He had rushed to her house the second the boys arrived home, perching himself lazily on her freshly made bed. The sun from the large window beside it spilled across his lower half in illuminating geometric shapes created by the opened slat blinds.
“It was alright. Dad tried to give us the sex talk, but other than that I guess it was all good.” He shrugged, dangling one of her stuffed cats above his head and gazing introspectively at it. “I mean, it was as good as a place like Toronto could be.” He relented with a shrug.
Timber coughed a laugh. “What was that supposed to mean?” she asked, peeking over her shoulder amusedly.
“I dunno.” Bob replied listlessly, growing bored with the stuffed animal and tossing it at his best friend. It hit her in the back of the head.
“Ow! Shit!” she exclaimed.
“Oh it didn’t hurt, shut up.” Bob smirked sitting up halfway but not really caring if he hurt her or not.
“No, you made me prick my finger with this needle.” She informed him, holding up her finger that donned a droplet of dark red blood.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, suddenly taking an interest. He scooted to the end of the bed and looked over her shoulder.
“I’m putting a strap on my ballet slipper you moron.” She replied.
“Why?” Bob asked like a four year old who had to know everything.
“I went out with my mom and registered for classes this afternoon. My mom and I spent a ton of time together today! We went shopping, and to lunch, and then to register for dance.” She replied excitedly. “I used to take ballet and jazz and I loved it so much, but my mom made me stop when I started highschool so I could focus on my studies and not fall behind. But she said that I could start classes again.” She beamed, cutting the loose thread and completing her task. Her eyes flashed with excitement as she used the crooked pinky of her left hand, which held her slipper, to brush a stray wisp of her hair out of her face.
“Why do you have to sew on the straps? That’s kinda gay. They should come with the straps attached.” He informed her.
“Well they don’t. It’s just this weird thing I guess.” She shrugged. “But aren’t you excited for me?” she asked eagerly.
Bob gave her a blank look. “About what again?” he asked, pinching his Bad Ronald tee shirt away from his body for the sake of fidgeting.
“Taking dance!” she exclaimed, not able to stop smiling. “I love dance so much. I loved ballet and especially jazz. It was so fun! I get to get back on my toe shoes again too! I loved toe shoes, even though they make your feet hurt like a bitch. Bob, it’s like… when you perform and play music. I love dancing and being on stage. I always loved ballet recitals and even when I was hardcore with my piano. I loved recitals with that too. I dunno… it’s just this great rush.”
Bob nodded, taking the other ballet slipper off the desk and fiddling with it. “It’s like a sock.” He commented. “Except with these two circles on the bottom. That’s pretty gay.”
“Quit saying ‘gay’ Bob! Geez. That’s such a slur.” Timber commented, sitting down next to him.
“Oh yeah!” Bob suddenly started to laugh, a sudden memory dawning on him. “Dave was talking about how you and Jen took dance classes. I never knew you had such an artistic side Timber.” He smirked, looking deeply at her.
