Uniforms abandoned, we run in beaten converse and hoods, through the streets, singing at the top of our lungs. We throw our hands to in the air, swaying to the rhythm that sends our hearts overflowing. Mid twirl, our grasp release colorful fabric to unravel and flow behind us like capes. As if we couldn't, we pretend to fly, laughing hysterically.
The boom box on his shoulder beats and we stomp through the crowds, hoping they'll pick up the tune and join in the dance. Cops come and we run, hopping on the roof of a truck headed for who knows where. We laugh and laugh and laugh until we cry, shouting compliments at the people passing by. We smile to those who do not and run we think we're about to get caught. We stage harmless pranks here and there, inviting Jump to laugh with us. As they do, we feel infinite.
In bars, we chug milk to estrange ourselves, raising an eyebrow or two. In the late night crowds, we spark up random conversations with snobbish adults, nose upright to patronize a bunch of pesky hooligans. In restaurant, we strike up deep conversations with the neglected waiters and hit the karaoke as a five-part act.
Call us childish—but we are children. Call us stupid—but teenagers are supposed to be. The Teen Titans are supposed to be stoic and fun-less, I guess. But I swear, in one night of being disguised as simple teenaged hooligans, we seem to touch so many more lives than the Titans do.