1938? Jimmy followed the boy out of the bus automatically, his mind trying to accept the impossibility - nobody could be pulling a trick this detailed. Not just the bus and the boys were from the past - he found himself staring at some sort of old school campus that was right out of old movies. Antique cars and trucks rumbled past civilians and Soldiers in old-fashioned clothing.
"Cadets form up!" One of the older boys, obviously a team or squad leader, barked the order and Jimmy fell into place with his classmates. It took a moment for the automatic reaction to register, and fresh bewilderment widened his eyes. How did he know what to do? His posture was a perfect copy of the other boys around him, arms at his sides, chest out and chin up. But he had never even been a Boy Scout, much less a soldier.
"Parade rest!" The formation moved as one, with Jimmy smoothly shifting to feet apart and hands clasped behind his back. Startled, this time he looked around the group before snapping his eyes back forward when the Senior Cadet Taylor, the Squad leader, scowled at him. He flushed with embarrassment at being caught, only to feel renewed confusion. Andy Wallach, the freckle-faced boy from the bus, was on his right, and Tony Clark was the dark-haired teen on his left. Images flickered in his mind - the three of them having a pillow fight, talking about warplanes, arguing over baseball teams. They weren't memories, not exactly. Any more than impressions of growing up and working on a farm, using an outhouse instead of a toilet, and the wonder of a dial-type telephone.
"Cadets, Dismissed!" As the other boys broke ranks and scrambled off, Jimmy sagged. Hands grabbed him as his mind started to shut down.