“I do.” She smiled back modestly, diverting her eyes from his coals of warmth. “We all do.” She added. “I do ballet, jazz, piano, track, and a few other sports like lacrosse, volleyball, tennis, soccer, basketball… rugby… but nothing really specific or anything. I’m athletic, but not really. Jen does ballet like a madwoman; she’s so good. She also does jazz and she plays cello too, and hockey and some basketball. She’s really athletic actually, but she’s lucky to have such a feminine form. I mean, some of those girls on the hockey team are beastly bitches. I’m not even kidding. But that’s how Jen and I met. We were in the same dance class and little did I know that I had a class with Kelly, her cousin, at school, so we started hanging out, then Angie came the next year and we fell in love with her. She’s so sweet.” Timber mused, staring off into space as she went off on one of her loquacious tangents. “Carmen, well, you pro’ly already know she does volleyball and all kinds of other sports. She plays lacrosse too. Now that’s a sweet-ass sport. Chandler said it sucks so I started playing a while back. I kinda get knocked around, as I do with soccer… and with all other sports coming to think of it, but I can still play pretty alright. Getting knocked down is part of the fun, and besides, I’ve been know to deck a few cheeky fellows in my time.” She said proudly. “It’s not my fault those girls are so bitchy, and beefy to boot. I mean, damn. They hit hard, but I don’t get hurt. I only get hurt moshing.” She chuckled, thinking of her rib injury. “I’m lucky I’ve built up calluses from years of Chandler beating me up… and then you and Scott… and Clint too, but he’s a pussy. I can take him. Anyhow, Carmen also plays hardcore soccer. I wonder where she has time to have such a high sex drive… maybe being around all those girls all the time. Angela’s totally an artist. You should see her paint. It’s so awesome. She doesn’t like to do it for people, but I once caught her in art class and I was like: ‘Damn Gina! Did Matisse take over you body?’ Geez man. She’s good. She sings too. She’s in choir. Did you know that? She’s in choir! But I’m sure you know she loves to sing. She’s always doing it. Kelly’s in choir too, but Kelly doesn’t always sing so you probably don’t know that. Hmmm… what else does Kelly do… she used to play violin, but now all she does is slut around so I guess she’s artistic with her hips… if you know what I mean. Did you know she slept with Ben? Did you? I was like: ‘Damn Gina! You slept with BEN?!?!?!’ She said he has a really big penis. I dunno… he’s like five feet and four inches tall. Not that that would determine it, but he just doesn’t look the part… you know? Have you ever seen his penis? I’m sure you have. So is it really that big? Anyway, I think that’s kinda weird that they sleep together sometimes but aren’t going out. Don’t you? Would you ever do something like that? I feel kinda bad for Kelly. She’s suddenly this big… slut-puppy and there’s no stopping her. She’s changed a ton after the whole… you know… happened. But I did get wind of that Trevor dude. He’ll be in town for the summer. I hope Kelly doesn’t have sex with him too…” Timber giggled. “Carmen thinks it’s cool how they’re having sex and stuff. Kelly and Ben I mean. I dunno. I guess as long as it’s with a good friend that would never hurt her… it’s okay then. But as long as he’d never hurt her. Which I doubt Ben would. He’s a sweetie. Speaking of, he says there’s a huge party at his friend Alan’s house. A weekend party from what I’m to understand. I guess Alan’s parents are out of town or something.” She sighed blissfully. “So it looks like we’re all gonna get railed tonight. Whatdyasay? You down?” she asked, finally turning to Bob, whose mouth was agape.
“Unbelievable.” He said in utter shock.
“What?” she asked.
“You just talked non-stop for six minutes and forty-nine seconds.”
* * *
“Hey! Clint! Quit switching channels!” Dave scolded authoritatively, from where he sat on the floor in front of the sofa, his favorite spot in the living room of his house.
The group, with the exception of Angela, was gathered at the Moffatt’s house later that afternoon with the intentions of planning their evening out. However, with the absence of one of their friends, who was held up running errands for her mother, they resorted to watching music videos until she arrived.
“This video sucks!” Clint argued gesturing with the remote control in his hand.
Clint Moffatt had comfortably situated himself on the sofa on the right side of Timber who was mashed between him and Bob. On Clint’s other side sat Ben, with Kelly squished against the other end of the sofa and not complaining. Dave had long since plopped down on the floor between Clint and Kelly’s feet, a throw-pillow slid underneath his back to provide the most comfort possible. While the rest of his friends were dressed in jeans and the normal summer attire for a group of teenagers, he had reverted to his pajamas of a Barney tee-shirt and limp grey sweatpants with the elastic around the ankles tactfully removed. His friends had already arrived by the time he finished his afternoon nap, and he didn’t bother to get dressed for them.
