April of 1985.

"Hey, you!" A very familiar voice, with that sweet and enthusiastic tone made you turn around, stopping your walk down the street. It was Jake, your neighbor, riding his bike as he pedaled toward you. That pastel blue bike with a bell and a basket. The bike every teenager of that era wanted.

"Why are you going home alone?" A week ago, Jake had moved two houses down from you. He'd noticed you because you walked to the same school together—well, not directly. You were always five or six steps ahead of him, and you never really noticed him. Until recently, he started trying to talk to you, unsuccessfully, because you paid so little attention to him and his energetic puppy personality. However, he didn't give up.

"Do you want me to take you home? My bike has a rack to sit on back here." He said as he stopped his bike next to you, and patted the seat he was talking about. "You can wear your backpack or you can put it in the basket next to mine."