Retreat!

I'm standing in front of a crowd of people and I'm being forced to dance and I'm wishing I were dead. How did this happen? The crowd is staring at me with blank eyes and bored expressions. This wasn't supposed to happen. I never planned to go.

My church had been ranting on and on for weeks and perhaps months on end about a volunteer retreat they were holding. Everyone that volunteered their time was allowed to go for a small fee. No more and no less. I chose not to go. The idea of heading up into regions unknown with a large group of strangers seemed to me to be a horrible idea. I don't do well alone in large groups. I often find a corner to huddle in, put my hands behind my back or fiddle aimlessly with my chin hair. Being alone in large groups is my kryptonite. I decide not to go to the retreat. I decide that serving on the Creative Arts team is just fine enough and I'll meet all the people I'll need to meet once a week at our meeting and that's that.

It's Sunday and I walk into church and someone tells me it's the last day to sign up for the retreat and I say, "Oh" and I'm standing in the lobby waiting for service to start and suddenly I think I should sign up. Suddenly I'm sure I need to. Suddenly I'm walking outside and writing my name down, handing over the money and smiling. Suddenly I'm sitting inside feeling as though I just made a great decision. Sometimes these things happen. Sometimes we fly by the seat of our pants.

On the Thursday that I leave, Jade is out of town shooting a maternity session. Josh and Amy - a couple I've recently met through my Creative Arts team - are supposed to be picking me up at three. I spend the morning in a packing frenzy. At first I'm standing in my garage deciding which suitcase to take. There is a navy blue one that I could easily crawl into and ship myself via FedEx in or a lilac colored one that is much more modest and weekend-friendly. I stare at the two of them, trying to decide which is the greater of two evils. I try to imagine Josh opening his trunk and me trying to fit the gargantuan blue suitcase inside, not being able to. I imagine Josh wondering why I thought I needed to pack so heavy. I picture us giving up. I picture us seat belting my luggage into the back seat with me so that if Josh slams on the breaks it doesn't fly into the front seat and crush his wife. I try to picture myself walking into the group of strangers that await me, carrying The Biggest Suitcase Ever Made, the whole of them whispering to each other in their cliques, "look at the guy with the big bag - whaddaya think he brought with him for TWO DAYS???" I imagine them thinking me a prima donna. I imagine them giving me nicknames and only using them when I'm not around. "Big Blue" "Big Suitcase Guy" "Guy With Too Much Luggage" or "The Creepy Guy in the Corner".

I stare down the pretty lilac colored suitcase. It could easily fit a few changes of clothes, my Bible and some odds and ends. It's the perfect size. It would fit snugly in the trunk of the car. I could wheel it around and navigate through crowds easily.........crowds of people, all staring at the "is-he-gay" kid with the frilly lilac suitcase. I imagine more nicknames. I imagine eyes goggling at me. I quickly scan the garage for some paint and wonder if it would be possible........

I opt for the lilac mini suitcase and immediately regret my decision. I set it down and reach for the big blue one and feel sick to my stomach. I grab the lilac one and run out of the garage, slamming the door behind me, near hysteria. Why are these my only options?

I reluctantly pack my clothes into the suitcase while feeling nauseous, nervous and stupid. I think about just shoving my clothes into my man purse. Then I think the lilac suitcase fits me just fine. A MAN PURSE??? I zip it up and stare out the window with the cocker spaniel, watching passing cars and waiting for my ride.

They arrive and the first thing I say is, "please excuse my lilac colored suitcase. It's not mine. It's.......the other one is just really big......it's not mine." Josh and Amy stare at me and are probably wondering if I'm on drugs. I think about saying that I'm not on drugs and then think better of it. I've only just met these people and there will be plenty of time for them to realize how strange I am in the coming weeks.........in fact, if I only continue to see them once a week at the Creative Arts meetings, it may be MONTHS before they catch on.

On the way there I talk about this serial killer I've been writing a story about. I feel a strangeness between us. Josh tells me a story about his friend. He says when they were kids his friend lived in a house. A strange house. He says that one day they find a loose board and one day they take the loose board off and one day they find thin ropes hanging behind the wall and on that day they lift the ropes up, one by one and on the ends of each rope they discover pieces, remains, of humans; arms, feet, ears, fingers, all decayed and black and rotting. He tells me the house used to belong to a serial killer. I like Josh.

