Jack Sharpe
“He’s my neighbor.”
Jack is mindful of her apparent palsy, but can’t begin to reckon the differences between varieties of disorders that might cause it, or if it’s just a tic. “Yeah, eleven-ish, I don’t think I’ve grown too much, these are still pretty comfortable,” he’d answered but as she’d pointed out, it was always necessary to double check. The shoes she produces in the 11 ½ size being a bit funky for his tastes. He felt like he could get a better deal if he waited for Black Friday.
Not some fancy pair, mind, but something new and not liable to get him made fun of. But until November he’d make do with what he could get, and he’s fairly certain these are at least close to the options he’ll find at the Goodwill. Maybe a touch more expensive, and with less variety to choose from, but he can’t know for certain, and if he burns this bridge he can’t rely on good Emily in the future.
The question of his denomination has him answer promptly, “I’m agnostic ma’am, my parents were Presbyterian and um.. I think my dad’s family was Jehovah’s Witnesses, but we never really met them and obviously never went to any sort of events with them. I don’t know how I feel about things, personally..” he answered smoothly, and without shame.
Looking at his three options, he weighs them. The first pair is straight out. No shoes could really survive him running in them, and while he imagined in his mind that someday he might meet a tinker or inventor worth their weight in gold, and ask for a pair of Meta-level running shoes, he knows that nothing he buys here should be based on the notion of running at full speed in them.
Instead, he has to weigh them in the same way a regular teenage boy might.
With vanity in mind, he says, “It’s the boots or the Kines. I don’t know which one they’ll tease me for less. The cowboy boots may me look like a redneck, which isn’t good, and the Kines will make me look poor. I might be able to unstitch the lettering on them though, I’ll just need one of those little scissors,” he reckons aloud.
That seals it for him. The revelation that he could make them non-descript.
It also helps that in his mind’s eye, their odd bluish color is probably somewhat similar to his eyes, and girls might like that. “I’ll take these. Uh, hm.. I packed ten shirts, five pairs of pants, plenty of socks and underwear. Sol gave me a hoody,” he is thinking out loud and lightly fingers the hoody he is wearing. “I suppose maybe a hat? The Wild as a team could be good, or maybe something just plain, something for when my hair isn’t looking so slick? And uh, another hoody, since it’ll be getting cold before jacket weather, what do you have?” he decides. “I only have seventy five, and I was hoping to get Sol a sandwich, but I guess can do that in the future.”
This message was lightly edited by the player at 05:44, Sun 24 Nov 2019.