All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
It's impossible to look cool when you're part of a tour group. It's a known fact among teenage boys, and possibly teen girls, but definitely not parents. They think it's the most awesome thing to go on a tour in the most boring town ever, in the most boring state ever, the the most obnoxious matching shirts ever. On top of that, I feel horrible. Horrible that I dragged my friends into this.
Ian and Tristan are standing in between Jenny, who's looking more like she might kill something by the second, and my parents, who are blabbing on about the wonders of small towns like this one. Poor guys, if Jenny doesn't do it first, I think my parents might kill then with all their incorrect facts on the town of Ashland and the state of Oregon. And then, I have the most wonderful idea, on that could get us all out of this. Ian, Tristan, Jenny, and I can ditch. We can get a cab and go. I go around my parents, and whisper it to each of them. My friends say yes right away, and Jenny takes a minute, but agrees.
So after my parents go to sleep that night, we
tip-toe outside and call a cab. He asks where we're going, and we tell him Brooklings, Oregon.
"You kids got that kind of money?" He asks gruffly.
"Yup, it's about $250.50, right?"
"Right," he says, looking a bit surprised that we know that. We climb in, me up front, everyone else in the back. I don't think my friends mind sitting with Jenny though, because now she's just grinning, probably proud of herself that she's finally doing something bad. The trip takes forever, and we pass the time by laughing about how our parents are going to be so confused when they wake up. The cabbie looks a little bit like he's thinking about bringing us back, but he doesn't.
So finally, after an hour or so of sitting still, the driver stopped in a pleasant looking town, telling us to get out. I hand him the money we had put together, and that our parents unknowingly pitched in. We step out of the gum filled, rotten egg smelling cab, and get our backpacks out of the trunk, and watch as he speeds away.
We wander through town until we make our way to a gorgeous beach. We sit down in the sand until Jenny announces, "Guys, I think we need to go find a motel or something." We each nod and stand up, dusting tiny grains of sand off of our legs and butts. Then, we wind our way through the streets until we finally find a motel with two open rooms. Ian and Tristan share a room, and Jenny and I share a room.
She turns to me and says, "Thank God we don't need to share a bed tonight, right Matt?"
"Totally, this is probably the first ever vacation where we haven't had to." So we take turns in the bathroom, putting on our pj's. Within a few minutes, we're both in our beds, sound asleep.
Well, Mom and Dad, that's right about when you found us. We're sorry for running away, but thanks for letting us stay in Brookings over vacation.
Matt, Jenny, Ian, Tristan