NI'm never gonna finish this, so whatevs!
This is for the car-in-a-pool prompt, and maaaaybe I'll finish it, eventually I guess. It was goofy fun.
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Two o’clock in the morning and I get a series of texts that come out something like this:
Wifey(lol)<3<3: omg maxo get ou there
wifey(lol)<3<3: *here
wifey(lol)<3<3: I KNOW YOUR NOT DOING ANYTHING COOL U LOOSER
wifey(lol)<3<3: Sonic adventures 2 ???? ?????? ????? ? ?????
wifey(lol)<3<3: do you want to wreck something
I try to think of what Casey would be doing at a time like this. Witchcraft? That’s not off the table. Something involving an aerosol can and a hammer? More than likely. Vandalism/Grand Theft Auto/Something with fire thinly disguised as revenge followed by way too many chocolate creme pies, each one individually wrapped in tin foil and denial? Sorry buster, but it’s probably happened before. I sigh and roll out of bed, hitting the ground with a deafening thud. There’s no use denying it. Whatever it is, I am involved. It’s the Casey effect!
I get up and open my window, looking down from the second floor to be unsurprisingly met with the sight of messy-haired Casey, covered in dirt, spamming my phone from my front lawn. My perfect, manicured, front lawn. She probably dragged in some foreign mutant seeds with her and now the whole thing will be covered in weeds by the time we’re out of prison for whatever we’re going to do.
“Hey, peasant,” I shout, “Get your pleb feet off my lawn.”
Casey looks up from her phone and shoots me her signature million-dollar, get-out-of-jail-free smile, filled to the roof with mischievous, dark purpose. Her face, hair, everything is covered in dirt. She waves at me to climb down. I obey.
“I can’t believe that my secret ladder hidden in shrubbery system works so well. You should sneak out more often.” She beams at me when I meet her down below.
I glare as much as I am physically able to, both at her and the crippled bike she’s dumped in my lawn. “It’s not sneaking out if your mom is too drunk to notice. Also, stop changing your name in my phone to ‘wifey, lol’. It’s immature and the hearts at the end look like farts.”
“Exactly!”
“Casey, stop being yourself.”
We walk in the dark (It is the middle of the night of course it’s dark, what am I saying). I beside the disheveled Casey, and Casey with her destroyed, collapsable bike halfway collapsed in her arms. I assume it has something to do with whatever we’re going to destroy tonight. Normally I don’t ask questions, but I know for a fact that that stupid doinky metal contraption is Casey’s most prized physical possession and that she would never allow any harm to come to it, will go her way. I have to ask.
She tells me to not worry about it.
“You drag me out in the middle of the night for a supposed crime spree and you tell to not worry about it?” I wave my arms out to the middle of nowhere, as if some physical manifestation of crime spree had accumulated in front of our eyes.
Casey sighs heavily, tapping at the crushed metal of her once-was bike. “Well, if you reeeaaally want to knooow…”
She realizes that I’m not going to let her go on this one, and she huffs again.
“...Britney Goldberg, that ratchet skank ho, tried to run me over and killed my bike.”
I take a second to figure out how much salt to take with that. Casey is insane, but Britney is on a whole other level of murderous Mean Girl. It’s also a scientific fact that Britney hates my best friend’s guts. So did this really happen? My face shows it all.
“I know, right?” Casey yelps excitedly. “I was just cycling and I see her car and she swerves like she’s gonna hit me, so I jump off and she kills my bike. Like, what the hell.”
“That’s...That’s crazy, Casey. She could’ve killed you. That could’ve been vehicular manslaughter.”
“Exactly! So that’s why we’re going to drive her car into her pool.”
I stop in my tracks.
“Noooooo.”
“Yeeeeeeeeeeeesssss.”
“That’s a bad idea, Casey.” I say seriously. “In the history of bad ideas, this is the baddest idea, possibly even worse than dubstep or James Buchanan being president. Or those two combined, as your idea presents an imminent threat to both of our well beings.”
“Britney Goldberg’s well being poses a threat to my well being. And it’s not like you would mind putting that goblin in her place.”
