Candy, Friendships and Other Nice Things

PARTY BUS (TOTALLY NOT A TRAP)

I refreshed my eyes with a splash of water and gave my reflection in the mirror a radiant, confident smile. With a serene exhale, I embraced the day ahead, ready to conquer any challenges it may bring.

As Istepped out of the bathroom and back into the warm embrace of the sun, I noticed the two men from the store standing outside, still dancing their little jig against a gleaming, pearl-white pickup truck. The dashing dry-pitted gentleman turned his attention towards me, exchanging a friendly nod with his companion. I felt a blush of recognition and mutual respect wash over me, and I gracefully made my way back to the group.

"Have you seen those gentlemen and how they admire me?" I asked.

"They look so nice and friendly," chuckled Kait, her laughter ringing like Easter bells.

"Is staring considered as a form of harassment according to Wattpad guidelines?" I said.

"Fret not, dear Sarah," June chimed in. "You're so beautiful, anyone would want to bask in your radiant presence."

"Indeed," agreed Ana, waving away my concerns with a casual wave. "Let them gaze upon your splendor."

They hopped into the car, and seconds later, the Vengabus song from the Vengaboys started blasting on their speakers, leaving me with a craving for orange juice, vegan sausages on a barbecue, and a good, fun party. My mood was already high, now I was ecstatic.This was going to be the best trip.

After two more hours of driving in the acceptable heat, June and Kait fell sound asleep in the back seat. As we drove along a perfect straight road with no potholes (a dream for anyone who lives in the UK, Minnesota, or any other third world country), Natasha Bedingfield played on the radio, and I sang along, loud enough to wake up Kait and June, because I already missed their banter.

A few golden rays of sun peeked through the leaves of tall pines and avocado trees that grew out of cracks in the rock on the mountains. Through the open windows, I could clearly hear what sounded like thousands of tropical birds, whose songs sounded so familiar yet so foreign. Like when you're listening to someone speak a language you don't quite know, and although you can't quite make out the full sentences, you understand just about enough words to try and guess what they are talking about. Except I knew what the birds were talking about, because I am fluent in animal language. They were just trying to get laid. Laid... their eggs, of course.

"How is your mother doing?" asked Ana.

"She's great," I answered. "Just made it to the top of her pyramid scheme."

"That's good," she said with a smile. "You must be so rich."

"I have an unending supply of maxi skirts."

My marvel, wonder, and excitement for the retreat grew bigger with every minute of our drive. Around every bend was a new painting: here, a rusty railway bridge withering away in a pass, under which a little stream bounced off of dusty rocks; there, a lush valley of banana trees and small adobe houses, misty from the smoke of a dozen wooden stoves, where a small child played with two dogs as his mother called him from the doorstep; then, a tropical glen where the mountains flowed with the golden light of dusk, and the long grass danced in the breeze. (I only removed 'stray dogs' from this paragraph because animal poverty is offensive.)

"This is beautiful, Ana," I said, in awe.

"I know, right? It's incredible,' she answered, and added, "I'm so glad you came with us."

"It would have been a shame to miss out, I mean, it's unreal. Just look at how many butterflies they have! This one looks like a flying Dorito."

"Is this book sponsored by Doritos ?" asked Ana.

I ignored her in a friendly way. We drove down the other side of the mountain range, where the weather was just as nice and the road was just as well-engineered.

"This must be the main road." said June. "I've never seen such a nicely maintained highway."

"Are you sure?" asked Ana. "I haven't seen another car in ages."

Like a plot twist, the fun, upbeat melody of the Vengabus song by the Vengaboys filled the air, growing crescendo as a big yellow bus approached us.

Hot men with blue orbs, chiseled abs and equally geometrically perfected jawlines peeked their heads out the windows, cheering as they saw us. I recognized the two dashing gentlemen from the gas station.

They spilled out the bus, one by one, and each man that stepped out seemed more handsome than the previous one. They were modestly dressed in skinny jeans, sleeveless vests, and leather caps. So classy, so gentleman-like.

"Do you girls want to join the party?" hollered one of the cute guys.

Ana leaned close to my ear and let out a worried whisper. "Is it appropriate if we can see their abs?"

The men all stood in a line and began a coordinated choreography, where they'd step to one side, open their vest and then skip two steps to the other side.

"Could you consider putting shirts on?" I asked. "We'd love to join, but we're trying to stay advertiser-friendly."

On cue to the music blasting behind them, the men slapped their thighs, turned around in a hop, and wiggled their skinny-jean-clad booties.

"This is a trap," I hissed. "They're trying to get us shadowbanned."

"Should we leave?" asked Ana.

"LET'S GO, NOW!" I screamed.

We sped off, leaving behind the party bus and its singing, dancing, sinful temptations on legs.