Jeanine and Scott shared the loveseat, Jeanine with her feet rested on his lap. Carmen sat on the floor beside Dave but between Bob’s legs, her head leaned back on the small patch of couch that was visible between her boyfriend’s thighs, in order for him to play with her hair. He did just that, braiding certain pieces and knowing he was only messing it up, but not particularly caring for the main reason that he was having a rather insouciant day altogether.
“Cut that out Clint!” Dave shouted again as Clint flicked the channel. “Dude, that’s annoying as hell!”
“That video sucked too!”
Dave turned around in disbelief, his eyes ablaze with pure shock. “Dude, that was Michael Jackson.” He said in a flat but matter-of-fact tone. “You just changed the channel on Michael Jackson.”
Clint’s dark eyes met his brother’s. “So. I hate the ‘Say, Say, Say’ video. It’s not even good Michael Jackson.”
“Hey man, Paul McCartney’s in that video!” Bob exclaimed, still raking his fingers through Carmen’s auburn hair.
“Clint, you can’t fuck with Michael Jackson. He’s a legend. He’s a god. He can probably fly! He’s Michael Jackson!” Dave schooled his triplet calmly.
“And not only did you fuck with Michael, but you fucked with Paul McCartney,” Bob put in pointedly.
“Also a legend.” Dave added.
“And Michael Jackson.” Bob continued in the same flat tone. “That’s… wow.” He commented, sucking in breath between his teeth to make a sizzling sound of disdain.
“I’m sorry Clint.” Dave began.
“You’re gonna have to hand over the remote to someone with better judgement.” Bob completed his brother’s thought, taking the remote control from his twin.
“Dude… I don’t know what came over me.” Clint stated blandly. “I--- I just don’t know.”
“I know, I know.” Bob nodded sympathetically, patting his brother’s shoulder. “You just need a little break from the remote right now.”
“See what I live with?” Scott asked Jeanine aside.
She merely snorted a laugh as the doorbell sounded through the house.
“I’ll get it!” Scott jumped up, Jen’s jeaned legs spilling off his lap.
“Ooooo, it’s his lover!” Bob crooned. “He knows he’s gonna get some ass so he’s excited.”
Scott spun on his heels and pointed at his brother, not able to hide a smile. “Shut up!”
“Taaaaaake onnnnn meeee….” Clint began to sing with the television. “Taaaaake meeeee onnnnnn…” he continued, gaining the attention of the other three on the couch and those who sat on the floor in front of it.
Scott gracefully swung open the door in a surreal hiss off smoke and candied hearts. His own heart was beating madly and his smile was growing with each second.
There she stood, twisting one of her curls around her finger and smiling at him. She had heard the commotion from inside and was blushing.
“Hey.” Scott said softly, finding that he, too, was a deep shade of red.
“Hello.” She replied, biting into her lip and smiling equally as timidly.
Scott paused for a second before reaching out and taking her hand, tugging her into his arms. His mouth lay, poised, above hers, his eyes looking into hers and trying to decipher her feelings and thoughts at that moment. Her arms glibly slipped around his shoulders and she pressed her lips to his as he distractedly pushed the door shut. His arms melted to her body and he held his lips tightly on hers, his heart beginning to thud harder with just the contact. She initiated a deeper connection, parting her lips with his and languidly licking the length of his lower lip. His breath noticeably caught in his throat, coming out in a gently sigh against her mouth as he gently chased her tongue back into her mouth with his own.
“Taaaaaaaake meeeee onnnnnnn!!!!!’ Clint sung, closer then.
The two parted only to see that their friends were gathered in the doorway, eavesdropping on the couple with wide grins.
“Oooooooooooh!!!!” They crooned in unison.
Scott smirked despite himself, flushing a dark red and releasing his girlfriend’s breast. “Uhh… don’t you guys have lives?” he asked.
The octet took turns exchanging looks between each other.
“Yes we do.” Jeanine announced for them. “Infact, we were just going into the kitchen for something to eat. Weren’t we guys?” she asked.
