But he could see that Noah was still down in the dumps and that he had to cheer him up before he would agree to anything. “Look, I get it.” He looked at Noah sympathetically. “But it’s over between you and Sarah. You need to move on. And we are going to help you do just that.”
The way Dylan figured, there was something in it for everyone. They’d get Pike some pot, get Walker laid, and get Noah to forget about Sarah. “It’ll be our last big hurrah of high school.”
Noah was stubborn. “What’s the hurry? We have the whole summer to party.”
Dylan flinched so slightly that the guys didn’t even notice. They didn’t have the whole summer, even if Dylan wasn’t ready yet to tell his friends why.
Noah still wasn’t convinced. Sure, a weekend in New York with the guys would probably be pretty awesome. But Noah wanted to be with Sarah and Sarah was going to be at Marco’s. He didn’t care that they had broken up. He wanted to spend the last weekend of high school with the guys and her.
Before they could discuss it any further, Marco’s bouncer friend Chuck walked by with his football brethren. He led with his standard greeting, “S’up, ladies,” then for absolutely no reason whatsoever proceeded to give Walker a titty-twister.
Walker screamed. “Ow! That hurt, asshole!”
Noah stepped up to defend Walker. “Stop being a dick, Chuck.”
Chuck came back with an ever-so-witty retort, “I’m sorry, ahomosayswhat?”
Noah just rolled his eyes. It was the oldest one in the book and Noah wasn’t going to let Chuck have the satisfaction. “Excuse me? Didn’t quite catch that.”
Chuck repeated, “Ahomosayswhat?” a few times, hoping to trick Noah, but Noah was about a hundred IQ points smarter than Chuck and just replied, “Hmm. Nope. Not understanding. You know, you really need to enunciate.”
Frustrated, Chuck finally just tipped over Noah’s can of Sierra Mist, laughed, and yelled, “Homo!”
Noah righted his can and threw a napkin onto the spill. “Well played,” he said sarcastically.
Chuck received a high-five from his buddies for a job well done and headed out.
Noah turned to Dylan and without any further debate, said merely, “All right. I’m in.”
Dylan smiled.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE NEXT FOUR days went by slowly. It was finals after all, and even though they were all into great colleges, they still had to pass. Add to that the usual end-of-year assemblies, extra-curricular activity wrap-ups, and locker cleaning, and it made for a long week. But Friday was Senior Skip Day and only the biggest tools in school showed up when the administration practically endorsed this one day of truancy. Most of the seniors would be heading down to Misquamicut for a rowdy party to end all parties at Marco’s parents’ house. The place was actually pretty sweet—a multi-million-dollar Cape Cod-style beach house with ninety feet of ocean-front sand. But Dylan and the guys had other plans.
Dylan had already picked up Pike and Walker by eleven a.m. and they took their long-ago-assigned seats in the back of the Cube. Dylan pulled into Noah’s driveway and honked. Noah came out in no time and in addition to a duffel bag with a change of clothes, he was carrying his book bag.
“What’s in the bag?” Walker asked as Noah opened the passenger door.
“Snacks.” Noah pulled out a bag of Fritos and tossed it to Pike.
“Su-weet!” Pike chirped, and Noah smiled.
“And Dylan’s yearbook,” Noah added.
Dylan chided him, “Dude, you’re not going to have time to sit around signing my yearbook.”
“Well, just in case,” Noah replied as he closed the door.
Now that Noah was in place riding shotgun, the car felt whole. Dylan looked at his three friends and knew this weekend was going to be special. They all knew they were about to have fun, maybe even have the adventure of a lifetime. But Dylan alone had the prescience to appreciate that he was making a moment right now. And that for the rest of his life he would only be able to look back on this moment as a fond memory. He alone knew this was the end of an era, the last time the guys would be together in this way.
“Songs will be sung of our exploits here today,” Pike boomed.
Noah put on his sunglasses. “All right. Let’s do this.”
“There you go,” Dylan encouraged. “Now once more with feeling.”
“New York City!” Noah screamed, with feeling.
