Pulling away from our Victory Bell on campus, I sank into the worn out navy seats of the Marshmallow. Not literally, of course – we nicknamed the Academy’s buses because you couldn’t miss them barreling down the highway.
Two tests and an essay later, Friday couldn’t have come sooner. Rather than sit in the girls dormitory eating junk food from the convenience store, I dragged my friends along for a trip to the city – an hour and a half drive to the coastal metropolis seemed in order.
It didn’t hurt that the Lax Bro’s decided to come along too. Talia was all too happy to chase after the finest that the Academy had to offer, and since nothing was going on, the Holy Trinity had hopped on too.
The little white bus carried us past the miles of woods and mountains, through the chain of the little towns that made up Oxford County – even past one of the last Shaker Village’s in the Northeast. After what seemed like hours of loud laughter and bumps in the road, our Marshmallow made it into what is known as the Old Port.
I loved breathing in the salty air and stomping around the small city that was barely lit at night. We did the usual – traverse over the cobble stoned streets, stop into cozy shops that sold our favorite woven bracelets, and posed in front of the worn buildings for timeless selfies.
But, eventually, Mariah McPherson got the text: it was time to go.
Not back, of course, but to make some trouble of our own.
We all wandered over to a dark street on the bad side of town where toothless ladies asked if you wanted a good time. The heavy oak door that was beneath street level opened up to a dark, damp, and questionable bar. Hookah smoke hung heavy in the air. This was our good time.
The Lax Bros sat pretty smug in the corner, where Mariah dragged us all. I didn’t feel too comfortable with them, but I hung back with Khloe Tennyson who was way too shy to get cozy on the leather couch with the rest.
We smoked, we danced, we laughed. In the modern equivalent of a dungeon, I couldn’t help but wonder how long would this last. We were all here, now, sure: but in eight weeks, it was all over.
I was in a smoky daze when Talia pulled me out of my seat. Everyone was getting to leave as our Marshmallow was waiting for us at the local Starbucks. I didn’t have any money, but Talia needed to hit up the ATM and promised I could bum some cash off of her.
It was cold outside and her breath swirled around the air, not as heavy as the hookah smoke inside. She thrust her credit card at me sloppily.
“I have to pee…really bad,” she said. I looked at her funny and shrugged my shoulders. Her response? She popped a squat right there and then in the parking lot.
We both laughed as the sound of pee hitting the pavement reverberated off the alley’s walls. With cold fingers, I punched in her PIN and got some cash out. As far as friends goes, I don’t think it gets any better when you know each other’s PIN…and you can pee on the street together.
When she was all done, she did a little jig and ran downstairs to pay the bill. It wasn’t long before we were back in the bus. In the grand scheme of things, it was an successful Friday night at the Academy.
We left our messes all behind, including the pee on the street, and went home.