Today I wake up earlier than usual. This is because I have a game plan that I need to follow and need to get started right away. I quietly creep down the stairs to the kitchen in order to complete step one, brewing my artificial vomit. I grab the chunkiest and most disgusting smelling things I can find in my fridge. I also grab some leftovers from last night’s dinner to make it more believable. I mix the ingredients and let it sit for a while. I tentatively sniff the concoction. Perfect, the smell makes me gag as much as real puke does. I put away the ingredients and head upstairs, careful not to spill. Once I arrive at the top I start running and gagging. I throw open the bathroom door and make loud retching sounds while I slowly pour the mixture into the toilet. I stop and shout for my parents, make another sound and pour the rest in. I hide the bowl in an empty cabinet and slump against the toilet attempting to look weak. They enter shortly after, and see that I am “sick” and couldn’t possibly go to school today. They tell me to go to my room and try to get some rest while they take care of the mess. I quietly mumble thanks and shuffle into my room. I hear my mother call the school as I lay down and wait. My parents come into my room and  I weakly hug them and insist they go to work because I can manage myself. Once they leave I am free to put phase two into action.
I change out of my pajamas into jeans, a t-shirt, and my old tattered New York Mets baseball cap. My phone rings and the voice of my best friend greets me with, “How is the plan coming along, Briefcase?” I answer him, “Part one is accomplished, Goose.” Briefcase is for Kasey and Goose is for George. Anyways, after I answer Goose, he just says, “Okay,” and hangs up. I take this as my cue to head down to the Crazy Chicken restaurant with my computer. I grab a backpack to stash my computer and catcher’s mitt inside. I snatch my tie-dye keychain off the counter and head out the front door. I lock the door behind me and slide into the driver’s seat of my 1978 Volkswagen van. I arrive at the restaurant ten minutes later and walk in. I walk to our regular booth, unsurprised to see Goose already seated there fiddling with his hoodie strings and staring out the window. I slide into the other side of the booth and greet him with a smile. He turns and smiles back. He asks, “Forget the laptop again, Briefcase?” I gently shove him and say no. As I pull it out of my bag a waitress stops by and gives us our usual, which is two chocolate milkshakes and an order of chicken fries. I hand him the computer and sip my milkshake. He types some things for a while with his brow furrowed in concentration. Ten minutes later his face breaks into a smile, takes a big drink of his shake and says confidently, “Oh you will so owe me big time after this.” I am so excited I can barely think, but I manage to ask, “Oh yeah? You actually did it?” He just shrugs and nonchalantly says, “No big deal or anything, right? I mean it’s not like I just hacked into a website to get us tickets to today’s New York Mets game.” I excitedly say, “No way! Thank you so much Goose,” and reach across the table to give him a hug. “Just wondering, what do I owe you?” I ask. He just smiles and says, “Seven boxes of CrackerJacks.” I automatically reply, “Deal,” and this ends phase two.
We pay for our food and hurry out to go straight back to my house. When we arrive I struggle with my keys for a while, a huge advantage for him to beat me, we race to the office. He wins and is about to brag about it until I remind him about the task at hand. He just laughs and prints the tickets. We race outside and he beats me again, this time to the driver’s seat. I fake pout and then agree as long as I am in charge of the tunes. He starts to complain, but then grudgingly agrees because he is still the one driving. Once we have found our seats, he looks over at me seriously and says, “Boy, I sure could use seven boxes of CrackerJacks right now.” I pull them out of my backpack and hand them to him. I also pull out my catcher’s mitt and put it on, in case there’s a foul ball. Not long after I think this, the national anthem is sung and the whole stadium stands up. I see a person one row in front of us with a slightly familiar looking bald head. Could it be Principal Carl? Yeah right, he’s never missed a school day in his life. I dismiss the thought when the anthem ends and we all sit down. After the guest pitcher throws, the starting pitcher for the Mets, Jacob deGrom, gets up to throw. He does, and the batter on the other team hits a foul ball. It goes into the stands and flies high over the first couple of rows. I leap to my feet, push aside my best friend, and reach forward as far as I can. The ball sails through the air flying towards me. With a professional like catch, a mitt closes around the ball. The mitt, however, was much nicer looking than mine. Perhaps this is because it belonged to the man with the shiny bald head in front of me. He holds the ball up triumphantly and does a slow victory spin for the Jumbotrons. When he faces us, Goose and I realize in shock that it is indeed Principal Carl. We stand frozen staring at each other for the longest time until finally our principal just bursts out laughing and shakes his head. Goose and I share a confused look. This goes on for a while until Principal Carl sighs and says, “You guys too, eh?” Goose gives me a bewildered look then answers him, “Sir, may I ask what you mean?” The principal just laughs and says, “Playin’ hooky, duh.” I wink at the principal and say, “Now Mr. Carl, we didn’t see anything if you didn’t.” Our principal shrugs and replies with, “I’ve always liked the way you think, Kasey.” I wince at hearing my real name and say, “Thank you, sir. Mind sitting next to us and enjoying the game with us?” He agrees and is alongside us groaning when one of the Mets strikes out, and cheering loudly when we hit a homerun. We jump up and hug each other in celebration when the Mets win the game. I lean over to Goose and whisper in his ear, “Thank you again for an amazing day.” He whispers back, “Part three complete?” I smile and say, “No, mission complete.”