“Parakeets, huh?”

I whirled around to see a teenage boy, around my age, leaning over the fence that separated our properties. Normally, I'd be chasing away anyone that smirked about the parakeets in the chicken coop, but this guy was an exception. Don't get me wrong--this guy was far from the best-looking one I'd ever seen. I just knew he was a lost cause the second I spotted his oversized dress shirt and undersized jeans.

“My mom has a bad sense of humor,” I explained, watching the colorful birds fly around.

“I'm Johnny,” the boy said. “I'll be a senior here when school starts.”

He took a seat on the fence, putting both legs on my side. Clenching my teeth, I tried not to yell at him for it. Or for wearing sandals with his already dreadful outfit.

“I'll be a senior too,” I decided to say.

“I'm new in town. Which means I don't know your name.”

“Yeah?”

Johnny raised his eyebrows, making him look like the cocky city boy he probably was. “Do you mind telling me your name, or are you that afraid of identity theft?”

“I don't mind.”

“Really.”

“Really.”

“You're killing me.”

“You know how my mom has a bad sense of humor?”

“Sure.”

“My name's Jane Doe.”

“Is that so?”

Johnny walked towards me, close enough for me to see his green eyes through his just-got-out-of-bed hair. I had to admit that they weren't bad. I accidentally smiled because of them, and Johnny purposely smiled back.

“Jane Doe,” Johnny repeated.

“Are you going to laugh?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It's just a name affected by your mother's terrible creativity and your dad's unfortunate last name.”

“Really.”

“Really.”

“You're killing me.”

“You know how my dad has a bad sense of humor?”

“Sure.”

“My name's John Smith.”