“New York City!!!” Walker echoed.
“NEW YORK CITY!!!” the four of them screamed at the top of their lungs.
Dylan pulled out onto the street and the memory officially began.
As they cruised south down I-91 to Green Day’s “21 Guns,” Pike was smoking weed in the back seat, Walker had his window rolled down to avoid the smoke, Noah was reading through Dylan’s yearbook, and Dylan was pontificating.
“I’m just saying,” Dylan began, “the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing is just so old-fashioned. As long as there’s a steady stream of beautiful girls willing to engage in no-strings sex, what’s the point of pinning Sally Merriweather with your pledge pin?”
“Who the fuck is Sally Merriweather?” Pike interjected from the back seat. Everyone ignored him.
“Not everyone is made like you, Dylan,” Noah countered. “Some guys actually like getting to know a girl. Having a relationship.”
“Licking the kitty,” Dylan jabbed.
The guys laughed and even Noah couldn’t help but smile. Then Noah saw something noteworthy in Dylan’s yearbook. “Check this out. Libby Hoechner wrote, ‘Keep in touch.’ That’s it, just ‘keep in touch.’” Noah acted as if he was personally offended by her lack of imagination.
Walker joined in, “I’m sure you and Libby will be BFFs for years to come.”
But Dylan jumped to Libby’s defense, “Hey, Libby Hoechner gave me my first blow job,” as if that justified the no-frills message.
Then Dylan looked back at Walker for a second. “You remember your first blow job, Walker?”
Walker thought back. Of course he remembered. It was his first and only blow job and when he called the promiscuous, pill-popping Amy Waverly the next day, she had no memory of the event. Still, it was the best ten seconds of Walker’s life.
“Uh huh, I guess so,” Walker answered with trepidation.
“How’d it taste?” was the punch line Dylan delivered with impeccable comic timing. He laughed his ass off and Noah and Pike joined in.
Walker was used to being teased and took the ribbing good-naturedly.
Noah flipped to another page. “Look at this one from Karla Feeny. ‘Congrads’ with a ‘d,’ ‘I am going to miss you so much next year.’ Really? I mean, have you ever even said two words to Karla Feeny since junior high?”
“It’s just something you say,” Dylan chastised. “Stop being so critical.”
“Here’s another one. Amy Ryan wrote, ‘Remember that time at Marco’s house? You were so drunk.’” Noah laughed, “Yeah, can you be a little more specific?”
Noah opened the door with all this yearbook talk and Dylan took the opportunity to turn it back on him. “Okay, Smart Guy, so what are you going to write in my yearbook?”
“I don’t know. But we’re best friends. I want to write something special.”
“Wow, that was really gay,” Dylan teased. “Seriously, you don’t want to wait until college to come out of the closet?”
“Shut up,” Noah shot back with a smile.
“Come here,” Dylan apologized and facetiously leaned in to kiss him. Noah pushed him away. The car swerved slightly and Dylan returned to the wheel with a laugh.
Then Pike saw something. “Check it out. Eight o’clock.” It was a car full of hot girls in bikinis passing them on their left in a VW Bug convertible. Like a cheetah spotting a car full of gazelles, Dylan immediately sped up to match their highway speed. He rolled down his window and yelled to be heard over the wind, “Where you girls headed?”
A cute girl
with long blonde hair and a pink bikini yelled back from the passenger seat, “Old Lyme!”
Dylan kept one eye on the road and the other eye on this girl’s ample cleavage. He pouted, “No, come with us! We’re heading into the city!”
“Sorry!” she laughed.
Dylan loved flirting, but in times like this you really just have to get to the point. “At least show us your tits!”
Walker gasped. “Dylan!”
“Shh! Shh!” Dylan cautioned. “I think they’re going to do it.”
And sure enough, the girl appeared to be discussing the idea with her friends.
Dylan sensed they were on the fence so he pushed them in the right direction with, “Come on! You know you want to!” Then he flashed them his million-dollar smile.
Then… the four girls lifted their bikini tops and flashed their tits.
