Account of Jade Young Chapter 2

Chapter 2
Walking up to Quaker Square, I glance at the time on my cell phone. 4:10. I go to the entrance and sit on one of the benches, opening a book in my lap so I don’t look like I’m sitting here waiting for someone I don’t even know.
I look around, it isn’t very crowded today. Well, I can’t see how it could be, it is a Monday at…4:13. I see Mandy strut by with a horde of girls in tow. I sit a little straighter when I see tom come up at…4:36, but he just glances at me and lets a little “inside joke” smile play across his lips. I smile back sheepishly and he walks on, peeking at his cell phone.
Tom walks by again, and I take out my cell phone. 4:48, then pull up the text and tilt the screen toward him. As expected, he looks at it, then looks at his own phone, then walks over to me uncertainly and sits down on the bench next to me.
“So…I know this might sound weird, but I’m going to just go ahead anyway. Are you waiting for someone?”
I stare at him for a second then answer, “Err…yeah.”
“Oh, um… okay then.”
About a minute passes with us just sitting there, being awkward.
“Are you?” I ask just to break the silence.
“I think so.”
“What do you mean you think so?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I was supposed to meet J here are 4:15.”
I ponder who J is as we sit here then ask him, “Who is J?”
“Err…I’m not sure. I thought maybe…you were?”
“I don’t think so. Are you T?”
He responds he doesn’t think so and I show him the text.
“I got a text saying to meet J here at 4:15,” he responds.
“Then you’re late. It is now…5:00.”
Just as I look at the time, my phone and Tyson’s phone drum at the same time. Bewildered, we look and read them together:
1403 Bridgewood Way
I stare at my phone for what seems like an eternity. Finally I say, “How dumb does this person think we are?”
“I know! It’s like ‘hummmm….what should I do today? Maybe I’ll wait til dark, then go to some random address to meet god knows who!’ I mean, please.”
We look down at the phones as the seconds tick passed.
“So, your car or mine?” I ask quietly.
“I walked here, so we’ll take yours.”
My mind racing a thousand miles a minute, I call home and get Jared. I tell him to tell him I won’t be home for dinner. He gives me some very brotherly love in his bored answer of “whatever”.
With that done, I walk with numb legs to my car and get in, closing my eyes as rust rains down when I close the door. Tyson hops in the passanger seat and slams the door, sending rust shooting into his eyes. He blinks rapidly, eyes watering, and wipes the sleeve of his jean jacket across his eyes. He blinks again and looks around.
“Nice ride,” he says, giving me a lopsided smile.
I give him a fierce look and ask if he would rather walk. He finally decides that it is nice and just has a lot of character. I give him another look and he fails to suppress his smile. Rolling my eyes, I tell him to buckle up.
“Yeah, in the side. Can you pull the map out? Thanks. Okay, so we’re looking for Bridgewood Way.”
“Ummm…alright turn left on Shelton then it’s your third road on the right.”
“Gotcha.”
I look out the window as blurs of factories speed by. I know enough to recognize we’re in the most industrial part of the city. We pull up to a factory almost exactly like every other one we’ve past. It is very business-like with its bleak grey walls and forlorn aura. It is clear this is not like Disney world, nobodies dreams came true hear. The only clue to what went on inside was a neat sign above the door that said in clean, almost robotic letters:
Akron
City of Invention
“Well, this is it.”
“Yeah,” he responds.
“Err…do you want to go in…?” I ask
These six words come to change my whole life. How can a decision that is seemingly so insignificant impact the course of history forever? How can the very weight of it not have crushed us on the spot? It’s hard to imagine that with all the discoveries people have made, those few words cap them all.
“Cuz I’m totally fine with going back,” I finish.
“No, we came all this way. Let’s see what this person wants.”
“Umm…okay I guess.”
He gets out as I fumble around in the backseat for my wallet. My hand falls across something hard and oval-shaped. I hold it to the light only to see it is my dad’s old swiss army knife. I toss it aside and pick up my wallet, sliding it into the back pocket of my jeans. Then, as an afterthought, I grab the knife and slip that in my pocket too.
“Are you coming?” Tyson calls from the sidewalk.
“Yeah, just grabbing my wallet,” I answer as I hurry across the parking lot to meet him. Then, together, we walk into the factory at 1403 Bridgewood Way.