12th Grade, High School

Age: 17

October-November 2009

…

TJ stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket as he turns the corner toward Kelso's. When he had gotten home, he'd sent a message to Spinelli, asking how Vince and Gus were doing, and she told him they'd all gone to Kelso's, encouraging him to meet them there. He hadn't wanted to initially, his mind still spinning from his golf game with Prickly and the frustratingly vague advice his old principal had given him. He had known better than to expect concrete answers, but he'd been hoping for something new. Some sort of spark that finally made everything make sense.

As he passes the front windows toward the door, he sees his friends sitting at their typical booth, more subdued than usual but still holding the easy camaraderie that comes with years of friendship. He slows his steps and watches as he walks. It feels both comforting and odd to see them all so normal. But, he supposes, they all have plans. They don't necessarily feel the urgency he does to figure out their lives.

He pushes through the door, the bells jingling gleefully to signal his entrance. Mr. Kelso gives him a little wave and he returns it, though his attention is grabbed by a group of friends sitting at the counter. They're younger, maybe fifth graders, laughing loudly over some sort of trading cards on the table. Their faces are bright with carefree innocence.

He and his friends used to do the same thing. They'd meet at Kelso's to come up with wild plans over their fountain sodas. Back then, there was no stress about the future or making the wrong choice. Any problem, big or small, could be fixed by the end of recess.

They don't know how good they have it, he thinks. He wants to scream it at them, tell them to enjoy it while it lasts, because it feels like just yesterday that he was on that exact stool. Before they know it, they'll be where he is, with every choice feeling monumental.

"Teej, over here!"

Spinelli's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He turns away from the kids, seeing Spinelli waving him toward their usual booth. He smiles and tries to mask the hollow kind of longing settling into his gut. With one final glance at the kids, who are so engrossed in their game they haven't noticed him, he turns toward his friends and plasters a flimsy grin on his face.

"Well, well, well," he says as he approaches the table, thankful his voice doesn't match his fragile smile. "Look who decided to brave the day."

Vince has sunglasses on despite being inside. He takes a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, ending with an exaggerated slurp. "And look who finally decided to join us."

"So," TJ says, sliding into the booth next to Spinelli, the two girls scooting down to let him in. He steals a chip from Spinelli's open bag and pops it in his mouth. "Anyone puke?"

Gus groans and shakes his head. "I wish," he mutters, rubbing his temple. He gestures to the girls. "But these two took great care of us. I'm feeling…mostly better."

"You're welcome, by the way," Spinelli says, pushing her half-finished milkshake toward TJ.

He eyes her as Gus offers a sincere 'thank you', but he doesn't notice any of her tells to hint that she is falling back into her old patterns after her stressful night. She doesn't even have a water glass, which is usually the first sign she's struggling with thoughts of inadequacy and feeling out of control. The easiest thing for her to control is what she eats. Satisfied that her gesture is solely to share with him rather than anything self-destructive, he takes it and sips as the others bicker back and forth.

"I could have fed myself saltines and Gatorade, no problem," Vince insists.

"Yes," Gretchen says, rolling her eyes. "And I'm sure your mother would have been fine with you stumbling home in the state you were in this morning."

"She would have murdered you," Spinelli says, her voice snarky and thick.

Gus nods his head and cuts in. "Well, I for one, think I learned my limits," he says, wincing slightly as the kids at the counter shriek giddily. "And it is definitely not trying to outdrink Vance."

TJ turns to Vince and gives him a skeptical look. "Is that what you were doing?"

Vince had never even touched the alcohol at the other parties they'd been to, the only person that no one teased for walking around empty handed. Everyone at school knew Vince's intensity surrounding his basketball recruitment. If anyone would have questioned him, they would have gotten a whole dissertation on macronutrients on performance. There were points during the school year where he knew every ounce of what was going into his body as he worked to maintain his peak physical fitness.

"Jeez," Vince mutters. "I let loose for one night and everyone freaks out."

"I mean, you went from zero to five hundred in the course of an hour," TJ says, raising an eyebrow.

"Look," he says, pointing his soda in TJ's direction, the straw bobbing toward his friend. "It wasn't my intention. I just figured, why not have a little fun? And then…"

"And then you can't let Vance Lombardi beat you at anything," Spinelli finishes.

"Maybe," he says quietly, leaning back into the booth and clearing his throat. "I can't really remember that part."

Gretchen hums under her breath. "So, last night didn't go exactly as you expected, but you did learn something, correct?"

