i was 11, i think. that’s how old you are in sixth grade, right? alison h. and i were walking to school. we were on the overpass, passing under us was the garden state parkway (163, our exit). a coca-cola truck drove by and the side door slid open. crates of 2-liter bottles fell out. the trucker didn’t notice ─ he kept driving. cars were swerving around the crates. some bottles exploded, soda spinning and fizzing in all directions. others rolled up to the side of the street. was it stealing? the cops were going to have to clean it up anyway. we each grabbed a bunch of bottles and lugged them the rest of the way to school. we showed up waving the booty around, showing how cool we were. between the two of us we had 7 or 8 2-liter bottles of coke and cherry coke. we put them in our cubbies and on the shelf above the coat rack. mrs. quick, our teacher, said, “c’mon girls, you can’t bring it in here if you’re not going to share with everyone.” i remember greedily wishing we didn’t have to.