“Yes we were.” Bob promptly agreed, taking Timber’s hand in his, knowing she would be tougher to convince when it came to ceasing voyeurism.
As the coterie dispersed, Scott looked back to Angela, his eyes cast downward as she was inches shorter than he. Another smile formed on his lips, his blue eyes glimmering with a life behind them that she had never seen before.
“I don’t trust them.” He stated candidly, lacing his fingers with hers.
“Neither do I.” She accorded with a grin.
“You wanna go upstairs?” he asked.
Angela bit down on her lower lip to keep a giggle at bay. “Sure. Why not?”
* * *
“They went upstairs!!!” Jeanine hissed, turning back to the others who were raiding the kitchen’s victuals.
“Word?” Timber asked, sitting on the stool and sipping a glass of water.
“Word!” Jeanine giggled. “Do you think they’re gonna go and make whoopie while your parents are home?” she asked, directing her question towards Bob who was scooping chocolate ice cream for everyone.
Bob looked up, his dark eyebrow perked in a matter-of-fact mien. “Jeanine, Baby, you and I both know Scott. Now you answer that question for me to show what a fast learner you are.”
Jeanine jumped up and down excitedly, her chocolate hair a splash behind her. “They are!” she rhapsodized with great gesticulation of her hands. “They’re screwing with your parents in the house!” she paused for a moment, chewing into her pillowy lips that were tinted a light pink shade due to her strawberries and cream lip gloss. “Let’s go watch!” she giggled, starting from the room.
She didn’t need to ask twice; the others were hot on her trail leaving the chocolate ice-cream to melt.
* * *
Angela settled in the familiar nook in front of the window on the far side of Scott’s bed. She leaned back against the bedside, sighing as she let the warm sun shine through the window and hit her face in a fresh heat. Her eyes drifted closed as her head rested back against the bed in a peaceful calm, her big curls spreading on the dark green fabric of his duvet. She was only vaguely aware of Scott’s presence somewhere behind her in the room.
Moments later, soft music filled the air. Angela smiled without even opening her eyes. Scott sauntered behind the bed to where she sat in the rectangle of space about five feet wide. He watched her for a moment, careful not to obscure her sun, breathing every ounce of her in. Her sleek and shapely legs were extended from a denim miniskirt, the smooth and tanned skin shining in the large shafts of light that splayed over the carpeting. His eyes traced a line up the length of her body to the marigold, sleeveless blouse that concealed her voluptuous curves, her swirls of hair perfectly formed yet unruly and free, cropped off just over her shoulders. It was a bit longer than he remembered it. Her pursed lips were slightly parted in a sexy yet innocent manner, sharply chiseled underneath a soft nose that bridged between two feline eyes with long, batting eyelashes. He finally gave up, coming to the conclusion that he could never fully memorize that vision of her face even if he tried; she always seemed to change in his eyes. Perhaps everyone changed; he never looked at anyone but her long enough to actually see them for the first time.
Angela opened her eyes, smirking. “I thought you hated Mariah Carey.” She said softly.
Scott half-shrugged, sitting down beside her and brushing his leg on hers affectionately. “I do.” He admitted, marking the outline of the sun on the floor with his bright blue eyes before meeting her watch on him. “But you like her… so I figured… it couldn’t hurt to get her ‘Number One’s’ CD. I mean, to me, she’s all fake-looking boobs, airbrushing, a borderline identity disorder, and a slutty clothes, but she can sing, that I’ll give her.” He admitted. “Anyways.” He said, realizing he had been talking for a moment too long.
Angela giggled, brushing her fingers over his cheek before her hand came to rest in her lap again. Scott draped his hand over her shoulder, briefly kissing her on the mouth.
“I really missed you.” He said, suddenly in the mood to carry on a conversation when she was usually the one who had to fight his hands off of her in order to converse like normal human beings.
