the burn don't work and the buzz don't help;

It didn’t escape Javi that he had only told Ryan his nickname before, and the name the cop sounded out slowly was his full name. That told him one thing: the officer had done some digging on him. Where that fact might have soured another person (especially one who, like Javi, got in trouble a lot), it gave this wayward teenager a little lift. Ryan hadn’t forgotten about him after they’d parted ways last time. He’d cared enough to go out and nose about a bit, which was more than Javi ever expected of an adult. It also helped that the cop accepted his fist bump.

Ryan turned a little towards him and looked over Javi’s shoulder at the street behind. Not missing the brief gesture, Javi glanced backwards, hoping a bronco hadn’t turned the corner or something. It would be awkward to explain why he had stopped to chat to a cop, especially he cop he had held up at the bay that night, especially especially after he promised Lanny he’d lie low. There was nothing suspicious behind him that he could see, so he hitched his bag a little higher and turned back, mirroring Ryan’s body language so the three of them stood in a triangle on the sidewalk. He briefly saluted Daniel when the latter was introduced.

“I’m doing my homework.” He answered honestly. “Well, I was about to do my homework. Actually…” Javi swung his bag around the front and wedged it on the ground between his legs, zipping it open at the top. He started to rifle through, occasionally pulling out crumpled and often torn bits of paper, unfurling them, frowning, and then tossing them back in his bag. “I got this dumb history assignment, about like…” He paused his rifling for a moment and clicked his tongue, trying to remember what Mr Davis had said. Unfortunately, while Mr Davis had been teaching his lesson that morning, there had been a bird building a nest in a tree outside the window right next to Javi. “There was this, um… like super chill war, where there weren’t nobody fighting. Except maybe the Russians.” He plucked the paper he’d been looking for out of his bag and stood back up again, showing it to Ryan. “And I gotta talk to someone who remembers it.”

The paper, if Ryan cared to examine it, was tightly crumpled where Javi had balled it up earlier and had a tear along the top. It bore the school’s name and logo on letter headed paper – the worst school in the area. The paper was mostly blank lines where students were expected to write their answer in, but the task was spelled out in blank ink: Oral History Assignment: Find a member of your family who remembers the Cold War. Ask them what it was like to live in the US during the Cold War and record their memories below. At the top of the paper, Javi had scribbled the letters JE in pencil.

Javi’s face was expectant, his unasked question clear.