that techno beat from the **Mortal Kombat** movie; seeing Sub-Zero on the big screen was totally worth the five bucks.
I’m flicking through my collection of holographic Pogs, wishing I had enough silver for a new slammer that's got some real weight and bling to it. My fingers feel the scratchy plaid of my skirt as I lean against the arcade cabinet, humming that Seal song and ignoring my mom calling me a slacker.
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