them to see… a school bus , filled with horny middle-school boys with their noses pressed up against the windows.
The guys laughed their asses off. The girls quickly pulled their tops back on and sped off.
Dylan called after them, “Aw, come on! Where are you going?” But the fun was over, so Dylan honked his horn in appreciation as the girls disappeared down the highway.
Dylan saw Walker’s face in the rear view mirror. He was smiling ear to ear. “That was awesome,” he beamed.
And Dylan, ever the good friend, made sure this was a teaching moment: “You see? A little initiative goes a long way.”
The guys approached New Haven and took the exit onto 95 South. By now they were eating McDonald’s, listening to Pike’s eclectic iMix (currently playing: Daft Punk’s “Digital Love”), and shooting the shit.
Soon-to-be Ivy Leaguer Noah asked Dylan, “Did you get your freshman orientation guide from UConn yet?”
Dylan uncharacteristically avoided eye contact and just muttered, “Uh, no, not yet.” Clearly he wasn’t ready to talk about his college plans just yet.
Pike bit into his Big Mac. “University of the Pacific, my friends. Miles of sand, hot girls in bikinis as far as the eye can see.”
Walker was skeptical. “Yeah, I’m sure they have a great record getting people into law school.”
“Maybe not,” Pike conceded, “but they have a great record getting guys into pussy.” He reached forward and high-fived Dylan who, without looking, had instinctively turned his hand to meet Pike’s.
Pike grew philosophical. “We’ve all been stuck here in West Hartford our whole lives,” his tirade began. “But instead of making a break big time, you ’tards are staying right here.”
The guys rolled their eyes as Pike continued, “Providence? Boston? UConn? Live the dream, baby. Live the dream.” Supremely proud of himself, he took a sip of his milkshake.
The other three gave him a collective whatever look.
In just under an hour they crossed the border into New York State, and the guys sat in silence for a while owing primarily to the fact that the universally awesome “Such Great Heights” by the Postal Service came on in the shuffle.
Despite Dylan’s spotty driving record, the Cube felt safe as it raced down the highway. Noah and Dylan had been friends the longest, since kindergarten; but even Pike, who had joined the gang the most recently (in ninth grade), felt like the four of them were a family. And the family felt safe.
They were excited to go off to college, of course. All guys build up college as a utopian existence with insane parties, unlimited drinking, sexually adventuresome girls, and most importantly, unbridled freedom. The freedom to blow off classes if you’re hung over. The freedom to sleep until noon, if that’s what your body’s schedule dictates. And the freedom to pursue interests both profound and mundane. No one is going to stop you from joining the unicycle club or tell you you can’t take Philosophy 355, “The Perception of Color,” if that’s what floats your boat. Maybe deep down they knew college wasn’t really going to be like Animal House , but they were still excited to get out of West Hartford and move on to the next chapter in their lives.
Yet part of graduating high school was also pretty scary. It was the part they didn’t show you in American Pie movies and on Greek . Maybe it didn’t occur to them in this moment as the electronic chorus blared, “Everything looks perfect from far away,” but the guys hadn’t had to make new friends since they were in elementary school. Leaving home was going to be the biggest, most traumatic event of their lives. But right now, in the Cube, with each other, they felt invincible.
The song ended, and soon the Cube was cruising down the Saw Mill Parkway. When they finally saw a sign that read “Manhattan,” the guys cheered.
CHAPTER NINE
T HE GUYS ARRIVED in Manhattan just after lunch and parked
The guys laughed their asses off. The girls quickly pulled their tops back on and sped off.
Dylan called after them, “Aw, come on! Where are you going?” But the fun was over, so Dylan honked his horn in appreciation as the girls disappeared down the highway.
Dylan saw Walker’s face in the rear view mirror. He was smiling ear to ear. “That was awesome,” he beamed.
And Dylan, ever the good friend, made sure this was a teaching moment: “You see? A little initiative goes a long way.”
The guys approached New Haven and took the exit onto 95 South. By now they were eating McDonald’s, listening to Pike’s eclectic iMix (currently playing: Daft Punk’s “Digital Love”), and shooting the shit.
Soon-to-be Ivy Leaguer Noah asked Dylan, “Did you get your freshman orientation guide from UConn yet?”
Dylan uncharacteristically avoided eye contact and just muttered, “Uh, no, not yet.” Clearly he wasn’t ready to talk about his college plans just yet.
Pike bit into his Big Mac. “University of the Pacific, my friends. Miles of sand, hot girls in bikinis as far as the eye can see.”
Walker was skeptical. “Yeah, I’m sure they have a great record getting people into law school.”
“Maybe not,” Pike conceded, “but they have a great record getting guys into pussy.” He reached forward and high-fived Dylan who, without looking, had instinctively turned his hand to meet Pike’s.
Pike grew philosophical. “We’ve all been stuck here in West Hartford our whole lives,” his tirade began. “But instead of making a break big time, you ’tards are staying right here.”
The guys rolled their eyes as Pike continued, “Providence? Boston? UConn? Live the dream, baby. Live the dream.” Supremely proud of himself, he took a sip of his milkshake.
The other three gave him a collective whatever look.
In just under an hour they crossed the border into New York State, and the guys sat in silence for a while owing primarily to the fact that the universally awesome “Such Great Heights” by the Postal Service came on in the shuffle.
Despite Dylan’s spotty driving record, the Cube felt safe as it raced down the highway. Noah and Dylan had been friends the longest, since kindergarten; but even Pike, who had joined the gang the most recently (in ninth grade), felt like the four of them were a family. And the family felt safe.
They were excited to go off to college, of course. All guys build up college as a utopian existence with insane parties, unlimited drinking, sexually adventuresome girls, and most importantly, unbridled freedom. The freedom to blow off classes if you’re hung over. The freedom to sleep until noon, if that’s what your body’s schedule dictates. And the freedom to pursue interests both profound and mundane. No one is going to stop you from joining the unicycle club or tell you you can’t take Philosophy 355, “The Perception of Color,” if that’s what floats your boat. Maybe deep down they knew college wasn’t really going to be like Animal House , but they were still excited to get out of West Hartford and move on to the next chapter in their lives.
Yet part of graduating high school was also pretty scary. It was the part they didn’t show you in American Pie movies and on Greek . Maybe it didn’t occur to them in this moment as the electronic chorus blared, “Everything looks perfect from far away,” but the guys hadn’t had to make new friends since they were in elementary school. Leaving home was going to be the biggest, most traumatic event of their lives. But right now, in the Cube, with each other, they felt invincible.
The song ended, and soon the Cube was cruising down the Saw Mill Parkway. When they finally saw a sign that read “Manhattan,” the guys cheered.
CHAPTER NINE
T HE GUYS ARRIVED in Manhattan just after lunch and parked
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