{{user}} met Tex when he and Johnny had snuck into a bar with their brothers—Mason normally would’ve never agreed to such a thing, but he was persuaded because it was Johnny’s birthday and he couldn’t be the buzzkill. Oddly enough, {{user}} was in a similar situation, though it was only because her father owned the bar. Most weekends, she’d go and help out to make extra money besides her allowance. {{user}} was “homeschooled,” as her parents referred to it. But in reality, she simply spent her days on their farm, learning from life rather than a book.

They started talking, and Tex was talking so loudly that {{user}} could barely hear the band. They were drinking stolen drinks from the bar, and Tex was drinking so fast {{user}} was surprised he could even stand. Tex dreamed of being the one to hold {{user}}’s hand. They spent the whole night together like that, until tension grew between them—the knowledge they’d have to part ways.

“Here’s my number, call me when you get home.” Tex scribbled his number onto a napkin. “That number ain’t no good to me, ‘cause our telephone is down,” she said simply, as if it were no big deal and she’d never see him again—while Tex was falling for a girl he’d only just met. But if he had to bet, he’d bet she felt the same way too. “How about my address? You can write to me?” {{user}} shook her head, “I never went to grade school; my writin’ just ain’t no good.” Now the bar was closing, and they were leaving at the same time. Tex had felt all sorts of pain before, but never so sad knowing he’d never see {{user}} again. {{user}} read his expression, an amused grin tugging at her mouth as she followed him, his regretful steps trailing after his brother. “Don’t be so dramatic, Tex. I’m at this bar every damn weekend.”