Vince crosses his arms and leans back into the booth defiantly. "Yeah," he grumbles. "I suck at flip cup."

Gretchen lets out a pointed sigh and TJ glances around the table at the others. He knows that Vince is putting up this bravado as a way to shield his true feelings on the night. Reckless isn't an adjective he would reserve for Vince. He has always been so focused and determined, it's odd for TJ to see his best friend losing control so easily.

When the rest of them don't respond, Vince's arms drop down to his sides in defeat.

"I get it. You guys don't have to worry about me," Vince mutters. "I just…I didn't want my first time drinking to be in college around people I'm trying to impress and, I guess, I let my competitiveness get in the way of my common sense."

Gus shrugs. "The alcohol also got in the way of your common sense."

TJ watches Vince turn slowly toward Gus, his sunglasses concealing his eyes but his glare obvious nonetheless.

"Sorry," Gus mumbles, ducking his head. "Continue."

Vince sighs and turns to address the others again. "I will be smarter next time. Promise."

"You and me both," Gus adds.

A loud cheer from the group at the counter fills Kelso's. TJ glances over his shoulder to see one of the boys jump from the stool, lifting his arms up triumphantly while another sits back, his arms crossed in defeat. TJ watches the boy's celebratory dance and feels the restless nostalgia from earlier flutter in his gut, reminding him of his lack of a plan.

TJ turns away from the celebration and back to his friends, hoping for the same reprieve he'd gotten earlier by listening to their babble. Vince and Gus both wince across the table from him.

"Oh, God," Gus moans, covering his ears with his hands. "They're so loud."

"Suck it up, Jarhead," Spinelli says. "They're kids. They're supposed to be loud."

"Anyway, while we're on the theme of responsibility here," Gretchen says, cutting in swiftly. "Since we're all together and the two of you–" her eyes dart to Vince and Gus "–are mostly functional now, I thought we might like to discuss our plans for Mikey's birthday."

"Do we have to? It's an entire month away," Vince whines.

Spinelli rolls her eyes. "You always say that and then suddenly it's Thanksgiving and we're rushing around because you were too busy to help plan anything."

Gretchen nods her head in sharp agreement. "In addition, Thanksgiving is late this year and I do not wish to be out trying to figure out a gift on Black Friday. Again. As I'm sure no one else wants to either."

Gus nods enthusiastically. "Yes, please!" Then he looks thoughtful. "Plus, it's his eighteenth. He's gonna be an adult! It's gotta be well planned."

"Exactly my thoughts," Gretchen says. "Does anyone have any ideas?"

TJ taps his fingers along the table's edge. It isn't a secret that Mikey is turning eighteen. He's the oldest of their group, the first to turn any age, but this one feels particularly important. Eighteen is a big birthday. And, although TJ knows that in the grand scheme of everything, it will just be a day and Mikey won't miraculously change in any real way, the significance is there. As soon as November turns into December, Mikey will officially be an adult with childhood behind him and the whole world ahead of him.

The rest of them will follow suit and he knows from experience it will go quickly. When they were all excited to turn ten, the illusive double digits, it felt like it couldn't happen quick enough. But when Spinelli finally turned ten in October, nearly a year later, it felt like Mikey's infamous Bonky birthday had just happened. Sixteen came and went. He had been embroiled in the controversy surrounding his bad math grade when he turned sixteen. Now, with Mikey turning eighteen, he knows he won't be far behind. It'll be March before any of them realize it and they'll be planning Gretchen's. Then it'll be him next. He'll be eighteen, an adult, no longer a child. An adult who makes decisions and lives with the consequences.

"What do you think, Teej?"

At the sound of his name, TJ shakes out of his thoughts and finds four pairs of eyes all staring at him.

"Oh, uh, sorry," he mumbles. "What were we thinking?"

Gretchen lets out a frustrated sigh as Vince smirks. "See, told you this wasn't going to go anywhere today," he says, his voice uppity. "TJ's been up way too long. Didn't get his beauty sleep."

TJ bites the inside of his cheek, embarrassed to be caught zoning out. He reaches up to play with his hat, but his head is bare, having left his hat at home for his golf session. Instead, he runs his fingers through his hair, using the time to quickly come up with a retort that won't alert his friends to his inner turmoil.

He points toward Vince and Gus in a way he hopes looks convincing. "Yeah, because you two fools made me wake up earlier than usual."

"Well, actually, we just kept you up late," Gus points out.

Vince nods along. "You woke us up, if I'm remembering correctly," he says matter-of-factly. "So you could golf with Prickly."

