Brendon had put aside the ideas he had with the spray paint and everything else he'd bought for a couple days after, replacing the plans with scoping out places to invade.
"I say we break into the head of the school's office house," he said, jabbing a finger at the window to point to a small building across the campus "I haven't seen him yet, but I've heard people say that he's pretty chill, but pretty nasty when someone's doing shit."
"What's his name?"
"I think it's like Spencer Smith or something like that." Brendon muttered under his breath "don't ask how I know that." He shook his head like a dog drying off after a bath, confused by his own thoughts.
I shrugged and dismissed the request, settling back down on his couch and staring at the blank tv screen. The reception was better than ever, since everyone had left and half the devices hooked up to the wifi we weren't allowed to have weren't jamming the signal anymore. I would've thought the school would've figured it out by now, but I guess not. The students were brighter than the staff members.
"What would we even do in his office house? He's literally the head of Seacoast. We'd get busted immediately."
Brendon shrugged and sprawled lazily across the floor, rolling underneath the plastic coffee table and closing his eyes.
"By the way it's Christmas and we're going to Petes house for dinner."
"Fine with me."
"We were going whether you liked it or not."
.:..::..:::..::.:..
Patrick swung by to pick us up, because 1) I had no idea where Petes house was 2) Brendon had had a couple drinks already even though it was barely noon and 3) the keys to Brendon's car were hidden in his room and he refused to give them to me. Which was stupid because his unused car was probably rusting in the parking lot from all the rain.
"How's your 4 days of winter break going?" Patrick yelled back to me as soon as I slammed the back door shut, thumping Brendon shoulder with the back of his hand when he settled in.
"Very tiring," I told him, speaking for the two of us "but very fun. What about you?"
"Well Petes been trying to get a hold of me nonstop the entire time and he has no idea that I ditched camping with my family to see him, so pretty great."
"Ew, camping for Christmas?"
"My family is fuckin' weird, man."
I laughed and then everyone else did, spare Ryan because he wasn't here yet. I couldn't remember if we were swinging by to pick him up or if we'd meet him there.
My questions were answered, however, when a baby blue and metallic silver 1961 corvette honked obnoxiously a couple times behind us with Ryan waving in the drivers seat with an open mouthed smile. Patrick waved back and Brendon arched around the corner of his chair to peek back at Ryan's corvette like he didn't believe it was real.
"I never thought his parents would give in to the corvette," he nodded in approval with an impressed smirk and returned to a normal sitting position "I could've sworn they were getting him the buggy."
Well I mean if one of your parents is a brain surgeon you've probably got to have a large income at home. Although I'd never really thought of Ryan as one of those spoiled rich kids because he'd never acted like it. Which was a good thing, I'm not complaining.
But it led me to the question as to why I was the one paying for lunch and not him.
"It's a sweet car too." Patrick muttered under his breath, probably a little jealous but still happy for his friend. Brendon hummed in agreement, and our ride swerved into a large dirt clearing with a poorly painted sign reading "Crest Hill Trailer Park" in huge white peeling letters.
A couple spaces in sat a decent sized gray trailer that looked recently renovated yet still beat up at the same time, like the scratches couldn't be buffered out. A plank of wood was nailed to a stick in the ground, with 'Wentz Residence' freshly written across in Petes handwriting. A canvas patio dyed with fading blue and purple shot out from the top to cover a blanket tacked onto the ground. A couple intact lawn chairs scarily similar to the ones in our dorm room were strapped down to the blanket with duct tape, placed in the shade so the colors wouldn't disappear as quickly as the patio fabric had.
"This is where Pete lives?"
"Yep," Patrick smiled and tugged his keys out of the ignition slot, rolling out of the car and letting in the scent of pine needles and rust flood the interior and burn my nose.
The RV didn't look like home but it sure felt like it.
Once we'd all stepped out of our cars and locked the doors, Pete peeked out from around the corner, carrying used fraying paintbrushes and a can of paint, grey streaks the same shade as the trailer covering his face in huge globs. He gasped in surprise, dropping everything and enveloping Patrick in a bear hug.
