The doorbell rang to the store, signaling the cashier that another customer had come in. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was about 3:15, which meant that a rush of kids would come in soon. The kids were the best customers of The General Store because they were so eager to get away from school and fill their stomachs with junk food.
“But Trace, I don’t like Root Beer,” nine-year-old Mack grumbled as she followed two brown haired boys around the store. One had curly hair that fell over his forehead and the other had straight short hair.
“That’s too bad ‘cause that’s all yer gettin’, Little Girl,” ten-year-old Trace Ayala replied to the nine-year-old girl who huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.
“And stop calling me ‘Little Girl’ I’m not that much younger than you.”
“Try a year,” Trace said, flicking her forehead.
“Oh Trace, leave her alone,” ten-year-old Justin Timberlake said as he lightly hit Trace on the shoulder. “I’ll get you an Orange Cream Soda, ok Mack? Save us a table, will ya?”
“Thanks Just. At least someone is nice around here.” Mack stuck her tongue out at Trace and he returned the gesture before turning and running across the store to the table. Even though there really wasn’t a point, they were the first kids of the day to get to the General Store so there were plenty of tables to choose from.
Trace and Justin couldn’t help but laugh as Mack yelled at a guy for getting in her way when really she was the one who had run into him. She was pretty small for a nine-year-old (which is how she got dubbed ‘Little Girl’ by Trace) but she never hesitated to stand up for herself and take on a guy twice her size. She played sports with the guys of the neighborhood and they treated her like a little sister; they thought she was fun to have around even though she was a girl. Sometimes they gave her a hard time about her being a girl and her size, like Trace, but it was only because that’s what guys are supposed to do to their ‘little sister’.
And if anyone dared to take that privilege too far Mack knew that Trace and Justin would always have her back and protect her. Every kid in the neighborhood knew that if they messed with her, they messed with them. Justin, Trace, and Mack, also known as the Three Musketeers to the parents, have been best friends since they were born. You couldn’t find one without the others; it’s always been that way and will always be that way.
They’ve been friends since they were born. They lived down the street from each other and their mothers were best friends so they hung out all of the time when they grew up. Mack was the youngest out of the three of them, about seven months by Justin, and almost a year by Trace. She hated being the youngest, the guys loved to remind her, but she made up for it by being the most reckless and fun-loving. Even though they get on each other’s nerves sometimes, they vowed to stay friends forever, no matter where their lives took them, and they promised to be in each other’s lives for the rest of it. And so far they were doing a good job at keeping that promise.
“Hi Mr. Goodacre,” Justin greeted the cashier cheerfully as Trace waved.
“How many times do I have to tell you boys that you can call me Michael?” the cashier asked with a smile. “After all you’ve come in every day since you could walk. I’m actually surprised you boys have any money left.”
Trace and Justin chuckled. “Thanks Mr. Goodacre, buy my Momma said it’s polite to refer to you properly,” Justin replied. “I’d like a Root Beer float and an Orange Cream Soda, please,” he ordered as he placed his money on the counter.
“I’d like a Root Beer float too and I’d also like a few gummy worms as well,” Trace added, putting his money down on the counter next to Justin’s.
“Coming right up boys.” Mr. Goodacre scooped their money into his hands, put it into the cash register, and moved into the back room to get their orders.
“Do you want to play basketball later?” Trace asked, taking a piece of candy out of the jar on the counter.
“You heard what my Momma said. We have to go right home and do homework,” Justin replied, shaking his head.
“Man, how you gonna be a basketball star if you don’t ever practice?” Trace demanded.
Justin shrugged. “If that don’t work I’ll just become a super star instead.” He grinned and turned towards the window. “Yup. One day my name will be on that sign.” He pointed to the sign that was in the distance on the edge of Shelby Forest that had random news bulletins on it. “And then everyone will know where I came from.”
“Keep dreaming, Super Star,” Trace said with an eyeroll.
Justin punched Trace on the shoulder. “You don’t think I can do it? Come on man, you’re supposed to be my best friend.”
“I am your best friend, man,” Trace replied. “I’m just saying don’t get your hopes up. Stars aint made over night.”
Justin grinned. "Just watch me."