"Oh, yeah," Gus says, as if just now remembering. "How was that?"

TJ shrugs. "It was fine," he says. "We should really focus on Mikey. He deserves a well planned big day."

His friends all agree and begin to toss around ideas. He tries to focus on the flood of ideas passed between them, but his mind keeps wandering. He can't listen to the other ideas, let alone come up with one of his own to share, so he just stays quiet. As Gus offers a particularly cringeworthy suggestion of a karaoke night, TJ feels Spinelli's hand reach for his under the table. Her fingers weave through his, comfortable and warm. He turns just enough to catch her gaze without alerting the others. She looks up at him through her lashes, her brown eyes wide with concern.

She doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to – after all these years, she knows him too well. He should have known that she'd see right through his act.

He gives her hand a light squeeze and a small smile. Her hand in his is enough for now, to anchor him to this moment. But, he knows, once they move on from Kelso's she'll be on him, wanting to know the reason behind his abnormal quietness. As he turns back to the group, adding to Gretchen and Vince's veto of karaoke, he can feel her eyes remaining on him.

The group continues to bounce ideas around for a bit, each getting more outlandish and ridiculous than the last. Gretchen tries her best to keep them on track, but after a while it's clear they aren't getting anywhere. The boys all begin to feed off each other and when Spinelli joins in, Gretchen finally gives up.

"Okay, we'll regroup tomorrow," Gretchen says, sighing and looking at her watch. "We should each think of some legitimate ideas."

"You're expecting miracles," Vince says as they start to stand. He gestures to Gus and himself as the group starts heading for the door. "Our brains are mush."

"I still think karaoke would be fun," Gus says.

Vince rolls his eyes. "See, mush."

Mr. Kelso waves to them as they head out and TJ glances toward the counter, but the group of younger kids is long gone, having left while they were discussing party ideas. Probably off to play, knowing that fall only gives them so much time before the streetlights turn on. That had always been their parents' rules for their group. As long as they were home or at one of their houses before dark, their town was safe enough for them to play and bike in the neighborhood at their leisure.

He turns back to his friends, watching as they walk out the door ahead of him. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket, sighing as he starts to follow them. They continue to bicker ahead of him about the merits of a karaoke contest and he slows his steps, dragging his feet along the sidewalk as a distance forms between him and his friends.

He doesn't bother rushing to close the distance, his mind wandering away from Mikey's party ideas and toward his own troubles. Which, of course, makes him feel guilty. On top of feeling lost and frustrated about his future, now he feels selfish for letting his own problems keep him from being fully involved.

Spinelli settles in next to him, her presence familiar at his side. They walk side-by-side for a few strides, neither speaking. The voices of their friends drift off in the distance before she nudges his side, breaking the silence.

"You wanna talk?" she asks, her voice soft.

He shakes his head and gives a little shrug. The truth is he does want to talk to her, but his thoughts feel too heavy to unload onto her. She looks fine, like last night had been nothing but a terrible dream, but he knows Spinelli keeps her battles close to her chest. What if his worries just make hers worse, building upon her feelings from the party?

She doesn't push him, instead just threading her arm through his and pulling him closer. Ahead of them, Vince, Gretchen, and Gus increase their lead, disappearing around the corner onto Third Street. He doesn't hurry their pace to catch up and neither does she, both content to slow down.

They round the corner together and when they do the sight of the Third Street playground fills his vision. The chain-linked fence that had felt like a prison gate in his youth now separates him from the memories of his childhood. He slows even more, taking in the vast expanse of blacktop leading to Old Rusty, which looks smaller now than ever before.

Spinelli loosens her arm around his and he glances over, startled by the sudden lack of contact. She gives him a lopsided smirk and nods toward the entry gate to the playground.

"For ol' times sake?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with a playful glint.

Before he can respond, she's off, racing through the gate and across the blacktop. He hesitates, for a moment frozen in his spot as he watches her run. His gaze drifts to the old play structure. He can almost see the playground alive in his memories. Swinger Girl pumping her legs in an effort to cross over the bar. Upside Down Girl hanging from the monkey bars. Randall lurking behind King Bob's throne to eavesdrop. Vince's laugh – higher pitched than it is now – rings in his head as he imagines him kicking a ball over the chain-linked fence into oblivion.

Spinelli's voice brings him back to the present.

"Race you to the top!" she shouts, already halfway up Old Rusty.