When we arrive the sun has already set and I am happy. This allows me to sneak my lilac colored suitcase into my room under the shroud of darkness. I run to the front desk, get my key, run back to the car, get my bag and run to my room, where I shove it under my bed, hoping that it will be possible to access only when others are not in the room.

I head down to the dining room with Josh and Amy and am pleased to be flanking them (anyone) when we arrive. The room is packed and there are just next to no empty seats. A jolt of fear runs through me as I imagine us not being able to find three seats at the same table. What if there were only two? Surely the married couple would sit together, leaving me to fend for myself. I see a table - the final table - at the very back of the room with FOUR chairs. I quickly jump past Amy and tap Josh on the shoulder. "There! There!" I shout over the chatter, "There's a table with some empty chairs! Let's sit there!!!" He leads the way and the three of us have a seat. Sweat has broken out on my brow and I resist the urge to begin playing with my chin hair. The guy across the table says something to me, introduces himself and I shake his hand, mumble something about a lack of pollution, smile, stare at my hands, play with my chin hair and drink some water. I must keep my hands busy. His wife says something but I'm not sure if it's in English. The room is too loud. Josh says something and I laugh. Did I understand him? I don't know. The food arrives. I scoop some onto my plate. Not a lot, but just a little. I always try to take the most modest amount possible. I have a fear of taking too much food and there being none left for the guy next to me. Everyone at the table, English speaking and otherwise, gazing at me and wondering why I had to eat two portions worth. I don't know what an acceptable amount is so I take as much as the tiny girl sitting next to me. Once I pass the trays on I wonder if I've taken too little. Do I look like I have an eating disorder?

I try to eat my food as politely as possible, taking tiny bites and sipping from my cup. We're drinking some kind of dark red juice and I am aware that I am in danger of awarding myself with a type of kool-aid mustache. I finish eating. I'm not full and there's food left but I don't want to look needy so I don't take any. Instead I just try to fill up on juice before asking Josh if he's ready to go to the auditorium for the opening session.

The auditorium isn't as big as I'd pictured. The three of us grab some seats in the back. I sit silently, staring straight forward, trying not to look out of place. I'm wondering if it was a mistake to come. I'm wondering what Jade is doing at home. I'm wondering if it will be a long weekend. Someone is on stage and they're announcing an "icebreaker" game. I hate these games. I hate icebreaker games. I hate church games. I hate church icebreaker games. They pass around a bucket and we each pull out a scrap of paper. On the scrap of paper is part of a worship song as well as a number. I'm number one. My mission is to find the other Number Ones and then we must assemble our song. This, I suppose they thought, would initiate conversation and help us to get to know one another. They tell us that once we've assembled our song that the winning three teams get to come on stage in front of everyone and perform their song with no access to the lyrics and no music - a cappella. I look around the room. People everywhere look excited. I wonder what is wrong with them. Did they not hear the directions? I begin to devise a plan of sabotage in my mind. How can I destroy my own team? How can I secure my destiny by not ending up on that stage?

They say "3, 2, 1, GO!" and I hear people begin shouting "ONES! ONES! ONES OVER HERE!!!" I wander in the opposite direction. I ask somebody shouting for sevens what their number is. I see Josh and Amy in a group together (stupid 11s) and wonder how the heck THAT happened. I ask another seven if they were a one and they say that no, they're a seven. The whole room has broken into twelve separate groups. There's no denying it. I must join my ranks. I step up to the Ones and, just to waste a few more valuable seconds, I ask "is this......is this......the ones......?" A short blonde girl screams "YES!" and grabs my paper from my hands, destroying my chance at a few more wasted seconds of just standing there awkwardly with it.

I stand outside a tight huddle of my teammates, watching them rearrange the tears of paper. I look to my right and see a guy standing with his arms crossed. There is a certain familiar fear in his eyes; a man after my own heart. I lean over to him and say, "seems like we should be sabotaging this somehow" and he smiles and nods. COMRADE! CONFIDANT! BELOVED FRIEND! I want to hug him. I want to hi-five him. I want to conspire with him, plot some kind of plan that involves a bathroom fire.

