BooksBarbecue
Back When We Were Friends
Chapters (52)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Dedication
  4. About the Author
  5. 31
  6. 14
  7. 31
  8. 14
  9. 31
  10. 14
  11. 31
  12. 14
  13. 31
  14. 15
  15. 31
  16. 16
  17. 32
  18. 16
  19. 32
  20. 17
  21. 32
  22. 17
  23. 32
  24. 17
  25. 32
  26. 17
  27. 32
  28. 18
  29. 32
  30. 18
  31. 32
  32. 18
  33. 32
  34. 18
  35. 32
  36. 18
  37. 32
  38. 18
  39. 32
  40. 18
  41. 32
  42. 18
  43. 32
  44. 18
  45. 32
  46. 32
  47. 33
  48. 33
  49. 33
  50. Acknowledgments
  51. Discussion Questions
  52. Booklist

Mike’s face glowed orange from the festival campfire, lighting up his numerous facial piercings. He held the bottle of whiskey up with a smug smile on his face. “Sideshow Bob,” he said, knowing we’d all laugh, and we did. I blinked away the tears caused by the fire, while he passed the bottle to Phil, whose smile was equally smug. “Troy McClure.”

“EPIC CHOICE,” someone yelled. Phil stumbled onto his feet to bow. A wider circle of onlookers had formed around our fireside huddle, random passersby interested in our Name A Simpsons Character drinking game.

“Mr. Burns.”

It was Jade’s turn coming up, and she wasn’t faring well. “I told you guys, I’ve never watched The Simpsons,” she complained as the bottle edged nearer, in a voice that was more drawl than voice. She took it with unfocused eyes and Mike leaned over with a full shot glass in preparation. “Err...” Jade said. “Umm... Principal Simpson?”

“DRRRRIIIIIINK!” everyone yelled.

Mike shook his head, smiling, as he held the shot glass to his old friend’s mouth. “Honestly, Jade, Principal Simpson?”

“SHOT SHOT SHOT SHOT SHOT,” chanted the mob, and Jade obligingly threw the whiskey back. Everyone cheered their approval. “I’m so fucking drunk,” she complained. “I hate this game. Shouldn’t we be watching a band or something?”

“It’s one a.m.,” Mike said.

“Well, shouldn’t we be doing something in a tent or something?”

Mike raised both eyebrows. “We can do whatever you want to do in a tent, sweetheart.” Everyone cheered again. It was our third night at the Reading music festival, and things had become progressively messy. I was almost relieved we only had one day left before I could go home to wash off the grime and sweat and hazy memories. It hadn’t helped that the festival had come only days after our exam results, with many of the group getting abysmal grades. The boys had done much worse than the girls. We quietly kept our papers covered with As and Bs held to our chests as Mike, Liam and the others got completely trashed in the park, complaining that the system was rigged, and exams didn’t mean anything in rock and roll anyway, and also, Miss Wood from Music Tech was such an uptight little bitch for failing their coursework, and they wouldn’t even rape her if they got the chance.