“I missed you too.” She smiled, pleased with the humbleness she saw so blatantly portrayed in his features that usually expressed hubris.
Scott blushed. “I really, really, really missed you Angela. I mean, I was kinda lonely.” He explained.
She waited silently for him to elaborate. His eyes met hers for a second and he saw that she actually gave enough of a damn to want to know more. She always seemed to care about him, a scary thought for someone who tried to make themselves believe they needed no one.
“Well…like, Bob and Clint and Dave usually have their own things… and… I was kinda wanting someone to talk to and I was thinking about you a lot.” He managed, turning a darker shade of red.
Angela smiled warmly, grazing his face again and kissing his cheek. He had a small amount of stubble that came with the territory of facial hair. “That was so sweet to say.” She said softly.
He nuzzled her neck, dropping a soft kiss on her collar bone. The two were about to further their affections when there was an obnoxious knock at the door. Scott pulled back.
“What’s up?” he called, admitting the person into his bedroom.
Jeanine.
“Hey y’all.” She giggled, clearly surveying the scene as her eyes inspected the room and situation carefully, checking for any signs of hanky-panky.
“You can come in.” Scott warmly informed her.
“What’re you guys up to?” she asked slowly, but pointedly, stepping into the room, but not shutting the door.
“We were just talking.” Scott replied, casually running Angela’s exposed bra-strap between the index and middle fingers of the hand he had around her.
Jeanine smirked. “O-kay…” she said slowly and almost sarcastically as she eyed the two carefully.
She and Scott engaged in a staring match until he finally cracked.
“I’m sorry Jeanine, but I was under the mistaken impression that there was a purpose to this visit.” He commented in a tone only his friends would take as casualness as opposed to blatant rudeness. “Silly me.”
Jeanine fluttered her eyes back in her head with a smile. “Yeah. There was a purpose.” She said. “Silly me.” She added for effect. “We’re planning on hitting up this kid Alan’s tonight and tomorrow night. His parents are out of town. So we’re going as soon as it gets dark.”
“What time is that?” Scott asked, turning to check his bedside clock.
“Like… nine.” She replied. “But you guys have like, three hours to talk or whatever.” She smirked.
Scott rolled his eyes, not able to control his grin. It was no surprise that his relations with his girlfriend was public business.
“See you guys later. And remember that Mr. and Mrs. Moffatt are just across the hall.” She hummed, her tone laden with insinuation.
After she left, Scott merely sighed, smirking. “I told you I didn’t trust them.” He said.
Angela laughed at this, running her fingers up his thigh. “I don’t think they trust us either.” She said softly, leaning forward to kiss his cheek softly.
This time, her kisses lingered, trailing gently along his jaw. Scott wet his lips, his hand stroking her back in concentric circles as he felt for her bra clasp. Their lips met familiarly; his hands investigated other areas of her body. His fingers worked at the buttons of her blouse, getting them undone in record time. He pulled back from her, looking down at her ample chest. She was wearing a white bra in a soft, lacy fabric. He wet his lips again.
“Can I…?” he asked, his hands already at the clasp on the front of the bra.
Angela hesitated before reluctantly giving him permission.
She watched his nimble fingers have no problem unhooking the front-closure. He leaned forth and kissed her again, slowly sliding the fabric off her skin and into a heap of yellow and white. Scott pulled back again, looking down at her chest. Angela watched his reaction, clearly humiliated by the entire event and wanting nothing more than to conceal herself again. Scott ran his hands over her breasts, always savoring the feel of the outrageously soft skin under his callused fingers. She bit onto the pink flesh of her lip as her soft and round nipples hardened under his touch. Scott’s kisses were aimed directly for her neck this time and she knew that meant they would be traveling downward, which could possibly have it’s benefits.