Someone is shouting at me. I look down into the group and an olive skinned kid is staring at me, his lips moving. He says, "JOHN! JOHN, DO YOU KNOW THIS SONG!!???" (he doesn't know me. He only says my name because I'm wearing a name tag) and I say, "No", unaware of what song he's talking about. He points at the papers, at the lyrics, and I shrug. Again I say, "No." and then, for good measure add, "what is it?" He starts singing in a voice like melted butter and velveteen bunnies and I don't pay attention to what he's actually saying, just to his tone. "Do you got it?" he asks. "One more time", I say. He sings it again and I try to remember it. He asks me if I've got it now and I think I do, except for the first half and most of the second half. I tell him I'll try to just squat down and stand behind some people. I tell him if we cheat we can win. I'm not sure if he hears me but he starts jumping up and down with all the enthusiasm of a child with ADD, waving his hands in the air and whaling, "WE HAVE IT! WE HAVE IT!!!". It is at this moment that I realize that three other teams are already shouting. We've just missed it. My team is sad and I pretend to be as well. "Good try" "Excellent go" and "Ain't that the breaks" are just a few of the phrases I whisper to myself, trying to appear in a state of genuine dismay.

I have a hard time enjoying the competition because I fear that if one team is disqualified for some reason then we would have the chance to go. I have forgotten everything about the song. Lyrics? Melody? Was there a dance? I can't remember. I cheer on the other teams, mostly in my own brain, mostly just trying to send them good vibes. I want them to win. I don't care which one, I don't care who. I just want them all to try their best. I want them all to win. A THREE WAY TIE!

Someone wins and I don't register who it is. I'm happy that my plan was a success. They tell us that they're breaking us into teams. They say our room keys are attached to a colored lanyard. They say that color will be our team. Mine is white. They say "go" and I find my white people, which, strangely enough, includes a black girl, a latino and some sort of mixed person. We are all gathered in the back of the room and I wonder if all these people know each other, all of them friends except me. Someone calls for silence and says that they're calling out team captains. They say, "White team - Ashley Dodson and John Brookbank" and my stomach quivers, shrinks, expands, ripples and then hugs up against my pancreas for support. My team cheers me and I feel out of place. I tell them, "I don't know how this happened. I didn't sign up. I'm not.......is this right?" I feel as though I should be addressing this problem with someone. I feel as though I should hold a mutiny against our new team leader. I could overthrow John Brookbank and get someone competent for the job. Someone with the know-how. I look at my team and they all stare back at me and I realize there will be no mutiny. The image of the horde of green aliens staring up at The Claw in Toy Story briefly flashes into my mind before Ashley suggests naming our team "The Tighty-Whities". I think it's a good idea so I second the motion. No one else speaks. They smile and stare at The Claw.

We break up and get some free time. I head outside and watch a group of people play volleyball. I want to play but lack the proper skill set. The game is over and a new one begins. A new team. Someone asks me if I want to play and I just smile knowingly and nod, "No....no thank you". I watch another game and Josh and Amy come over. Someone asks Josh if he wants to play and he supposes that he would. As it turns out, Josh is some kind of volleyball machine, spiking, serving and diving at every opportunity. He is not ON the winning team. He IS the winning team. Someone asks Amy if she wants to play. She says, "Ah....no.....". I ask her if she wants to play, if she really DOES want to play and she says that she does except she's no good. Amy and I watch Josh, husband and weekend father figure, systematically destroy the opposing teams.

I go to my room at midnight and lie in my bed for quite a while, trying to fart silently. I don't want the other guys to hear me. A song comes to mind. The lyrics go, "We are spread out butt cheeks so just the air leaks".

The next morning at breakfast I'm sitting at a table with a guy named Jay. Someone sits down next to me and says, "Hey, you're the white team leader, right?" and they hold up their white lanyard. "Yeah", I say, "Yeah I am". They ask me if Ashley and I were up all night figuring out dance moves for the big talent competition and I pretend that if I don't hear what he just said the reality of it might just go away. The mixed race girl sits down on the other side of me and says, "Hey, aren't you the white team captain?" and she holds up her white lanyard. "Yeah", I say. She leans in and in a very serious tone says, "Well listen. If I'm going to be on this team and I think I have to, then we can NOT be called The Tighty Whities. I think we need to think of something more spiritual. Something like White Light." She tells me that she finds it quite interesting that if you mix all paint colors together you get black and if you mix all colors of light together you get white. I tell her that if you mix all paint colors together you actually get a dirty, disgusting brown. She stares at me and I wonder if she thinks I am somehow insinuating that the color brown, in and of itself, is dirty. I wonder if this has just turned into a race war. I wish she knew that my favorite color actually WAS brown. She smiles at The Claw and sticks some eggs in her mouth, eggs that look as though they were put on the plate by way of an ice cream scooper.

