Hey, party tonight?
A heavy-like paper flopped on my desk, doing exceedingly well of scaring the crap out of the chick next to me; whose half asleep in homeroom/study hall about 10 minutes away from summer. I, on the other hand, was psyched for summer because I was going to be on a swimsuit modeling company hotlist, and I'm gonna teach some early teenagers how to surf. Tiffany, my friend, grinned at me, her tan face exploding with happiness.
No shit, wifey! Jk!
I hit it back on her desk, smirking. We said we were married, because we fought like a married couple, we did things like a married couple, and we were best friends ever since the end of fifth grade. We were seniors, who graduated, but had to go to school for extra curricular classes. But hey, we were blonde; we had a VERY good excuse. Ah, screw that, we were stupid and hot! Life was good, and there was no doubt that my boyfriend, Scott Ahlars, was gonna go anywhere. When I was a fifth grader, I switched schools with Tiffany, and I thought he was going somewhere farther, but he was actually going to the same school and he finally asked me out after a year of being hot and popping out and being seen and heard.
Summer was so close; I can almost taste the saltwater on my lips. The teacher, looking up from her magazine, glared at some girls passing notes, too, but laughing out loud. Tiffany glanced at me, and sheepishly pointed over to Ronnie Somervell. Ronnie, who was Tiffany's crush, was flexing his muscles from surfing and passing notes to Scott, too.
Another note flopped on my desk, but it was doodled with hearts and in fancy italic lettering, it wrote:
Please join Ronnie Somervell and Tiffany Eckert at their wedding on the beach on 6/6/11 from 7:30 until the sun comes up the next day.
I puffed out laughter, and nodded, agreeing with her fantasy. It was only May 18th, and we had a whole summer ahead of us. Had I mentioned summer was so close and I loved it? I think so….
What to do? Work on my summer journal? No. Pass notes? Rather text. C'mon! What is there to do on the last five minutes of school? I look at Scott. He's looking at…Scott's looking at Caitlyn Kristchen! She's fluffing her hair, doing make-up, and texting. I jab
Scott with my pencil eraser.
"What?" he whispered so low only I could hear.
"Five minutes left, baby!" he grinned at my choice of words, and looked over at me, leaving Caitlyn finished, lonely, and pouting.
Some jocks in the back corner make farting noises. Some people giggle, others like Parker Van Wumer, the class brainiac and boyfriend of Dania Loghan, for example, are studying for some stupid state championship brain thing. I don't know, their dorks, and they don't do much besides study, snap at people, and do people's homework for thirty bucks every hour. Even though Mrs. William knows they do other people's homework, she doesn't care, just as long as the non-homework people say please, thank you, and pay the workers. But she got prego with triplets and had her babies and got the rest of the year off.
Tiffany was, now drooling a little, starry-eyed at Ronnie. Um, okay?
Ms. Erchlute groans, stands up, and says "Students, as you know, school's almost out in about thirty seconds. I would ask you to be appropriate and calm as you leave this school and classroom, and have an excellent, achieving, and studious summer. Read, remember, and focus."
Kids looked around, pleased, and whispered the last ten seconds.
"10…9….8…7…6…5…4…3…2…" everyone grinned, about to enjoy our plan.
"SUMMER!" everyone yelled, and we heard it around the classrooms, the bell, and we started throwing confetti and silly string because us seniors were NEVER coming back. N-E-V-E-R.
"Stay calm! John! No, don't….ah, screw it." Ms. Erchlute said, displeased. She sat back down, and everyone ran down the halls, yelling, laughing, and making a huge mess of paint, silly string, perfume, confetti, water balloons, and papers. Scott scooped me up; we made out in the middle of the halls, getting wet, attention, messy, and obviously shoved.
I looked over to see that Tiffany finally got balls to go over to Ronnie and kiss him, and there they were; wrapped around and kissing.
This was perfect. This was a picture perfect postcard of California summer. Messy, hot, and wild.
Ronnie, Tiffany, Scott and I all walked into the limos seniors rented, and we were headed to the beach house that we made for shop when we got that donation from our classmate who died of heart disease two years ago. We decided to build a house out of our creativity on the beach and make it a party house all year long.
I twined my hands around Scott's, and we drove off to the land of the beach. Together, the world made sense. Together, the world wasn't stupid. Together, we had it all.