"Man, if I'd known you guys were gonna be here I would've started painting the trailer 2 days ago instead of this morning!" He exclaimed happily into Patrick's shoulder. Then he pushed away gently and started back stepping towards the trailer, a stunned expression crossing his face. "I'd better go tell mom to make extra food."
Ryan shuffled up behind me as Pete took off and reached up to pat my shoulder, ushering me forward along with everyone else.
The interior of Petes trailer home was much smaller than I'd expected. I had to arch my back so low I felt like I was Quasimodo in the hunchback of Notre Dame movie. Then I realized Pete was so much shorter than everyone but Patrick because he couldn't afford to be much taller or else he'd wake up and fight with the ceiling every day. Other than that, everything was nice and cozy looking, especially the paperback books piled on built in shelves and the lone worn out couch cleaned and patched up right in front of a small tv just big enough to fit on the side.
Pete's mom was stationed in the kitchen, already dumping potatoes in a large bowl and squishing them furiously. Unless you had been told that they were mother and son, you'd have a difficult time trying to see the similarities, but if you looked closely enough they were there. Patrick waved to Pete's mom first, and the rest of us followed his example. She smiled back and pulled a huge jar of cranberry sauce out of the cabinets above. There was no escape; I could only hope it would taste better than my moms.
..:..::..:::..::..:..
"The video game console broke like yesterday," Pete complained to us on the picnic bench outside "and then the exterior needed a serious paint job because some stupid wild bobcats scratched everything to bits..."
Brendon yelped from inside the trailer. He'd been helping Petes mom cook for at least 30 minutes, telling us that women shouldn't be the ones working in the kitchen all the time before going in there to assist her himself and shooing everyone else away when we even tried to set foot inside.
Ryan was splayed out across my side of the table, his feet kicked up on to my thighs and his arms hanging off the edge near some scraggly bushes. Meanwhile, Patrick and Pete were all over each other. 'Disgusting', Brendon would've said, and smiled mischievously at their glares.
"You did an amazing job on it." Ryan declared, pointing towards the trailer without sitting up. Pete replied with a simple thanks just before his mom and Brendon burst out of the door, carrying food propped up in patterned oven mitts.
"Ryan, she said she's gonna try to fatten you up," Brendon giggled and set down a huge bowl of stuffing in front of him. It was probably larger than his head. "Also you too Dallon. You look like a twig."
"Just what I need." Ryan sighed with a lazy smile and sat up, pulling the dish towards him and grabbing a spoon. "Y'all probably did better than my parents though so it'll be no problem."
"It looks amazing." I told them both, and for sure it was not a lie because everything looked better than anything I could ever make. She should star on a tv cooking show because the only person that could possibly beat her for the grand prize was like Gordon Ramsey or somethin' since she was that good. And of course everything was delicious, and Gordon Ramsey was beat in an instant.
"I got you guys presents too," Pete told us through a mouth full of mashed potatoes "but I'm gonna give them to y'all when I get back to Seacoast, mainly because Amazon is lazy and started shipping them to me like yesterday. It's a metaphor for my life."
We all laughed, and got right back to shoving our faces full of the best food ever created.
I could've eaten the cranberries and the stuffing throughout the night and probably for the rest of my life if it hadn't gotten dark, but Patrick had bargained for this opportunity with his parents only to have a one time curfew set for 11pm. And since Ryan's new corvette only had 2 seats, nobody wanted to be caught with me in the trunk in case one of the billion police officers stationed around happened to pull us over. So Brendon and I both piled into Patrick's car, thanked Pete and his mom, said goodbye to Ryan, and headed off back to Seacoast.
The moonlight gleamed through the windows, creating dancing shadows across Brendon's face that disappeared when we passed behind trees or the moon got temporarily hidden by a wispy cloud.
"Glad it didn't snow this year," Patrick said to break the silence. Brendon just nodded and I didn't dare say anything. "It would've been like a living hell getting through these trees."
"I hate snow." Brendon whispered, and nobody said a word the rest of the drive back home.
[1742 words, 9/10/16, this chapter is incredibly lame and pretty boring and I'm sorRY]