Breakfast is over and outside I tell Jay, who's on the brown or tan or mocha team (he's not really sure) I tell him that last night in bed I thought of a great new name for my team. I tell him, "White Power" and he squints at me, not sure if I'm joking or not. I tell him that it evokes a feeling of goodness. He says he doesn't really agree. I tell him that I was also thinking something along the lines of being the best.......something about being SUPREME.......something about supremacy. Jay, who I've only just met, is looking around for people he knows. I tell him that our logo, since this IS a Christian themed weekend, could be a cross. I tell him there's a strong sense of power that comes with a burning cross but I tell him that since we're in the forest it might not be safe. I tell him that my team might dress up in white bedsheets for all the competitions. He says something about horses in bedsheets and I tell him that it's a ridiculous idea. I tell him he's really pushing it.

I watch another game of volleyball and again, someone asks me if I want to play, "No", I say, "The last time I played volleyball was a real big nightmare" and I leave it at that.

Inside, the teams have gathered according to color and I wonder if I should pitch the name, "The White Lanyards" to them. The black girl on my team offers up a slogan for our team. She says it should be, "We're white / We're white / and white is always right". I think it's maybe a touch racy but I second the motion. Our team counts to three and we shout it out. Everyone stares at us. Across the room, Jay is shaking his head. Someone comes up behind me and asks if I'm the white team captain. I say yeah. They say they just got here. The power is starting to rush to my head. Being a leader. I'm becoming drunk with power. I'm beginning to like how it sounds. I wonder how "Mr. Brookbank" sounds coming out of their mouths.

It's a few hours later. It's easily 100 degrees outside. I ask Josh if he wants to go to the pool. He says he didn't bring any trunks. He asks if I wanna play volleyball and I do but I cringe away anyhow. I ask Jay if he wants to go swimming and he says something about something that has to do with not swimming. I decide to go by myself even though it's a little weird. When I arrive there is only a guy and a girl in the pool. I dive in because I'm afraid what they will think of me if I stick my toe in, shiver, hug my nipples and then slowly wade down the steps saying, "Ohhh, oooooh, it's.....it's COLD". Sometimes it is very hard to make people believe that you are a "man". I float around in the deep end for a few moments before slowly doggy-paddling over to the couple. As an icebreaker I ask them what team they're on. I feel as though it's more effective than asking them if they want to play some stupid sing-a-long with me. The girl says blue (inferior team) and the boy says white. I suddenly stand up straight and pretend to casually stretch. "Oh yeah?", I say, "I'm actually the white team captain". Before it's out of my mouth I regret saying it. I don't know what I was thinking. He says, "Oh, yeah" and acts unimpressed.....only..........I can't help but wonder if it wasn't an act and was just genuine emotion. I talk to him about music and film and then he gets out of the pool. I am alone in the pool, floating around like a sexual offender. Some other people jump in and I try to break into the conversation but it's not working. I continue to float around, alone. I am a creep. I am a weirdo. I get out of the pool and an older gentleman tells me that he likes my beard. I tell him thanks. I tell him that it looks like a drowned rat when it's wet. He smiles, does not laugh and says, "Yeah it does".

I grab my towel, head back to my room, shower, change and watch another game of volleyball. Someone asks me if I want to play and I knowingly just shake my head.

It is quiet time. We are supposed to take our Bibles and find a spot where we are alone and just read and pray and reflect on some of the messages we've heard. People head into the woods. People sit around trees. People sit in the shade. I go back to my room and sit on the balcony. I watch a girl below me put on her iPod and I wonder if it's difficult to have quiet time with Tina Turner inside your head. Someone in the room next to me is talking on the phone. I listen to their conversation. It is nothing important but I like the thrill. I read Matthew chapters 5-7, Jesus' sermon at the mount; possibly his greatest sermon ever. I reflect on it and fall asleep in my chair. When I wake up it's lunch time.

