The Stupidest Thing I've Ever Done

Part 3

We didn't give a second thought to the possible dangers we could be getting into by going alone. It was different then. Besides, we weren't really alone after all. We had each other.

We made it to Rockets in a little under a half an hour. By that time our feet ached, and our shoulders were rubbed raw by the material of the lawn chair straps.

Cass tossed her chair down on the pure green grass, collapsing next to the entrance sign.

We were among the many who would try and steal an antique red letter from the drive-in sign. Everytime we came by we would egg each other on to reach for the R. It was bonus points if you grabbed the zooming rocket at the top, or the pale brown Saturn sitting by the S on the end. I was about to ask Cass if she was up for the dare, when she cut me off.

"You know," she said, "I just realized something."

"What's that?"

She blinked up at me through the setting sunlight. A sunburn was blushing her nose.

"They're not going to let us walk in."

I threw my chair to the ground too, swearing at myself.

Cass couldn't help but laugh; it was what she did in situations like this one. She leaned back against the signs post, running her hands through her frizzy hair. We were pretty stupid back then, but so is every other sixteen year old.

I kicked at the dirt. A few miniscule pebbles sprang off an old pop can someone had left crumpled against the fence.

Cass sighed. "So, wanna head back? I think there's some zombie movie marathon on TV we can catch."

I was about to pick up my dads lawn chair from the dirt, and throw it back over my aching shoulder to head back home. I was already thinking about stopping by the convenience store on the way back so we could stock up on Arizona Teas and candy before we settled back to enjoy the crappy acting and crappy make-up that came with zombie movies.

But something tugged at my heart, telling me that this night wasn't over yet.

I looked up from the ground, squinting at the sign.

I saw my answer.

I let out a hoot of laughter, clapping my hands as I stared up at the sign. It was pointing right at our solution. It was pointing at the chain link fence that surrounded the drive-in.

"We're not going anywhere," I told her.