Let's Burn Our Dreams Into the Skyline
The Maturelyest.
“Wanna play the penis game?” Ryland turned around to face Gabe, a huge, goofy grin plastered on his face.
“Oh, god, no!” I gasped, covering my ears and whimpering. The penis game was the worst game known to man. Ryland would get the sudden urge to play this game once every month for a few days, and for those few days, everyone hates Ryland. You’d think that a group 17, 16 and 18 year old boys would lose interest in the word penis after awhile. You’d think that, but no, they all have this infatuation with that word.
“You’re on.” Gabe challenged.
“What’s the… penis game?” Max asked, eyeing us all bizarrely.
“You don’t want to know,” Steph groaned, shaking her head at the thought of the horrific game, “Are you guys ever going to be mature?”
“We are mature!” Alex said proudly, “We’re the maturelyest!”
“Define mature.” I murmured, sighing.
“Uh,” Alex took a few minutes to think about it, “Mature means … us!”
Ryland inhaled as big as a breath as he could and exhaled slowly. “Penis.” He said softly.
“Penis.” Gabe repeated, getting gradually louder and louder each time. Soon enough, they were both screaming human anatomy. Eventually, Stump got fed up and pulled over.
“Next person to say penis,” he threatened, “Gets kicked out. Got it?”
Thankfully, the rest of the car ride was in complete and utter silence.
xxx
“I need a leash.” Max announced randomly, picking at her fingernails on Pete’s lap. I was squished between Alex and Pete. Awkward? You better believe it.
“Why?” I asked, yawning. I had been awake half the night with the mother of all headaches from the huge lump on my head, courtesy of Pete’s baseball. Next to said huge lump, is what looks like a slit on my forehead, again, courtesy of Pete. When we were 5, he was chasing me around the kitchen with a plastic axe that came with our play camping set. I was wearing socks and wound up sliding into the sharp end of a cabinet, and slicing my forehead open. I’ve never let him live that one down.
“Like a kiddie one,” She explained, squirming in Pete’s lap. That must be uncomfortable. “You could drag me around the mall and I can bite people with cookies in their hands.” She grinned deviously.
“It'll need bells.” I said airily, pushing my bangs aside. They fell back into my face about a millisecond later. “So people know when you're coming.”
“Yeah,” Ryland piped up for the first time since the penis game, “So they know to be afraid. Very afraid.”
“Oh, god, no!” I gasped, covering my ears and whimpering. The penis game was the worst game known to man. Ryland would get the sudden urge to play this game once every month for a few days, and for those few days, everyone hates Ryland. You’d think that a group 17, 16 and 18 year old boys would lose interest in the word penis after awhile. You’d think that, but no, they all have this infatuation with that word.
“You’re on.” Gabe challenged.
“What’s the… penis game?” Max asked, eyeing us all bizarrely.
“You don’t want to know,” Steph groaned, shaking her head at the thought of the horrific game, “Are you guys ever going to be mature?”
“We are mature!” Alex said proudly, “We’re the maturelyest!”
“Define mature.” I murmured, sighing.
“Uh,” Alex took a few minutes to think about it, “Mature means … us!”
Ryland inhaled as big as a breath as he could and exhaled slowly. “Penis.” He said softly.
“Penis.” Gabe repeated, getting gradually louder and louder each time. Soon enough, they were both screaming human anatomy. Eventually, Stump got fed up and pulled over.
“Next person to say penis,” he threatened, “Gets kicked out. Got it?”
Thankfully, the rest of the car ride was in complete and utter silence.
xxx
“I need a leash.” Max announced randomly, picking at her fingernails on Pete’s lap. I was squished between Alex and Pete. Awkward? You better believe it.
“Why?” I asked, yawning. I had been awake half the night with the mother of all headaches from the huge lump on my head, courtesy of Pete’s baseball. Next to said huge lump, is what looks like a slit on my forehead, again, courtesy of Pete. When we were 5, he was chasing me around the kitchen with a plastic axe that came with our play camping set. I was wearing socks and wound up sliding into the sharp end of a cabinet, and slicing my forehead open. I’ve never let him live that one down.
“Like a kiddie one,” She explained, squirming in Pete’s lap. That must be uncomfortable. “You could drag me around the mall and I can bite people with cookies in their hands.” She grinned deviously.
“It'll need bells.” I said airily, pushing my bangs aside. They fell back into my face about a millisecond later. “So people know when you're coming.”
“Yeah,” Ryland piped up for the first time since the penis game, “So they know to be afraid. Very afraid.”