I rush to find someone I know or at least sort of know and fail. I walk into the dining room and try to find someone I know who's already sitting down at a table with an open chair. I find none. I settle for sitting at a table with someone on the white team who I know not their name. I sit down and they look at me. The Claw. They say something about a talent competition. I say I'm not partaking in a talent competition. They say everyone does. They say you have to. I say, "Not me". I say, "I'll be getting sick around then". They tell me that I can't. They tell me that I'm a team leader. I remember my sense of authority and place of power and realize everyone would notice if the weird kid was gone. I am trapped and a sense of claustrophobia and impending doom washes over me.

Lunch ends, I watch another game of volleyball and then we're sitting in the outdoor amphitheater and they are explaining the rules of the talent show to us. They tell us that our team gets a random song and that we get thirty minutes to come up with "a routine". We get something from High School Musical and things could not be worse. We break off into teams to plot and scheme and our CD won't play on the laptop and time is ticking. Somebody has a bad idea and somebody else thinks it's good. I shake my head. I wonder if I have the authority to veto. The team begins to run with the bad idea, which involves reenacting a church service and bringing a stranger in off the street. I want to die. I want to shoot myself. I want to run away and hide. Everyone is talking at once and, outside of that main root point, nothing else is decided. Somebody says we should have a precursor to the song; something that happens BEFORE the music starts. I wonder why they would want to be up there longer than absolutely and positively necessary. I put on my team captain hat and I tell them that we don't have enough material to fill an entire song LET ALONE a precursor to a song. Someone says that they do stage work for a living. They tell us that it will be okay. They tell us that it goes faster than you think and I say, "Yeah, but we've only got two dance moves and that's really........I mean.........that's not gonna last one minute". She tells me not to worry and I worry and time is up and we're back at the amphitheater. They call the green team and they call the yellow team and they call the brown team. They call the blue team and they call the red team and they call the black team and I'm wishing they would call us so the humiliation would be over with. I have butterflies and again I'm wondering if I should be here. I wonder, again, what Jade is doing two hours away. I wonder if she has any idea the nightmare I'm in right now. They call the white team and we approach the stage. We do the precursor, which pretty much consists of this guy reading from the Bible. I wanted to nip that idea right in the bud but the team loved it. I didn't understand. As he reads, the crowd boos us and I'm wondering how much longer this will last. The precursor is finished and the music starts and we do the first dance move, which lasts roughly four and a half seconds and then we do the second dance move and, because there was nothing else planned, because it would "go faster than you think, don't worry" the second dance move lasts about 55 1/2 seconds. The move includes us lifting our left hand, lifting our right hand, lifting our left hand, lifting our right hand and wiggling back and forth, foot to foot. I stare out into the crowd, at the blank faces, at the cocked eyebrows. I want to throw myself off a cliff. The song goes on and on and my face is red. I eventually just stop, tired of the charade and stand there for a few seconds. The feeling of trying to be normal in a crowd of people doing a stupid dance move, stuck on repeat, is even worse that partaking in the dance so I start up again, praying for lightening to strike me. The song ends and I run back to my seat, pull my hat down and slouch as low in my seat as I can while listening to the sound of scattered and weak applause that's really more for polite show than anything else. They announce the winners and it's not us and I'm happy. The three winning teams have to perform a second time and I feel sorry for each and every one of them. Is it better to look like an idiot without a plan and go once or look like an idiot that knows what they're doing and go twice?

The show is over and we head to dinner. A weight is lifted off my shoulders. We eat asparagus and mashed potatoes and onion rings and prime rib and even though I'm trying to cut meat from my diet I eat in anyway because it looks too good. He died for our dinner. Eat my flesh and do this in remembrance of me. Munch munch munch. Cow blood lies in a pool on my plate. Drink my blood and do this in remembrance of me. I rub some meat in the blood and eat it. Slurp slurp. They announce another game after dinner. They say it's water volleyball and I really am feeling a panic attack coming on.

We're outside and they ask who wants to play first and Ashley (the other white team captain) shouts that "we do, we do, the white team does!" My team tells her to be quiet but she jumps and screams and we're in the sand. I figure at least this time we can have the humiliation over with quickly. Each team is given a sheet. Each sheet has holes cut in it. The team stands around the sheet, gripping the edges. A water balloon is placed on the sheet and we are instructed to "serve it" over the net and so on and so forth. Water balloon volleyball. Whoever pops the balloon loses. We play and we beat the first team and we play and we beat the second team and we play and we beat the third, fourth and fifth teams. They tell us to switch sides. They tell us to switch blankets. We beat the sixth, sevenths and eighth teams and the crowd boos us each time we score. The crowd counts out loud, trying to mess up our team counting for the combined effort of a serve. The referee asks us to stop playing and give another team a shot. We gather at the sidelines and watch teams nine and ten play. Team ten wins. This is it. It is team ten vs. team white and we play them and smash their smiling, smug faces into the sand and the white team is victorious, completely making a comeback from our previous failure. We are booed off the court with our arms held high, spinning our white lanyards in the air, chanting, "We're white / We're white / And white is always right".

