Saturday morning arrived with the kind of stubborn autumn chill that made most high school students bury themselves under their covers. But Ryan was already up, lacing his sneakers and sipping a lukewarm instant coffee like it was rocket fuel.
Dylan Cho stumbled into Ryan's driveway twenty minutes later, wearing a hoodie, fingerless gloves, and a sleep-deprived glare. He had a crumpled paper map in one hand and a box of granola bars in the other.
"Three sales, two neighborhood cleanouts, and one church rummage event." He slapped the map onto the hood of Ryan's dad's old Toyota. "Let's go hunt for treasure."
Ryan cracked a grin. "We're not looking for treasure. We're looking for undervalued assets."
"Yeah," Dylan said, climbing into the passenger seat. "Treasure."
---
Their first stop was a single-story ranch house with an optimistic Estate Sale! sign stapled to the mailbox. An elderly woman waved them in as they entered the garage, which was packed wall-to-wall with the remnants of someone's long life: tools, board games, boxes of dusty electronics.
Ryan's eyes locked onto a milk crate filled with video game cartridges—Super Nintendo and Sega Genesis, titles like EarthBound and Chrono Trigger.
He flipped them over, checking for wear, then turned to Dylan. "These could sell for fifty to a hundred each, easy. This crate is a goldmine."
Dylan pulled out a tattered Pokemon Red cartridge. "It's scratched to hell."
"Still worth twenty. We clean it up, we list it right, it'll move."
"Ask her how much she wants," Dylan said.
Ryan approached the woman, who looked at the box like it was firewood. "Five dollars for the whole crate," she said.
He didn't hesitate. "Done."
They loaded the crate into the trunk, exchanging a look of quiet triumph.
---
By midday, they'd hit four more garage sales. Dylan had snagged a box of old Calvin and Hobbes first prints and a Polaroid camera that still worked. Ryan picked up two calculators—one of them a TI-83—plus some unopened VHS box sets of cult movies.
Their inventory was raw, but it was real. Tangible. Profitable.
The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows on the sidewalk as they walked out of a final sale with arms full of plastic bags and vintage electronics.
That's when they heard the voice.
"Wow. You guys really are serious about this garbage collecting thing."
Ryan didn't have to look to know who it was.
Tiffany Lang.
She leaned against her friend's red convertible like it was a prop in a movie. Her hair was perfect, as always, caught in the golden light. She wore designer sunglasses and a carefully casual jacket that looked like it cost more than everything in Ryan's trunk combined.
Dylan raised an eyebrow. "And she returns."
Tiffany removed her sunglasses slowly, her eyes fixed on Ryan. "So what's this? Dumpster diving for geeks? Or are you guys prepping for an art project?"
Ryan opened the trunk and began organizing their finds without acknowledging her beyond a glance.
Dylan gave a low whistle. "Cold."
Tiffany crossed her arms, frustrated. "I'm just curious. You were never this... weird before."
Ryan shut the trunk, finally turning to face her. "You never noticed me before either. So let's call it even."
She blinked. "I did notice. I just didn't think you'd turn into a... yard sale hoarder."
"It's called resale arbitrage," Ryan said, tone even. "It's how smart people make money before the rest of the world catches on."
There was a pause.
Then, her voice softened. "Look, I was kind of... harsh the other day. I just didn't expect you to blow me off like that."
Ryan didn't say anything.
She took a step closer. "I was thinking... maybe we could hang out. Just talk. You've changed."
"I have," he said. "That's the point."
The silence after that felt heavier than it should have. Tiffany opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her confidence, usually bulletproof, cracked just a bit.
"Suit yourself," she said finally, putting her sunglasses back on. "Good luck selling junk."
Ryan nodded. "Thanks. I won't need luck."
She left with a flick of her hair and the roar of a well-maintained engine.
---
Dylan tossed a granola bar at him as they got back into the car. "Dude. That was cold. Ice Age levels of cold."
Ryan took a bite of the bar without flinching. "She was a distraction last time. I'm not making the same mistake twice."
Dylan leaned back in the passenger seat. "Well, if we keep pulling days like this, we might actually need to start a real inventory system."
"We will," Ryan said. "And a storefront. Not a physical one—online. We'll start with eBay, maybe pivot to a niche site later. We'll brand it. Build trust. Scale."
Dylan whistled. "Damn, Keller. You sound like you've done this before."
Ryan didn't respond right away. He just watched the road ahead as they pulled back into traffic, their trunk rattling with the spoils of the day.
Because I have, he thought. But this time, I'm not going to fail.
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