A stylish middle part haircut—the trend among young people—paired with a fitted black shirt and a pair of lively suspenders.
In the mirror, Barry still looked as sharp and cool as ever.
Driving the Mercedes borrowed from Kristen's family, he headed toward the street near Carrie's house.
Carrie, pressed for time and afraid her mother might notice, hadn't dressed up. She simply waited quietly at the corner.
Among the crowd, she looked the most plain—a single braid, a cotton dress, shy and unsure of herself. That was Carrie.
Beep! Beep!
Barry honked twice and waved. "Carrie, get in the car."
Seeing the gleaming silver Mercedes and the confident young man behind the wheel, Carrie froze. At eighteen, standing awkwardly on the sidewalk, she looked completely out of place.
"Carrie! You want me to just sit here like an idiot? The driver behind me's about to run me over!" Barry leaned halfway out of the window, tugged at his suspenders with a grin, full of energy.
"S-sorry. I'm coming." Carrie hunched her shoulders, feeling guilty for some reason, and quickly slipped into the car.
Ten minutes later—
They stopped at Happy Mallow's, one of those popular fried chicken chains all over America.
They ordered a full fried chicken combo in honor of poor Tommy, who was, well… no longer around.
Finding an empty table, they sat across from each other.
Double cheeseburgers, a large order of fresh fries, crispy fried chicken that smelled heavenly, and ice-cold Coke—all neatly spread out on the table.
Carrie carefully picked up a chicken drumstick. The grease stained her gloves a faint yellow. It was her first time in a place like this.
Her mother, Margaret, had never taken her to one. The food, the people, the bright atmosphere—it was all new and exciting.
She glanced at Barry, who was chomping down a third of his double cheeseburger in one bite, mayonnaise smearing the corner of his mouth, completely unbothered.
Even compared to little kids, his eating style was carefree—borderline wild.
"What are you staring at? Why aren't you eating?"
Barry slurped his icy Coke, grabbed a few fries, dipped them in ketchup, and suddenly popped them into Carrie's mouth.
Caught off guard, Carrie bit down on the fries, her nerves easing as she started to relax, her timid demeanor slowly fading.
"Didn't we come to honor Tommy? Did we forget about that?" she asked softly.
"Forget? Impossible. Tommy's with us right now. When we eat, he eats too. The more we eat, the happier he gets."
"Really? But my mom said—"
"Carrie, you need to think for yourself. Don't you trust my wisdom?" Barry tapped the cross hanging from his neck. "See this? It's proof of my courage and intelligence—officially recognized by the church itself."
"With me guiding you, even the road to heaven will open wide. Amen."
Barry preached his nonsense solemnly, ignoring the fact that his mouth was still greasy from the burger.
"I understand," Carrie whispered. Determined to do her part, she started by taking a big bite of her chicken drumstick.
Night fell; the city lights flickered to life.
After finishing their meal, darkness had settled in.
Not wanting Carrie to get in trouble, Barry decided it was time to take her home.
They walked side by side through the city streets, crossing one intersection after another toward the parking lot.
"After eating so much, do you think Tommy's forgiven me?" Carrie asked quietly.
"My heart tells me Tommy's so happy right now, he's practically ascended," Barry said with mock seriousness.
"But—"
Carrie had just opened her mouth when her expression suddenly changed.
From the street ahead came the screech of tires—a loud, panicked skreeeech!
An out-of-control pickup truck was hurtling toward the intersection.
Right in its path stood a little boy about to cross the street, licking a lollipop, snot dripping from his nose—completely oblivious to the danger.
Oh no!
Carrie's heart nearly stopped.
Headlights flashed wildly. The truck, like a rampaging beast, roared straight toward the child.
Was this the end?
The boy's mother screamed from across the street; horrified onlookers froze; the boy's innocent smile lingered like a cruel still frame.
Then Barry moved.
In an instant, he shot forward like an arrow, suspenders flashing in the headlights as he launched himself through the air, two silver arcs slicing across the dark.
A real man doesn't hesitate.
Gotcha.
Barry dove forward, wrapping his arms around the boy—just as the pickup slammed into his side.
Thud!
"No—!" Carrie screamed, her voice breaking.
Somehow, Barry seemed to gain an extra burst of strength—he didn't just jump two meters; he soared nearly three, flipping through the air before crashing into a streetlight with a sickening clang.
Clatter.
The boy's lollipop shattered on the pavement, splintering into colorful shards.
The streetlight bent, flickering out. Barry, still clutching the boy, collapsed weakly beneath it.
Carrie ran toward him, tears already blurring her vision.
Her first real friend. Her first meal of fried chicken with someone she actually liked. And now—it all felt like a dream, slipping away too fast.
Please… please live.
Carrie prayed desperately.
"Tommy! Tommy!" The boy's mother rushed over, sobbing as she reached them. Her eyes widened when she saw her son dazed but unharmed in Barry's arms.
"Mommy!" The boy—Tommy—squirmed free and threw himself into her embrace.
"Oh my God! Thank heaven, you're safe!"
"It was the big brother—he saved me," Tommy said, turning toward Barry. His mother followed his gaze, her joy fading into silence.
After a fall like that… could he really still be alive?
"Barry, Barry, wake up!"
Carrie pushed past the mother and son, kneeling beside Barry. She grabbed his scarred, trembling hand, choking back sobs.
"I… I'm fine," he whispered weakly, his skin pale as ash. His voice came out in broken gasps.
"No, no, no!" Carrie cried, shaking her head. She refused to believe it.
"F-friends… forever…"
With trembling hands, Barry pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, his dirty fingers pressing it into hers. His fading eyes locked onto hers one last time.
Carrie, tears streaming down her cheeks, unfolded it—it was the "friendship contract" he'd talked about last night.
"Why… why us…" she sobbed. Why did tragedy always find them?
But now, there was only one thing she could do—grant Barry's final wish.
With fingers that still smelled faintly of fried chicken grease, she pressed her thumb firmly onto the paper, leaving behind her red, tear-stained fingerprint.