Though filled with a few tears, there was a greatly anticipated dance the last night of 8th grade summer camp. Oddly proportioned, awkward bodies mashed into the lodge in hopes of connecting with that one special person or conversely, of avoiding the dance floor altogether. The dance, however, was the least memorable moment of the night. Afterward, a gaggle of us girls left the lodge on high as we conspired against the boys who, earlier in the week, had peed on the side of our cabin. The bravest of us (or least concerned with getting caught) had snagged a solitary plastic cup from the party and independently decided the best route of action.
After she peed in the cup, we filed out of the bathroom making our way to the boys’ cabin, laughing hysterically and shouting, “Who wants some apple juice? It’s fresh and delicious!” The Brave One ran as swiftly as possible up to the top of their stairs without spilling the cup of revenge. Just as the boys arrived back from the dance, she dumped the contents onto the stoop and bellowed in triumph while the rest of us fled for our lives, not without a great sense of accomplishment.
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