Juaquin saunters into the room. Lights flash on every side, but he has his eye on the prize. The ladies turn a giggle as he approaches, but he gives them no heed.

 “C’mon, Juaqy-Talkie, whatcha up to?” 

“Momma after you for something?” 

They continue to giggle, but a casual observer could hardly miss that they were enjoying the view. Perfectly fitted Old Navy jeans on his legs, and the pack on his back seemed to form-fit his body. Some rumored that he did 100 pushups and a 3-minute plank every day. Others said you could peel a potato on his shredded abs. Some of those girls would love to have had a potato and a chance to test it out.

“Hey,” was all he said to the guy behind the bar, but the rumble in his voice proved him a man among boys. 

“What can I do for you, sir?”

Ding ding ding ding went something in the background, and Juaquin spun around. A young lad was dancing exuberantly and grabbing fistfuls of tickets, but when he noticed Juaquin gazing at him he gathered up his things and hurried away quickly. Juaquin quirked an eyebrow, then turned and smoothly uttered, “I’ll have a double blue moon, please.” 

“Yes sir,” said the guy calmly, but his eyes popped a little when he saw the amount Juaquin pulled out of his pocket. 

“100,000 tickets, kid? That’s enough for ten ice creams!”

“Keep the change, man.”

Juaquin took his cone, strolled over to a chair, and licked. And licked. And licked. Eighth grade never felt so good.