The guys couldn’t believe it. They were in awe, giggling like little boys. And the girls were laughing, too, because, as savvy men know, good girls love being bad.
Then, as if this weren’t a big enough victory, Dylan shouted across the asphalt, “Can my friend put his face in your tits?”
The girl looked at him like he was crazy, but crazy was just what she was in the mood for.
Dylan inched his car closer to the Bug without hitting it.
And even Walker, sitting behind Dylan, didn’t need any further prodding on this one. He rolled his window down and stuck his head out.
The cars were close enough now that the blonde girl no longer in a pink bikini grabbed Walker’s head and kissed him. Then she forced his head down into her tits and Walker got a mouth full. All this at sixty-five miles an hour.
Suddenly, honk!
Dylan swerved right and Walker fell back into the Cube. They looked behind them to see… a school bus, filled with horny middle-school boys with their noses pressed up against the windows.
The guys laughed their asses off. The girls quickly pulled their tops back on and sped off.
Dylan called after them, “Aw, come on! Where are you going?” But the fun was over, so Dylan honked his horn in appreciation as the girls disappeared down the highway.
Dylan saw Walker’s face in the rear view mirror. He was smiling ear to ear. “That was awesome,” he beamed.
And Dylan, ever the good friend, made sure this was a teaching moment: “You see? A little initiative goes a long way.”
The guys approached New Haven and took the exit onto 95 South. By now they were eating McDonald’s, listening to Pike’s eclectic iMix (currently playing: Daft Punk’s “Digital Love”), and shooting the shit.
Soon-to-be Ivy Leaguer Noah asked Dylan, “Did you get your freshman orientation guide from UConn yet?”
Dylan uncharacteristically avoided eye contact and just muttered, “Uh, no, not yet.” Clearly he wasn’t ready to talk about his college plans just yet.
Pike bit into his Big Mac. “University of the Pacific, my friends. Miles of sand, hot girls in bikinis as far as the eye can see.”
Walker was skeptical. “Yeah, I’m sure they have a great record getting people into law school.”
“Maybe not,” Pike conceded, “but they have a great record getting guys into pussy.” He reached forward and high-fived Dylan who, without looking, had instinctively turned his hand to meet Pike’s.
Pike grew philosophical. “We’ve all been stuck here in West Hartford our whole lives,” his tirade began. “But instead of making a break big time, you ’tards are staying right here.”
The guys rolled their eyes as Pike continued, “Providence? Boston? UConn? Live the dream, baby. Live the dream.” Supremely proud of himself, he took a sip of his milkshake.
The other three gave him a collective whatever look.
In just under an hour they crossed the border into New York State, and the guys sat in silence for a while owing primarily to the fact that the universally awesome “Such Great Heights” by the Postal Service came on in the shuffle.
Despite Dylan’s spotty driving record, the Cube felt safe as it raced down the highway. Noah and Dylan had been friends the longest, since kindergarten; but even Pike, who had joined the gang the most recently (in ninth grade), felt like the four of them were a family. And the family felt safe.
They were excited to go off to college, of course. All guys build up college as a utopian existence with insane parties, unlimited drinking, sexually adventuresome girls, and most importantly, unbridled freedom. The freedom to blow off classes if you’re hung over. The freedom to sleep until noon, if that’s what your body’s schedule dictates. And the freedom to pursue interests both profound and mundane. No one is going to stop you from joining the unicycle club or tell you you can’t take Philosophy 355, “The Perception of Color,” if that’s what floats your boat. Maybe deep down they knew college wasn’t really going to be like Animal House, but they were still excited to get out of West Hartford and move on to the next chapter in their lives.
Yet part of graduating high school was also pretty scary. It was the part they didn’t show you in American Pie movies and on Greek. Maybe it didn’t occur to them in this moment as the electronic chorus blared, “Everything looks perfect from far away,” but the guys hadn’t had to make new friends since they were in elementary school. Leaving home was going to be the biggest, most traumatic event of their lives. But right now, in the Cube, with each other, they felt invincible.