All of their younger selves are gone now, lost back into the recesses of his memory. The playground is once again empty except for the two of them. He steps through the gate and starts toward Old Rusty, slower than Spinelli had been going, and watches as she slows, turning back toward him as he stops at the base of the structure.

"You're not gonna let me win, are you?" she taunts.

It's something about the way she says it – the way she smirks, how her voice catches on the question, high pitched and scratchy. He is once again transported back to his youth, watching her climb the jungle gym with an easy determination. Back then, he had hated the way his stomach flopped when she smiled at him, unsure what to do with the crush that had crept up on him.

It's funny how, at eleven, having a crush on her felt like the end of the world – yet, at seventeen, she is his world.

He reaches for the rubbered metal of the playset and chases after her. Spinelli, always quick and nimble even without the head start, crests the top of the playset first but he is right behind her, out of breath and grinning as he swings himself onto the platform.

It hasn't changed from his memory. The platform is barren, the only exception being the old beat-up armchair the students use as a throne. Spinelli strides toward it, spinning on the toes of her boots before collapsing into it with dramatic flair. He chuckles as he follows.

"I believe you're in my seat," he says, crossing his arms playfully.

Spinelli raises her eyebrows defiantly. "And what are you gonna do about it?"

He raises an arm and, with an impeccable imitation of King Bob, shouts, "To the dodgeball wall!"

They both dissolve into laughter before he even finishes the sentence. She scoots over, sitting on one of the arms of the chair and patting the actual seat, encouraging him to sit down. The seat feels smaller than he remembers, but as Spinelli scoots back, sliding half onto his lap like she used to when he was King, it feels familiar again.

He wraps an arm around her and looks out at his former kingdom.

"I think we've outgrown our chair," he tells her.

She shakes her head. "I don't mind a tight fit."

"No, you never did." He kisses the top of her head, his chest tight with nostalgia. "That's why everyone on the playground called you Queen Spinelli behind your back."

A soft giggle escapes her. "Too bad they didn't call me that to my face. I could have had so much more power."

Her laugh fades and they sit in the quiet warmth left behind. His eyes drift along the blacktop until they reach the far windows of the school. Prickly's office. His mind flutters back, his reality overtaking his old memories. The frustration of his lack of a plan fills his gut once more, only faltering when he feels Spinelli take his hand. He shakes out of it, turning away from Prickly's far off office and back toward her.

"You gonna tell me what's wrong or am I gonna have to guess?" she asks softly.

He sighs and shakes his head. "It's okay. I'll figure it out," he says. "I don't want to burden you, not after last night.

Spinelli huffs and scrambles out of his lap, standing before him and crossing her arms.

"No," she says firmly.

"No?" he asks, an eyebrow raised.

"No," she repeats. Then she sighs dramatically, throwing her arms up and letting them drop comically to her sides. "Are we a team or not?"

"Of course we are," he says, frowning at her assessment. Does she not remember how he always chose her during their playground excursions? How, even though she wasn't officially Queen of the playground, the whole school saw through their feelings and called her that anyway? "We always have been, since kindergarten."

"Then act like it." She lets her voice drop as she steps back toward him, taking her place on the arm of the chair once again. "You always do this. Trying to protect me from things that you think are going to hurt me."

He opens his mouth for a rebuttal, but she puts a finger to his lips.

"And I appreciate it. Really, I do. But I am in a better place now and you have to start letting me help you again. If we're not a team…" Her voice trails off for a minute. "We're at our best when we're partners in crime."

He chuckles quietly at the imagery and is about to make a snarky comment about them being like Bonnie and Clyde, when his dilemma comes front and center.

"It's funny you say that," he says.

He delves into the last few days. Spinelli already knew he wasn't sure about his future path, but once he starts to lay out all the pieces floating around in his head, he sees all these patterns that just seem to scream at him. Between the ride around with Mr. Spinelli's cop friend and Principal Prickly urging him to look into first responder careers, it feels like a one way trip to the police academy is in his future.

"It just seems like everything, all the signs, are pointing me toward being a cop and, I know, it's a good career, but I don't know," he admits. "It doesn't feel right."

Spinelli narrows her eyes, a wave of confusion flooding through her eyes. "I never would have pictured you as a cop."

"Right?" TJ exclaims, his heart racing with excitement that someone finally seems to feel the same way as he does. "I would be a terrible cop. I'd probably get fired for going against orders."

She nods her head in agreement. "I mean, it wouldn't surprise me."

"But, I mean, if Prickly of all people suggested it!" he exclaims. "Are we just missing something?"

