 Finally, around 3.17 p.m., some out-of-shape-looking kids show up, a group of 7th and 8th graders, boys with uncertain peach fuzz mustaches, pimples, and unlaced tennis shoes. I ask, are any of you here for tennis? Some of them make obnoxious sounds with their armpits as a response. The song playing in my head Reminds me of the things you said And how they're coming true