For my seventh grade class, that gave me this sense of nostagia for the best year of my life

Jet twisted the ring around his finger impatiently as his best friend Chuck embraced Anna, a girl in class 823.

A sort of warm, fuzzy feeling spread over his senses as he again reminded himself that he would never see Anna again. She was moving, but she hadn't clarified as to where. However, that was the least of his problems.

Again, he was horribly reminded of the fact that drove into his skull, insisting for him to accept it. He had accepted it, but there was something that told him that he couldn't, and hadn't really done so. He couldn't quite make it out—but he pushed it out of his mind hastily when he noticed Anna walking up to him.

He could hardly react when she hugged him, throwing her arms around him and smiling, nearing laughter. "Bye, Jet!" she said, and squeezed him.

Jet flushed but didn't retaliate. "Bye!" His smile looked strained, but he felt like someone had just fed him blood—he was truly happy that they were together and graduating, but part of him mourned the fact that they were parting; it was bittersweet, like metal. His heart tasted copper as well as his tongue. Still, his smile was genuine, and his happiness was just too much for words. Forget the sorrow, just enjoy his last moments with his friends.

He didn't worry about parting with Chuck, as they lived in the same neighborhood, but he knew that he would miss Anna, who was moving. The latter herself didn't know exactly where, but somewhere abroad was what she had heard, and she wasn't happy about it.

"My dad got a new job there," she had groaned the day she told her friends.

Sometimes, Jet just regretted that Anna's parents were such successful businesspeople.

Sure, he felt perfectly happy for her, but nothing came without a price. The price: her parents didn't have enough time for her, being busy all the time (although she said that it should've been normal); she had to move whenever her parents had to. Nothing annoyed Anna—and oftentimes, her friends as well—more than those two facts.

Anna released him, and before he could catch his breath, it hitched again; another pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, bringing him into a glomp.


His scream was answered by laughter—loud, maniacal laughter that had no intention of stopping from the moment it was heard.

"OH GOD," Jet groaned, and squirmed a bit, but the pair of arms tightened.

He was held in place for a moment more, then released.

The laughter didn't stop; instead, it increased in volume and merriment.

Jet immediately spun around to see another student in his class—Dana, who was, in everyone's standards, so crazy that it was a mystery as to why she was at school and not in some rubber room far away. One thing that she did was hug boys—whether the cause was that they bothered her or she just felt like it. Her poor victims didn't know whether she did it to scare people or what.


Jet tried not to wince as Dana grinned madly, waving, laughing, and screaming.

Jet struck a pose of a terrified person fleeing for his life. "AH! IT'S DANAAAAAA!" He didn't pause as he grabbed Chuck's arm, then flew off in a random direction. Anna went after.

Dana just laughed, standing in place.

Everyone thought her to be demented—in a good way. Jet enjoyed running away from her; it was a joke and he loved playing the victim, just because. It filled him with insufferable glee that he kept—because he loved the feeling. It was also hilarious.

Jet sped through the crush of students that felt as happy as he, and a burst of exhilaration exploded—he couldn't help it; he laughed. Laughed so hard that it was contagious, laughed so hard that he should have stopped running in fear of breath lacking; so hard that Anna and Chuck began laughing—and they laughed in hysterics. They all roared, laughing like they'd never do it again, laughed exactly like how they did over the year, laughed like it was not the last day of school, but simply another Monday or Friday—knowing that they would see each other again.

And Anna would still move, and there would probably never be a year quite like this again.

Oh well, Jet thought, with more optimism than he usually mustered. At least they—he, Anna, Chuck—would have this last laugh together. He could mourn later; this was simply not the right time. He pushed his nostalgia away from his mind, this time succeeding, and enjoyed this last moment.

Ignoring the stares strangers gave them, the three carried on in their blissful laughter.