Dylan opened a can of sardines and flicked the lid into the sink. “After I’m dead, I don’t want to have been just Dylan Smith. I want to have people call me Dylan Freakin’ Smith or Dylan Awesome Smith. Something like that.”

“You have to do something for that to happen,” said Cody.

“Like what?” Dylan speared a sardine, tossed it in the air, and caught it in his mouth.

“I don’t know. Invent something.”

Dylan chewed the sardine thoughtfully. “I’m gonna do that. I’m gonna invent something freakin’ awesome.”

“Then they can call you Dylan Freakin’ Awesome Smith.”

“Damn right.” Dylan flicked another sardine into the air. It landed on his cheek. He balanced it for a moment, then flicked his head, trying to flip it into his mouth. The oil sealed it to his face. He plucked it off, tossed it into his mouth, and wiped the oil from his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Until then, we have to call you ‘Dylan Not-Yet-Freakin’ Awesome Smith,’” said Cody.

“That’s kind of long.”

“Then you’d better expedite,” said Cody.

“Is that street or did you make it up?”

Cody shrugged. “I don’t know. He took the sardine tin from Dylan, fished the last one out, and popped it in his mouth.

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