Let's Burn Our Dreams Into the Skyline

I collapsed onto the squishy, so-colorful-it-hurts hotel bed and let my loot fall from my arms and spill onto the comforter. Sour Patch Children were my sickest addiction. Max, Alex, and me began to devour them.

Two words: High. On. Sugar.

Wait, no, that’s three words.

I was jumping up and down on the too soft bed in the dumpy motel, which was all we could afford even after we had pooled all of our money together. Max was jumping beside me and beside her was Steph, beside her were Ryland, Gabe and Alex. Stump and Pete sat on the beds opposite of ours, shooting us the oddest stares.

“Men give me boners!” Ryland announced cheerily, causing us all to stop jumping and collide with each other, a few of us falling off the bed. I was one of the few and I narrowly missed whacking my head against the side table. It’s a good thing I didn’t, because I think I’ve suffered from enough brain damage in my lifetime.

x x x

After we came down off of our sugar highs, we all felt sick as fuck, so we decided to get ice cream and cram even more sugar down, ‘cause we’re just smart like that. Even though this motel had like no heat and it was like below zero inside, our ice cream cones started to melt all over and make our skin all sticky and disgusting. A big glomp of vanilla had slithered its way down onto my palm, so I “inconspicuously” wiped said ice cream on Pete’s sweatshirt. Man, he was pissed.

“You’re lucky I’m related to you,” He gritted his teeth, “Because if you were Gabe or something, I would have to kill you.”

I smiled cheekily, sticking my tongue out at him.

After the disgusting, melting ice cream was gone; we trudged back into conjoined rooms. I wound up with Max, Pete and Gabe. It was going to be a long ass night. By 12, we were dead to the world, except from the occasional mumbling from Gabe, who was asking no one specific where "Monty" was.