[Evenings were coming earlier and getting colder in Onett, but that didn't stop Picky from taking his usual place on the hilltop. The meteor was long-gone, the crater partially filled in and covered with grass, but the place was still... important. He had made sandwiches, bologna with mustard on white bread, and taken them along. Three of them. One for him, two for...
The two always wound up being for him, too. But maybe...
So he ate his sandwich, and watched the sunset, and played with his Game Boy, and waited. When sunset became stars, he watched those, too. And when the temperature took a sudden drop, he pulled his hands into the sleeves of his sweater and wrapped a camping blanket around himself. Tonight... he had a really good feeling about tonight. Tonight, Pokey would come back, and he'd be really happy to have sandwiches waiting for him. Then he'd explain everything. And he'd say that he missed him. And he'd have his big brother back. And things would be better.
Under the sweater and blankets, Picky was warm and cozy and comfortable. Comfortable enough to eventually lie down, curl up, and drift off to sleep.]
[Locked to household at 7132 Brooks Lane, Morning]
[Picky isn't sure where he is when consciousness starts coming back to him. He's warm, and comfortable, and not outside in the grass all dew-soaked and chilled... which wasn't what he expected, once his thoughts began to gather.
Had someone come and taken him home...? But who would ever bother to do that?
He cracks one eye open, meaning to check the time on his alarm clock, but his alarm clock wasn't there. Or any of his other things. This wasn't his bed. This wasn't his room. Wakefulness is coming back to him, and how. He rubs his eyes, throws aside the blankets, and stumbles across the unfamiliar floor.]
[The only conclusion he can come to is that he has been KIDNAPPED. Didn't they warn about this sort of stuff on that one day of the year when the police came to school and handed out pamphlets? They totally warned about this sort of stuff. But his kidnapper was dumb. His kidnapper had left a baseball bat in the room. Brandishing it, still in his jammies, he advanced into the household.]
[Phone - Morning]
[The voice on the phone is a whisper.]
Hey. Is this 911? The police? I'm... My name is Picky Minch. I've been kidnapped, and I'm being held hostage by... by really weird people.
They keep calling me "son". They're not my parents. It's creepy, it's really creepy.
[There's a sudden, sharp intake of breath, and then the voice becomes muffled as though someone is holding a hand over the receiver.]
Nothing... I'm not talking to anyone! B-breakfast? I'm... I'm not hungry!
[The line eventually un-muffles. The boy sighs.]
Can you hurry? They're trying to make me eat oatmeal. Yuck!
[Action A - School]
[Despite his protests, Picky's drone mother had handed him a lunch and a book bag and shooed him out the door to go to school. Experience had told him that it was almost always a bad idea to miss school... so even if this wasn't his town? And wasn't his school? What choice did he have but to attend?
So here's the new kid, sitting at his desk, looking slightly stunned. Or in the cafeteria at a table by himself, slightly stunned. Or in the playground off to one side, slightly stunned.
He's still not sure if this is actually happening.]
[Action B - Around Town, Afternoon]
[School is out, and there's this really strange town to explore. So Picky is off exploring it. He's peering in store windows, stepping on crunchy leaves with gusto, staring at the drones as they go about their business.... And shyly avoiding eye-contact with the people that act real-er. The bangs make it pretty easy.]