Welp, the Fall Ball is dramatically improved by the introduction of drugs. What before was a boring, contrived excuse for playing dress-up is now a mad, thrilling romp where everyone is adorable and the walls are in love with the ceiling. If you’re wondering where I am right now, I’m in the middle of the dance floor, and Remy is doing what can only be described as an interpretive dance next to me, around me, a little bit away from me, and then around me again.
I’ve noticed that Zeb has left the party. No Zeb, no Milo. I could be sad about that if I weren’t flying three feet above the ground and jumping everywhere. There’s nothing that could happen that would be wrong right now. No wrong song to dance to, no wrong thing to say, no wrong person to be. Everything is as it should be, and everything is the best thing ever.
I’ve never been in love before. This is the first time I’m in love. I’m in love with this. I’m in love with the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the light off the rafters, the hearts and rockets on Remy’s dress, myself, Remy, the DJ, everyone in here and everyone who ever lived. This is what it’s like.
I have the thought, it’s a quick thought, that maybe this is the way it’s supposed to be. Like maybe this is the way you’re supposed to live your life. In love. In love with the sky and the trees and each day you’re given. Maybe that’s how you’re supposed to do it.
Remy is grabbing me and pulling me outside, and when the brisk air hits us, that, too, is like the breeze has decided to fan us in just the right way, to lift us off the ground and into the night sky.
“Oh my God. Look.”
I look to where Remy is pointing and see nothing. There’s a cobblestone path, the side of the library, and a golf cart.
“What am I looking at? What’s happening right now? What is my name?”
“Your name is Willa and that’s a golf cart.”
“Okaaaay.”
“And we are going to steal it.”
“Um.”
“Yes. Trust me. It will be fun.”
I wonder how many times in the history of mankind the words “trust me” have been used before something terrible happened. I’m guessing you can round it off to about a million.
“I think we could probably get in big trouble for . . .”
But Remy has not waited for my counsel on this matter. That’s because Remy is too busy running to the golf cart, cackling like a crazy person, and jumping on the golf cart.
“Oh my God, the keys are still in it.”
“Maybe someone just left it for like two seconds and then they’re gonna come back and then they’re gonna be mad and then they’re gonna put us in jail.”
Again, Remy has not waited for me to weigh in on the matter. Instead, she has started up the golf cart, laughed diabolically, and driven up next to me.
“Remy, oh my God, you’re insane. I think you might have lost your mind.”
“Get in.”
“Maybe we should contemplate the pros and cons.”
“Willa, as your best friend and friend for life, I hereby decree that you must enter this golf cart.”
“Okay, okay, I suppose if you decree.”
And with that, I become an accessory to the crime.
We fly down the cobblestone path and wind around campus and over the hill until we are racing down the perimeter of the campus, all the way down down down past Denbigh, past Radnor, past the campus center, past the science center, and all the way to the very end, where there is a gymnasium next to the duck pond.
There’s an almost-full moon tonight and I could swear to God the man in the moon is laughing at us, or with us, not yet determined.
It’s impossible not to love the wind and the stars and the madness of flying through the campus on an illegal golf cart, our dresses billowing behind us.
Except we are going too fast.
“Remy, I think we’re going too fast!” I’m yelling over the sound of the motor.
“What?”
She’s yelling, too.
“I think we’re going too fast!”
“I know!”
“What do you mean you know? You mean you know and it’s okay or you know and there’s nothing you can do about it?”
“I mean I know and there’s nothing I can do about it!”
“What?!”
“It’s not braking!”
“What?! Jesus?!”
And now we are going fast fast fast, way too fast, down the path leading to the gymnasium and the duck pond.
“Turn around! If we go uphill it will slow us down!”
“No, we’ll fly out!”
But Remy does try to turn it, and it does slow us down, just enough, just enough so the golf cart runs into the embankment of the duck pond and, yes, into the duck pond with a last final splash.
And now we, too, are in that duck pond.
Remy and I, in our absurdly expensive dresses, have just crashed a golf cart into a duck pond.
And now we just start laughing.
I know. I know we should get up and run away and check that we are not dead or that anything is broken. That is what anyone normal would do. But that’s not what’s happening right now. No, no, instead, Remy and I are sitting waist-deep in the water and laughing uncontrollably.
This goes on for about five minutes.
You have to admit, it’s kind of shocking no one has found us. I guess taking the route around the back of the campus was a stroke of brilliance.
“We are in so much trouble. Oh my God.”
“No, we’re not! Come on!”
And now Remy is dragging me by the arm, out of the half-sunken golf cart and up the grass.
“Let’s stay off the path so no one sees us.”
“Remy, we can’t just leave that there. We have to tell someone . . .”
“Oh, no, we won’t. I’ll be fine, but you’ll get kicked out.”
And that’s true. Oh God, I’m an idiot.
“Don’t worry. This is the plan. We’ll just sneak back to Denbigh. No one will see us. Everyone’s at the Fall Ball—look around, it’s like deserted.”
“Okay, okay . . . but, um . . . what about the cart?”
“What about it?”
“Well, we broke it.”
“We didn’t break it; it was broken before. The brakes didn’t work. It almost killed us.”
“Oh my God. It almost killed us because we stole it and we weren’t supposed to. I think that was like karma or whatever.”
“Maybe. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll pay for it, okay? I’ll make my dad get them, like, two new golf carts. That way it’s, like, a win for them.”
“Really?”
“Sure. And besides, that was the best thing ever. You have to admit.”
“I do have to admit.” I pause. “I feel like we’re in that movie with Audrey Hepburn. The one in Rome.”
“Europe! We should go to Europe! Willa, will you go to Europe with me? Next summer. I was gonna go, but I couldn’t think of anyone I wanted to go with. We can fly into Paris. We have a place there. In the sixteenth. It’s kind of bougie, but it’s nice. I would’ve preferred Le Marais, but no one ever listens to me.”
“Wait. Are you serious?”
“Yes! It would be so fun!”
And now my mind is racing, thinking of all the things we could do and see and all the trouble we could get into in Paris.
“By the way, I’m freezing.” Remy gestures to her soaked dress.
“Me, too. Do you think our frocks will survive this debacle?”
“Sure. It’s called dry cleaning.”
We walk along, the lights of Denbigh gleaming over the hill.
Remy is just shaking her head and smiling. “I can’t believe we crashed a golf cart.”
“Into a duck pond.”
And now Remy quacks. And I quack, too. And now she attacks me in quacking-duck form. And I pretend run away from the duck attack. And we quack and laugh like that all the way back. And even though we’re freezing and even though we just committed a small crime and even though I don’t do drugs but I just did drugs, this, so far, is the best night of my life.
And now we’re going to Paris.