That Was The Worst Sleepover Ever!

"Hey man, what're you doing this weekend?"
"I'm not sure yet. Why, what's up?"
"Oh, nothing really. I was just wondering if you'd want to come over."

I'd already made my first mistake. His initial question was a Panzer attack against my lone security guard watching a Gomer Pyle rerun on a 13' black & white Panasonic. He should've been minding the gate, but it was the episode where Gomer indebts himself to Sgt. Carter after a near-death experience, and goddammit if that isn't a classic.

"I... I don't know. I'll have to check with my mom first."
"Oh, don't worry. My mom called and asked your mom already, so it's cool."
"Really? I... uhh..."

I knew I was stuck. Whenever the subject would come up my immediate reaction would be to either quickly change topics or at least try and convince him that staying at my house would be a much better idea. He'd caught me off-guard that morning, however. Not surprising, exactly. He'd always wait to spring this sort of shit on a Monday and I don't think there's a kid alive with the cognitive capacity to deflect such a piercing blow so early into the school week.

As bad of a prospect as sleeping over his house might have been, the worst of it was having to go through my entire week knowing that the evening drew ever closer with each passing tick of the clock. I'd spend every moment during class completely detached from what was being taught, coming up with increasingly elaborate escape plans. Maybe I'd stage some sort of phony child abduction on the way to his house. Steve's older brother has a van, and I'm pretty sure we still had the black jumpsuits from last year's African-American appreciation pageant.

There was also the lingering hope in the back of my mind that maybe he'd forget about it entirely. That sort of hope is what would string me along through the week. Come quarter of two on Friday I'd actually manage to delude myself into thinking I'd made it scot-free. All I'd need to do is grab my stuff from my locker an - fuck, there he is.

"You set for tonight?"
"Yeah, about tonight. I -"
"Awesome. My mom's going to pick you up around five. She's got some shit to do, but she said she could swing by before going to the store. Don't be a douche and wait 'til the last minute to pack your shit this time. She said she doesn't feel like waiting."
"I'll do what I can, but..."
"Alright, cool. I've got soccer in a few minutes. I'll see you tonight. Take it easy dude."

I slouched down into my seat on the bus and tried to ignore the idiot behind me looking to drag the corpse of laser pointer-related comedy through the fucking briers by shining it into some fat kid's eye. I knew I was on borrowed time and that within three hours I'd be sentenced to a punishment worse than death. As I gazed out the window, I couldn't help but notice how everything seemed to take on a different light. It was as if my senses had kicked me into overdrive in an attempt to fill my conscience with enough visceral intensity to last an entire weekend. Plants bloomed and blossomed with flowers more vibrant than any I'd ever seen, birds soared with the majesty and grace of angels and the hot stench of sixty-two smelly children crammed into a humid sweatbox on wheels filled my nostrils with an aroma slightly more sweet than usual.

As we turned onto my street I decided that I didn't want the bus ride to end. I wanted the driver to keep going past my house, out of town and into some bizarre Deliverance-esque environment where I'd undoubtedly endure untold horrors, the likes of which my mind couldn't even begin to comprehend.

So deeply entrenched in my thoughts was I that I didn't notice the bus coming to an abrupt stop. My head jerked forward and pressed against the duct tape used to cover a slice some kid made in the back of the seat in front of me with a pocket knife. The end of the tape was folded over however, and as I disboarded the bus I did my best to wipe the sticky residue off of my forehead with the back of my palm. I watched as little balls of manufactured adhesive and whatever filth had been festering underneath the seat covering fell past my face, onto my new shirt.