Spinelli narrows her eyes again, as if she's concentrating. She turns toward the school and he can see her staring off at Prickly's office. When she turns back, she continues to look confused.

"Prickly actually said, TJ, you'd make a great cop?" she asks, surprise evident in her voice.

TJ shakes his head. "Well, no. Not like that," he says, a hint of defensiveness to his voice. Prickly had been a lot vaguer. "Prickly wasn't that specific. He just said…something about first responder jobs. Something about how I'd thrive in a job that connects me to the community."

Spinelli's initial confusion shifts into an unimpressed stare. She crosses her arms, one brow arched, and rolls her eyes. TJ's shoulders tense under her judgment.

"What?" he asks, his tone barely hiding his annoyance.

"You're creating your own signs, you ding dong," Spinelli teases, a grin spreading across her face as she says it. She laughs a little, reaching forward to pat his cheek jokingly.

TJ scowls and crosses his own arms. "That's not helpful," he grunts. "You're not even trying to help me."

Her smile softens, the sarcastic smirk gentler on her features. She reaches for his crossed arms, giving his forearm a light squeeze.

"Sorry, Teej, I shouldn't have laughed." She pauses, her tone shifting from apologetic to thoughtful. "But, I think you're focusing on the wrong thing. Prickly was giving you a direction, not a job description. 'First responder' doesn't just mean cop – it could mean firefighter, EMS, heck, it could even mean lifeguard. You could work for a non-profit. You could coach a team."

He bites his lip as Spinelli lists the options on her fingers. He had been so narrow minded, so focused on his quest to plan out his career, had he pigeonholed himself into a single option? That's what Spinelli seems to think and, as she explains herself, he can't help but agree. He hadn't even thought of anything else when Prickly mentioned first responder besides a cop.

Now, with Prickly's advice in his head, he realizes that the vagueness had been purposeful. Prickly hadn't been trying to hand him a career on a silver platter. Now he feels dumb for not seeing Prickly's advice for what it was – an attempt to make TJ see what he wanted in life and to find a job that could get him there.

"It was easier when all I wanted to be was President and Señor Fusion," he grumbles.

"And, you know what every politician had before they became a politician," Spinelli says. "A regular person job."

He frowns. "Don't you have to be a lawyer?"

Spinelli shakes her head. "Mayor Fitzhugh was a used car salesman. Joey said his boss used to work with him a lot. Said he was a real scuzzball."

"He still is," TJ says. The two share a laugh. Everyone in town knows Mayor Fitzhugh isn't the most moral candidate, but he keeps winning his elections regardless.

Spinelli's laughter fades first and she looks at him with thoughtful eyes.

"Teej, you're good with people and you care about making a difference. That's the point Prickly was probably trying to make," she says with a shrug. "You've always been the guy with a plan, but you don't need to have your entire life figured out today. But, for what it's worth, I think Prickly put you on the right track."

He supposes she's right. Prickly was able to identify what is the most important to him. He has always enjoyed teamwork and leadership opportunities. And, Prickly had mentioned that careers are winding and weaving. What had he said about second degree teachers? They were some of the best because they had life experience.

"Yeah, maybe," he says.

But part of him still feels uncomfortable knowing that he doesn't have a set in stone plan like the rest of them. He knows that in the next four or five years, should everything go according to their plan, Spinelli will graduate and they'll either be married or preparing for their wedding. They'll want a house and kids won't be too far away. He wants to be financially stable when they get there, not floundering around trying to figure out a job.

"But, you know what you want to be," he says.

And, maybe that is also the reason he pigeonholed himself. He wanted a plan, even if it wasn't the best.

"Sure, I know I'm going to be a teacher, but I don't have it all planned out either," she says. "I don't know what grade I like or what school."

"But, I want to be working so when you get out of school we can have some money saved up," he says. "A nice little down payment on a house or a nice wedding fund."

She shakes her head. "All I care about is us figuring things out together. We've got a whole lifetime, Teej. A few years in a tiny apartment where we're crammed in like sardines isn't that unusual." Then she gives him a playful nudge. "Also, you know, you have to be thirty-five to run for president anyway."

TJ snorts. "I don't think I'm going to be president."

As he tells her, it feels like letting go. A weight lifts off his shoulders that he hadn't known was there. And maybe that was part of his trouble. His friends were all planning to be such great things. Maybe, in the back of his mind, he wanted to stay on par with them.

She wrinkles her nose. "I think I would be a terrible First Lady."

"Plus, we'd have to move to DC," TJ continues.