The song ended, and soon the Cube was cruising down the Saw Mill Parkway. When they finally saw a sign that read “Manhattan,” the guys cheered.
CHAPTER NINE
THE GUYS ARRIVED in Manhattan just after lunch and parked in a garage near Times Square. Sure, it was a little clichéd and touristy but the guys were tourists. Plus, even at their age, it was still pretty fucking cool to take in the sights, sounds, and smells of the city.
As they walked down Broadway, Walker was eyeing some really reasonably-priced Rolexes when Dylan literally stopped and turned as four tall, European-looking models walked by. Dylan nudged Noah and soon the guys were admiring the view of these incredible babes walking by. Deep down, the other three felt comforted that there were still women in the world who were out of even the mighty Dylan’s league.
As they turned up 40th Street, Pike noticed a crowd gathered around a folding table and suggested they check it out. It was a handsome young African-American gentleman dealing three-card monte.
“Keep your eye on the lady,” he preached, showing the crowd the queen of hearts amid two black aces. Then he started tossing the cards back and forth, slowly enough so that any idiot could keep track of the queen. He practically sang, “Round and round, there she goes, where she lands, nobody knows.” He stopped the deal and looked up at the black guy in front of him with a fist full of money.
Pike whispered to Noah, “In the middle.”
The dealer overheard Pike and said, “Good eye, good eye. But is he right?”
The man with the cash glanced back at Pike and must have been impressed with his powers of observation because he said, “I think he’s right. Twenty bucks in the middle.”
He laid down a twenty and the dealer flipped over the middle card. It was the queen.
“Damn, you’re good,” the dealer complimented Pike. He paid out twenty dollars to his celebrating shill and added convincingly, “You’re gonna bankrupt me, man.”
The dealer started up the routine again, showing the queen and two aces to the crowd like before. “Round and round, there she goes, where she lands, nobody knows.”
The queen was obviously on the left this time but the shill apparently still needed Pike’s help because he turned to him and asked, “Which one, man?”
“On the left,” Pike whispered confidently.
“You heard him,” the shill gloated. “Twenty on the left.”
Sure enough, that was the queen. The dealer pretended to curse his bad luck and paid the shill, now pretending to be ecstatic. The shill flashed his wad of cash in the other g
uy’s face. “Pleasure doin’ business with you,” the shill bragged. “Now I’ve got some business to attend to with a t-bone at Sizzler.”
He laughed and headed down 40th Street.
Pike had that look in his eye. The guys had seen it far too many times, like right before he jumped off Sarah’s roof onto a trampoline floating in her swimming pool. It was a surprisingly intense stare, given that Pike was still high. And it meant that he was about to do something stupid.
“Who’s next? Who’s next?” the dealer called out like a carnival barker. “Step right up.” Then he turned to Pike. “How about it, Eagle Eyes? You want to take a shot?”
“I’ll play,” Pike said as he reached for his wallet.
Noah grabbed his arm, and whispered, “Dude, are you serious? It’s a scam.”
“That guy just won,” Pike reasoned. “I can beat him.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Walker seconded.
“Pike—” Dylan thirded.
But Pike could not be talked down, so Noah shook his head and let him go.
“Let’s do this.”
The dealer smiled and began his routine, showing the queen, throwing the cards around slowly enough that you could easily follow it, and singing his little “round and round” song. He stopped and Pike smiled. The queen was obviously in the middle.
“What’cha say, my man?” the dealer said charismatically.
Pike laid down a twenty and stated confidently, “It’s in the middle.”
The dealer flipped over an ace and scooped up Pike’s money quick as lightning.
Pike couldn’t believe it. The queen was there! “But I saw it—”
“Sorry, my friend, you losing your concentration on me now? The queen is a royal bitch and you gots to pay attention.”
The other three guys rolled their eyes.
Noah tried one more time to reason with him, speaking slowly, “It’s. A. Con.”
But Pike was committed to this cause. “No, I can do this.”
“Come on, dude,” Dylan interrupted, “just give him your wallet and stop wasting our time.”
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