He soon had her laying back on the carpet with his body hovering over hers, his mouth tasting the skin of her chest and stomach. Angela sighed, relaxed, as she watched him worship her body with such enthusiasm is comforted her during a time when she wasn’t very confident in her frame. Her boyfriend sucked on her skin, paying special attention to her breasts, which he valued more than any body part of his own. His hands, however, were more interested in hiking her skirt up on her thighs. She watched his mouth move from her breasts to her navel, skipping over the denim layer of her skirt and going directly to her thighs. Angela bit her lip in apprehension of his next destination. His blue eyes flashed up to meet her brown eyes and he grinned, testing out a kiss laid just at the hem of her skirt. That kiss moved a bit higher, as did her skirt. Higher and higher he traveled, her skirt always a step ahead, until her underwear was visible beneath the denim fabric. Scott lips got to the patch of skin just before the elastic trim of her panties and he grinned up at her, his lips tickling her inner thigh. He stared alluringly at her, flicking his tongue out to touch her in such an intimate location and eliciting an involuntary gasp from within her. He smirked, his tongue flickering out again like a snake and running a damp trail from her pantyline all the way up to her knee. He chuckled inwardly when he sensed what his teasing had done to her.
Scott caught her off-guard when he suddenly whisked off her panties in a smooth sweep, dropping his head to the valley between her thighs…
* * *
The ceiling of Frank’s Expedition slipped in and out of focus, swirling at times with a beady haze to the outsides of his vision. Scott, content, sat back against the driver’s side door, his mind vacuous save the occasional random thoughts that floated in with a cloud of dust, making them unclear. The sweet-smelling smoke clouded the small space in an endo-haze that furthered his nice buzz that had already settled. Angela, Jeanine, and Kelly had already left to enter the party, so the group of friends took on two new entities to fill their spots in their clambake. Across from Scott in the passenger’s seat sat his friend Grant Wade who was also smoking a cigarette as if each toke would be his last. In the middle row had been put down so there would be more room for everyone to sit. Ben and his flavor of the week, Carly Feamster, sat against the driver’s side of the car enjoying a subtle make-out session in the grey cloud. Dave and Clint sat across from them on the other side, passing a joint with Carmen and Bob, sitting up on the last row of seats, and Timber, seated with her back against the passenger’s seat. It was relatively silent in the vehicle, with exception of the airy-sucking sound Grant made with each pull on the menthol between his big lips.
Grant was a nervous person in general, always clad in a different colored polo, khaki pants, and a baseball cap. He was the typical football jock with too much energy for his own good, earning him the name of Class Clown. The others knew him vaguely from school, although he was going to be a senior in autumn.
His blonde hair sprouted from beneath his ever-present navy blue cap, his bright blue eyes shaded by the bill and creating two color splashes on his otherwise pallid skin.
Carly was gorgeously different in manner of appearance. Her long mane was an average brown for the most part, with blonde streaks of color blended in. Her face always held an innocently pained expression as if she may cry at any moment; but most found that to be an attractive quality in accordance with her italian appearance. She had her long legs tucked up against her, her hazel eyes shut tightly as she slowly, languidly, moved her face with Ben’s, their tongues swirling while he intertwined his fingers in her hair, twisting it between his fingers absently.
Timber suddenly coughed, passing the white stick on to Clint who sat closest to her. She slid down in a tired, lazy stupor, leaning her head on his shoulder as she dusted the nonexistant ash off her navy-blue, long sleeved tee. Her skinny legs were bare, poking out of a pair of short khaki shorts. One her feet were marbly-green, snake-skin, mid-calf, designer cowboy boots. Clint snaked his fingers in her hair, starting to giggle stupidly.
“You know, they say man walked on the moon.” He snickered, purely amused.
Timber slowly sat up on him, her eyes half-closed as she looked into his face. “There isn’t… isn’t any-no gravity up there.” She slurred blandly, starting to giggle herself.
Bob started to chuckle at this, shoving Carmen away from him as she advanced with a sexual invitation. She rolled over, closing her eyes.