"Raise our kids in the White House."

Then both frown.

"I want to stay right here," he says.

She raises an eyebrow. "On the playground?"

He chuckles. "No, you goober," he says, tapping her nose with his finger. "But I want to live here. I want to raise our kids here. Send them to Third Street."

"Maybe the Wilsons will sell us their house for cheap considering all the free labor you do in their yard," Spinelli says sarcastically. But she leans into him and he can feel her relax. "That would be nice though."

"And, you know, maybe one day I could unseat Fitzhugh," he says. "Make this town's government a little less corrupt."

"I'd vote for you."

He grins and his fears begin to alleviate. Spinelli is right. There are so many different jobs out there and, like Prickly said, he can be involved in the community. He hadn't considered many of the jobs Spinelli had mentioned, but his mind goes back to earlier. When he was downtown, he had noticed the camaraderie of the paramedics and firefighters in the driveway. That might be a good career – highly respected, connected to the community. He'd have to look into the programs at the community college, see what was involved.

Firefighter. He lets the word sit on his tongue without saying it aloud. Despite seeing them all the time – at the grocery store, pulling Conan the cat from trees, teaching stop-drop-and-roll at the school, or at the fire station itself – he had never considered it. He doesn't know why, when he considers the values the career embodies fulfill a lot of what Prickly pulled from him at the golf course. Community. Leadership. Teamwork. Maybe he had just spent so long focusing on the big fancy careers his friends were striving for that he forgot the stable close-to-home ones.

He said when he was younger he wanted to be President and Señor Fusion. Wasn't a firefighter a local superhero? Maybe he wasn't destined for a federal life, but a local one. Mayor Detweiler. Chief Detweiler. A career that he could be proud of – even if it wasn't a fancy scientist or a Broadway star.

"I guess I'll have to look into my brochures a little more."

"I think that sounds like a plan."

They stay on the top of Old Rusty until the sun starts to set, marveling at the pink and orange sky over the school before heading home under the street lights. He walks past his own house to drop Spinelli off on her doorstep and then backtracks toward his own home. He stops on the sidewalk briefly in front of the Wilsons' house. Spinelli had been joking earlier and the Wilsons have no intention to move any time soon, but he can imagine it easier now than he could before.

Once he's home, he goes up to his room and digs into the brochures in his desk drawer. He flips through them briefly, reading the testimonials on the back. On the back of the EMS one is one that catches his eye.

The EMT program was my stepping stone to a rewarding career with CFD. I was working as an EMT while I was working on my fire science degree. Now I'm a firefighter-paramedic, working with a great team, and helping the community that raised me every day. Truly thankful to WCCC
– Jimmy McGee, EMT certificate program, Fire Science

What gets him more than the testimonial is the name and photo that goes with it. The man looks vaguely familiar but the name is what gets him. It's one of TJ's greatest talents, remembering people's names. He hurries through the Jack-and-Jill bathroom to Becky's room. He grabs her old yearbook off the bookshelf and flips through. There, right next to her in the Prom King and Queen picture, is Jimmy McGee. Jimmy from Floppy Burger. Jimmy, who Becky dated through high school and into college before they broke up amicably. If his testimonial is still accurate, it sounds like he works for the local fire department.

Maybe he'll have to go down to the fire station and talk to Jimmy McGee. Pick his brain a bit. Because he's starting to feel like this might be a good start to his winding and weaving career.

…

Notes:

In School's Out, Prickly's speech to TJ includes the line "Some days I sit there in my office, looking out at you kids on the playground and I think, they don't know how good they've got it. In a few years, they're all going to be grown ups like me and all those good times will just be memories for them too." TJ doesn't realize it, but Prickly's words stuck with him.

Mikey is canonically the oldest, as seen in the episode "Bonky Fever", which TJ references in his chapter. I have whole reasons behind my headcanons of their birthdays that I won't go into now, but in this story, Mikey was born Sunday, December 1, 1991.

In the episode, Career Day, TJ's idea of his future is to be President by day and Señor Fusion by night.

I know a lot of people have their opinions on TJ's future career and may not agree with me on this angle. But I've always seen TJ in the series as a metaphor for childhood. He's arguably the main character and taking TJ out of the town and giving him a big high profile job didn't feel like his story to me. I like the idea that TJ struggled through school, knowing that school wasn't his thing, and showing he can lead a successful life and be happy without going to college in a traditional sense. That was my plan from day one with TJ.

Next up, Vince is back for December 2009, our last chapter of 2009.