I cringe because it’s true. I really kind of hate that Goldberg girl. I would honestly like to inflict some hurt on that entitled, well-to-do-bad glitter queen, but I also know that revenge is a really stupid reason to do anything and that we might drown. I know I don’t have to go through with this. I could just go home...But when I see my best friend, covered in dirt and bruises, hugging their destroyed favorite thing, it really puts me in a destructive mood.
I hate hiding in bushes. They are itchy, scratchy, buggy, and they are also generally green, which is not a very flattering color on me. Being friends with Casey means looking unflattering a lot of the time. Being friends with Casey means just destroying a lot of shrubbery, now that I think about it. I say a quick prayer for all the greenery we’ve viciously killed on our exploits.
The insane girl sticks her arm out of the bush as to point to our next victim. “That four-wheeler dealer of destruction tried to kill me while taking Britney and her High School Musical hos back from burgers.”
I tell Casey that that’s probably not true, as Britney is Jewish and burgers are anything but kosher.
“Oh my God,” She hisses as she rolls out from the shrubbery. “Hitler was right.”
I have to admit that while literally rolling out is pretty lame, these late night escapades are pretty exhilarating, even with the risk of juvie. I carefully supervise Casey as she whips out a sharpie and writes “= 16!!” after the 4x4 mark on the back of Britney’s car. I try to be disapproving but a giggle admittedly escapes.
“Play time’s over.” Casey exclaims, oddly large wrench in hand.
I growl. “What the hell is that for?”
“It’s for...uh...The windows, I think. Or the engine. Wait a minute, I looked this up beforehand.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Hey, you know what Sun Tsu said? He said ‘Throw sense to the wind and run with it’.”
“...Sun Tsu never said that.”
Casey shrugs and nearly swings her wrench at the fragile glass window, stopping only when the damning sound of the Goldberg front door opening causes us to fling our entire beings back into the shrubbery. Forgive me father, for I have sinned.
Britney Goldberg comes teetering down the walkway, glittering and visible drunk.
“That is so illegal! Was she drunk when she was driving?” I hiss, my mouth full of leaves. “I’m calling my lawyer.”
Britney, babbling mindlessly into her phone, fiddles with her car keys in drunken frustration.
“Whattt? What? I can’t hear you. Huh? That Casey girl? I mean, I dunno. She’ll be fine. I dunno...Ugh, Jacob, I can’t. You’re not Jewish and my parents will, like, freak.” She whines a little and the car finally beeps. She opens the door, grabs a soggy bag of what might be burgers, and leaves. “Omigod, I told you, I can’t...Well, maybe a little…” The clack of her heels disapear with the slam of a door.
Casey and I are shocked.
“She left the door open! SHE JUST LEFT THE DOOR OPEN FOR US!” Casey squeals.
“She’s eating BURGERS!” I cry.
We bounce in excitement a bit . This is so unbelievably easy. It’s like God wants us to punish her...Punish her for being a bad person, and a bad Jew. Jeez. My friend and I jump out from the bushes and dive into the car, trying desperately to supress our insane giggling. Being criminal is great.
...Until it’s not.
The two of us dirty delinquets freeze. The door has opened, I repeat, the door has opened. Britney comes teetering back down the walkway again, still on her phone. She heads for the car. We’re still inside.
“Noooooo,” Casey whisper screams.
“Yeeeeeeeeeeeesssss,” I hiss back.
I run several simulations in my head. It looks like we cant make a break for it, as it would be fairly unlikely that the target would mistake us for large, rabid racoons. We can’t play it cool. We are unable to back out and it seems that we’ve forgotton our invisibility cloaks at home, so we do the only thing we can: We throw ourselves to the back seats at mach 5 speeds, keeping our heads down low and our bodies crunched down as much as possible. Very uncomfortable. We’re like two secret agents, except instead of being cool we’re just covered in leaves and anxiety.
Britney gets into the car and slams the door, presumably with the intention of driving. She starts the engine.
Nooooo.
“I just, like, don’t understand what her deal is? Because, she’s like, so plastic it makes me want to bulimia. I can’t help it if she’s ugly, you know?” Goldberg explains as she checks her mascara in the mirror. “Whattt the heeeeell-UH.”
Casey squints in the dark, trying to keep her breathing level. I feel so creepy.