“That means… we can get as high as we want… and never come down.” Timber completed blissfully, snickering and accepting the joint back from Clint.
Scott, having been silent for quiet some time, began to laugh.
“Hey man… you… d’ya know what else?” Clint asked. “We can find the martians.” He giggled.
“Dumb ass.” Dave snorted, leaning over his slightly older brother to take the joint from Timber. “Martians are on mars. They… the moon don’t have shit.”
“Nuh-uh!!!” Clint shouted. “The moon gots lotsa… lotsa shit. Like… like…”
“Cheeeeeeeese.” Bob cut in.
The other three chuckled, Timber coughing ferociously and leaning into the front seats. “Grant’s up there… smthe… smokin’… smokin’ the filter up there.” She staggered.
Grant turned to her, barely able to make out her face in the smoke. “You have to smoke every cigarette to the end.” He said coherently. “They’re gonna ban nicotine soon.” He continued. “It’s the damned United States with all their underage smokers and shit. Makes it impossible for me to smoke freely. They’re banning it I tell ya. You have to hoard all the cigarettes you can. You want one?” he asked vehemently.
“Naw man, I’m set.” Timber replied, breaking into the giggles again and smacking Clint’s thigh. She could barely get upright again. “I got my cigarette… I gots my cig… rette… right heeeere.”
Clint just shook his head, stretching his legs out partway to prevent hitting Ben and Carly. He still managed to kick them in his haste. “That’s not a cigarette man; that’s cigga-weed.”
“Hey dude, back up! You’re fucking up my motion.” Ben warned the eldest triplet, still holding Carly to him.
Carly seemed to loose interest at that moment, abandoning Ben altogether and taking a flask out of her purse. She took a deep swig and passed it to Timber who motioned for it.
“Thanks man.” Timber giggled, accepting it and swallowing deeply. She cringed as she took the bottle from her damp lips, scrubbing over them with the back of her bare wrist. “What was that?” she asked, experiencing a whole new level of a buzz.
“Cognac.” Carly replied, already lighting a cigarette from Steve.
Ben sat back against the door, finishing the roach and starting an entirely new joint from the pocket of his worn-in jeans, held low on his waist by a brown leather belt. He seemed to have an incessant flow of marijuana at all times; especially in a party situation.
“Man, Carm’s gone.” He commented, pointing to Carmen who was passed out on the seat.
“So is Scott up here.” Grant informed them in his thick, lispy voice voice. He was sitting forward in his seat as if he was about to get up and bolt from the vehicle at any given time.
“Naw man.” Scott spoke, his slate-blue eyes sliding open to reveal light to the dim space. His cheeks were splashed with red, his lips chapping with the dryness of his mouth. “I’m niiiiice.” He stated, reclosing his eyes and sinking lower against the door to get comfortable. He propped his leg up on the compartments between the seats, his navy-blue slacks inching up uncomfortably around his ankles. On his feet were navy flip-flops. He was dressed simply to match his laid-back mood, wearing only a white, vintage Elvis tee-shirt with messed up hair.
“You nice?” Carly asked around the raw stick in her mouth, struggling with the flickering lighter to get her cigarette lit.
Ben assisted her, cupping a hand around the end of the stick and taking the lighter from her. Her cigarette was ignited within seconds and she sighed in relief, patting his hand to show her appreciation while her mouth was occupied.
“My legs…” Scott moaned, his eyes remaining closed as he lounged amongst dials, dashes, and the steering wheel. “My legs feel like milk.” He informed them, yawning only to take in more of the tainted air.
“Milk man? Milk?” Timber asked, willing herself to stop talking but not able to control her thoughts from spilling out. “Is that whole milk?” she asked, giggling mindlessly and continuing to help her height increase with a drag from the joint Clint held.
“I shoulda brought my bong.” Ben thought aloud, holding another joint between his fingers like a classic female with a capri. “My two footer would do the trick.”
