Cal and Zac were lying down, watching television on their stomachs, when someone knocked on the door. Confused, Cal reluctantly got up to answer the door. Unless it was Zac, she never had visitors.
"Heeeey, Cal," the kid in the doorway greeted a cocky seventeen-year-old kid named Skip. She immediately regretted her decision. Ever since they had accidentally crossed paths one day, Skip found every chance he could to bother her.
"Oh, Zac's in here, too," he noticed, glancing over her shoulder. "Cool." Other than turning his head towards the doorway, Zac hadn't moved from his position on the bed. "Hey, what say we go spend some time together over in the square, just you and me, Cal. I heard they're dishing out hot cocoa!"
"No thanks," she rejected, not even attempting to fake a smile. At this point, she was tired of being fake nice.
"Maybe another time, then?" he pressed.
"Take the hint, Skip," Zac scoffed, getting up. "She's mine. Beat it." He closed the door, ending any chance for Skip to keep talking. Not only did Cal want nothing to do with the kid, but she also wouldn't have missed this broadcast for the world.
Ike made sure to tell her how important it was.
Zac waited ten seconds before sounding off with laughter, and she contagiously joined in.
-=[ ]=-
Less than ten minutes remained until Carter's speech, but Zac popped a surprise on Cal. "My family's going to steal me away all day tomorrow," he said, rolling off the bed and onto the floor, "so I want to give you this now, rather than later." He slid a massive box out from under her bed, decorated with Christmas wrapping. "This one's really heavy, so you'll have to open it down here."
"I have so many questions right now," she admitted, surprised that he managed to sneak a box into her room, "but I'll just disregard them. I'll open mine, but only after you open yours." She grabbed her own hefty box out of her closet and handed it over to him. She took a spot next to him, patiently waiting for him to tear into it.
"Wow," he voiced, unboxing the item inside. "Cal, you really shouldn't have." He lifted the item out with a plotting grin, commenting, "You really know me and my popcorn habit." The popcorn machine in his hands was red and small, but sufficient.
"Yeah, that's why I got it. I didn't know anything else that I could get you, so I got that and five pounds of kernels. They're coming in the next shipment to the island. Somehow, though, I feel like that's a disappointment compared to what I'm about to get."
"Hardly, Cal. This is great. I'll probably end up using this every day." He scooted her present towards her a little more, saying, "This thing's gotta be at least forty pounds."
"What is your fascination with heavy packages?" she asked, laughing. She ripped into the paper. Her eyes lit up.
"'Straight from our engineering facility in Nevada,'" he recited, "'the Rob-Dog is Man's best friend with less to take care of. Powered exclusively by solar cells, the future of electricity, this robotic companion is capable of many advanced actions and commands that would bring an organic dog to shame.'"
"I find it scary that you've memorized the commercial," she teased, her attention never shifting from the box. This thing had to have cost him a fortune, and it's not like he was loaded with money.
"It plays almost nonstop in the workshop. Drives everyone up the wall with how repetitive it is."
"How'd you even get a hold of something like this?"
"Five years of allowance, two years of salary saving, and a loan or two from my older brothers."
"Zac!" she exclaimed, upset.
"I'm kidding. It was just half a year of saving. I knew what I wanted to get you the first time I heard the commercial."
"It's my turn now to say you really shouldn't have."
"Probably not, but I really wanted to go big this year. Plus, I have a feeling it'll pay off eventually somehow."
They worked together on assembling the dog, carefully reading through the instructions.
"Do you think 'Sparky' is too generic of a name?" Cal wondered.
"I don't think it's a generic name for a robotic dog that nobody has or can afford. I think it'll fit perfectly."
The dog was hardly assembled by the time the broadcast started, so they set the parts down and scooted closer to the television. Cal popped in a VHS tape, ready to record the speech. As the presidential seal washed over the screen, she wondered why Ike was so adamant about them watching. He knew politics bored her.
They both recoiled back the moment a swastika replaced the president.
It made sense now.
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