Inside, during the message, somebody on the stage says that the white team has turned into a bunch of egomaniacs. We break into our colored teams for a conversation piece. They give us some questions to talk about and instead we talk about how much we killed it. Egomaniacs? You got it. And I led them into battle, returning with the scalps and pride of our enemies. Back in the auditorium there is a prayer time and I fall asleep. It is cold and the music is hypnotic. I hope no one notices but later Amy tells me she saw me across the room and was wondering if I was asleep or "just really into it".

After the message I am rested up and still high on competitive domination. Outside, volleyball has begun again and I decide that I AM going to play and that I AM going to win and that I will no longer be afraid of a sport that is predominantly (in my mind) for girls. I decide that I will not be joining the ranks of the seasoned players. I decide that I will not be odd man out. I walk the grounds and find the rejects of sports. I find the tired and weak. I say to them, "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore, send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me". I gather the kids who only play Uno because they are afraid of sports. I gather the kids with no muscles. I gather Amy, who wants to play but doesn't because she is horrible. We are the Bad News Bears and we will warm benches no longer. We approach the sidelines and watch the game play out. It ends and it is our time to shine. Another team stands up and walks past us and we all just pretend that we weren't actually going to play. I tell my team that we've got next game. We watch the game and snap when someone scores. It is after ten pm and so we have to be quiet. There are houses nearby and we can't be a ruckus. We play silent volleyball by the light of lamps. You don't shout the score. You hold up fingers. You don't say "I GOT IT!". You just whisper it. You don't clap and cheer. You only snap. There is something surreal about watching a silent volleyball game in the dark with only the soft "thup....thup" of the ball slapping wrists.

The game is over and we mount the sand. The opposing team mounts the sand and then ANOTHER team mounts the sand, careless to us. They stare at us and say, "what are you doing?" and I say, "what you YOU doing?" and they say that their team can't have this many players and I tell them that we are our own team and they say that they called next game and I say, "No, we did" and then Josh / dad walks up and says, "Hey guys, c'mon....this team has never even played before. Let's give them a chance" and I feel like an idiot. The team stares at us and doesn't move and we don't move and finally they give. They say that they've got next game. Josh joins our team and I realize that he is the secret weapon.

It begins. Our team serves and the ball flies over the net and comes back and it comes right to me and I try to pop it back into the air and I don't know if it's because I didn't have my glasses on or because it was dark or because I'm just a bad volleyball player, but I drop to my knees, swing hard and totally miss the ball. It lands with a THWUP right in the sand in front of me and I hear laughter from the sidelines and I am regretting my decision to chase this dream. Our team has no idea what we're doing. We're all dressed inappropriately for volleyball. Where most teams are wearing shorts and t-shirts, we're wearing sweaters, tennis shoes and Gap scarves. I'm praying for the lights to go out. I'm praying for a power shortage. Maybe if the game is called off before I have to do my patented weak-wristed serve I can save SOME face.

No. It's my turn to serve. I hit it and it goes over. I get a point. I serve. I get a point. I serve. I get a point. Something happens and I don't know what it is but we suddenly begin playing very well together and we beat the first team and we play the second team and we beat them and we begin playing the third team and the lights go out. We finish the game and we lose but I like to think it had something to do with not being able to see the ball. We walk off the field, happy with our experience, happy with beating our nemesis, happy with no longer being the kids who never play volleyball. We are now the kids that "played volleyball once and won".

The next morning we pack up. I carry my lilac covered suitcase to Josh's car through all the most unused hallways. I take the longest way I can to avoid being spotted. The three three of us, Josh, Amy and myself, get in the car and begin heading down the mountain. I'm wondering what Jade is doing. I'm wondering if her weekend was as victorious as mine. I'm wondering if I should start playing some sort of beach volleyball but mostly I'm just excited about next year. I'm excited to bring my A-game to seek and destroy the competition at that stupid talent show.

Only 364 days to plan.