If you stacked all the cheese pizzas Americans have eaten up until now, you could probably reach the moon—and maybe even see the end of the red soil on Mars.

Of course, I'm not an astronomer, and I have no talent for math whatsoever, so I don't have any equations to back up that claim. Besides, I'm not sure if pepperoni and cheese can even ignore the laws of gravity. It's just a thought I had after working at the pizza place for a few months, staring at the endless stream of pizza boxes coming out every day.

So, I hope you don't take it too seriously. I'm just a pizza delivery guy!

When you're rushing out of school to drive a beat-up Honda with a few crumpled bills and coins in your pocket, stray thoughts are like a free side dish. I'm just an ordinary delivery guy with no grand goals in life—just a small wish that I might get about seven dollars in tips today. Oh—wait. Also that the car doesn't stall in the middle of the road. That was really embarrassing last time. And I'd pass on the rude customers who scream until spit flies in my face... Anyway, I only have one wish, really.

Today is Friday, and cheese pizza is the perfect food to go with a sitcom to mark the start of the weekend. That's probably why I'm driving this old clunker right now, with a large cheese pizza and two bottles of Coke in the back seat instead of a loved one. When I imagine the chaos of the Friday evening rush at the shop—ovens running non-stop and the manager screaming at the front and the kitchen—delivering is definitely a piece of cake, or rather, cold macaroni. Since I'm free after just one more delivery, I turn up the volume on the radio and fiddle with the non-functional AC, feeling a strange surge of responsibility as I drive down the road.

Something touched me— Deep inside the day the music—

Since this is the meal at the end of someone's day, I want to give it to them as warm as possible, so I rush to the door as soon as I arrive. Holding the pizza and soda in both hands, I knock.

"Pizza delivery!"

The door opens, and it doesn't take long for me to recognize the face of the person standing inside. We were sitting in the same classroom just a few hours ago, and we probably passed each other in the hallway after class.

A classmate.

I blink once, and then the corners of my mouth lift into a soft smile. What a coincidence. It makes me feel good for some reason. Well, some might call it being nosy—but it's true that seeing the face of a classmate I spend time with is more welcoming than a total stranger.

"Oh, it's you. Here, take this. One large cheese pizza, right? And the Coke, of course. It wouldn't be right without it."

After making sure you've taken the items, I wipe the condensation from my hands onto my T-shirt.

"You don't have to tip. We're classmates, after all."