“Naw man, this is some dank chronic.” Dave contradicted, occupying his time with bopping his head to a tune only he seemed to hear. Meanwhile, sounds from the growing party played all around the vehicle, parked amongst a myriad of others on a residential street across town.
“No, not whole milk.” Scott said as an afterthought. “Pro’ly two percent.”
Carmen moaned in her dormition, the slight sound going unnoticed.
“Two percent? Two percent!” Timber exclaimed. “Or what about a milk shake?” she asked, giggling again and tipping over against Clint.
Scott pondered this for a moment, running his fingers back through his hair and causing it to stick up in various directions. “No… skim milk.” he said intensely, as if it were the most important thought of the day.
Timber paused, baffled and gazing at him. “Man… that… that’s…” she broke into giggles, collapsing again.
“Dude, this car reeks Scott.” Carly informed him. “You gotta air this place out.”
“Man.” Scott said philosophically. “Man… like… what is the car? I mean, to me, the car represents life. It represent humanity itself. The car is a flower, billowing in the harsh wind. The car is light as a feather and it wants to run… run and find the meaning of it’s true existence.”
Grant eyed his friend, starting on his seventh cigarette during that clambake. “Scott… what the fuck are you talking about?”
Scott cracked his eyes open again, slowly sitting up with a struggle against the dials, dashes, and steering wheel. He maneuvered roughly to get his feet in front of the seat, kicking the dash that set the windshield wipers on and setting them into motion with a raw, squeaking. “I gotta get drunk.” He said as if stating the color of the grass. “Okay! Everybody get the fuck out.”
“Amen to that.” Bob agreed, getting a bit hot in the car.
“You guys…” Timber said severely. “I’m… I’m TINGLING!!!” she shouted. “I’ve never been this high before! What do I do? I’m tingling! I’m dying!” she started shouting.
“Here, have another toke.” Clint offered.
Timber started to laugh helplessly, not able to control her giggling for the life of her. Clint cracked open the door in time with his older brother and the smoke escaped the car, the sudden cool sensation of clean air washing over the group. One by one, they stepped out of the black Expedition, each collapsing to the cement of the street in turn.
Timber released a series of giggles, remaining on the ground as the others got to their feet. “Oooopsie daisy!” she laughed, spatting another series of laughter.
“Get up.” Grant directed her, the only relatively grounded one in the group due to the fact that he stuck to his cigarettes. He grasped her by the arm and hoisted her to her feet. “Let’s go PARTY guys!” he shouted, his rather dry mood switching to an excited one as he stepped forward, still holding onto Timber, to join the other teens who occupied the modern, two story house and the large and landscaped property around it.
Clint leaned against the vessel for a moment, attempting to catch his consciousness, and sucking air in as rapidly as possible.
“Yo man, what’s the hold up?” Ben asked, breezing past and pausing while Carly followed the others into the house. Carmen was still passed out in the backseat.
“Dude… you don’t even understand.” Clint attempted, trying to open his eyes wider than the half-closed dullness at where they seemed to be stuck. “I am so fucking high.” He chuckled lightly, throwing himself loosely against his friend.
Ben put a supportive arm around his friend’s waist, grinning at the display. “Dude, y’all don’t know how to smoke. You guys are fucking blown after just a twenty-minute clambake? Tsk tsk, man. Stick with me and you’ll work up your tolerance.”
Clint smirked, wrapping his arms around Ben’s shoulders in fear that he may float away.
“The first party of the summer is well underway my friend.” Ben said sagaciously. “You’re looking good, you’re higher than the fucking birds in the sky, and you’re feeling like a good time. That the best way to party man! You’re set. Now go have the time of your life.” He directed.
“The time… of my life.” Clint slurred, chuckling and dragging his feet as Ben walked him towards the front door. They were most of the way there before he spoke again. “Dude… I might have hallucinated this shit, but was Scott talking about skim milk?”
* * *