Man, did that car go waaaaaay faster than I thought it would. But heck, at least I found the gas pedal. And on the first try too. That's pretty dang impressive if I do say so myself.

Anyway, I jammed my foot on the gas pedal and the car blasted forward at about 90 miles per hour, the tires screeching so loud that it probably woke the whole neighborhood. Adrenalin rushed through my veins and I started laughing maniacally, and Boomer started screaming. Really high pitched girlie screams that almost ruptured my eardrums. Ouch.

But I was having so much fun that I didn't even bother to tell him to shut the heck up. I gripped the steering wheel in my hands and I jerked us around corners and around bends and down hills, staying at 90 mph. I felt so light, so free, so on top of the world. Ahhhhh…. FASTER!! *maniacal laughter* The speedometer climbed past 100. It was a wonder that Boomer still hadn't passed out yet; he had been screaming nonstop since we first took off. I wasn't even paying attention to where we were going; I just roared onto crosstreets as they came…until it hit me that I had no idea where we were or how to get to the school from where we were. Shoot. So I decided to stop the car so I could make sure we weren't in Canada; I took a guess at which pedal was the brake and slammed my foot down on it. I was lucky again.

The car skidded wildly with squealing tires, the smell of burning rubber erupting in the air. As impossible as it seemed, the volume of Boomer's screaming turned up about 10 notches. My heart lurched; for a second I thought the car was going to overturn and start rolling around like in one of those crashes on TV. If it had been an Escalade, I'm sure it would've. But the car was a low-to -the -ground sleek cruiser thing, so it didn't.

We came squealing to a jerking halt right in the middle of the street. Boomer was paralyzed, his eyes huge, his face pale and sweaty, his teeth clenched, sitting straight up, and his hands balled in bone crushing fists. I breathed heavily and stared out the windshield at the residential street in front of us, the adrenalin still coursing through my veins.(and the street didn't look familiar at all)The only thing breaking the tense silence was our raspy breathing and the steady rumble of the idling engine.

Then a few screams burst through the air and the lights in the windows of the houses on either side of us suddenly snapped on; the people must have heard our dramatic halt and thought that some idiot had crashed and killed somebody. Boomer and I looked at each other in panic. Only when people throwing on bathrobes in a panic started bursting out of the front doors, did Boomer's voice come back.

"GO!! BUTCH, GO GO GO!!" he shrieked, overwhelmed with terror. Without thinking at all, I slammed my foot on the gas and we squealed off of that street, leaving all the people standing on their front yards in their bathrobes, stunned and confused.

The sudden momentum of the quick escape threw both me and Boomer back in our seats as the speedometer inched back over 90 mph.

"DON'T YOU HAVE A GEAR BETWEEN 0 AND 100!!??" Boomer yelled over the roar of the engine.

"NO!" I hollered back. We both screamed as I turned a corner a bit too sharp; we thumped up the curb and back down again, and we totaled the edge of somebody's lawn in the process.

"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!!" Boomer screeched. "YOU'RE GONNA KILL SOMETHING!"

"THEN QUIT DISTRACTING ME, BARF BAG!!"

That shut him up good, and I was glad because he was distracting me. But all those relieved feelings faded away when I saw where the car was headed. We had just left the residential area. Up in front of us was…Main Street. The number one busiest street in Townsville. Always jammed with cars, all the time; and now was no exception. Keep in mind that I didn't know how to drive this car at any speed between 0 and 90 mph. It was either on full speed, or nothing. I imaged driving like that on a crowded street and I couldn't hold back what came next. My mouth burst open and a bone rattling cry split the air; it took me a second to realize that it was me screaming.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOMER!! I'M GONNA KILL SOMETHING!!"

My mind was frozen with panic and Boomer seemed to sense that. He struggled over to me, reached over my shoulder, and seized the steering wheel, yanking it away from the direction of Main Street. Brilliant, Holmes. I would have actually said that to him if I hadn't been so freaked out. The car veered violently off course…and careened right for a Shell station on the corner. That's when Boomer lost his mind. My stupid brain circled with horror, and the next thing I knew, I was hurtling myself out of the driver's window, trying to get between the car and the station before everybody got blown to kingdom come. I zipped right in front of the car and threw myself forward, bracing my body against the front bumper in desperation. But that only made things worse. The momentum caused the whole car to flip upside down, the trunk end of it hurtling into the air and the hood slipping downward; Boomer fell out of his chair and thudded against the roof of the driver's compartment. He was shrieking so loud that it could be heard perfectly over the screech of the tires, the screams of the people fleeing the Shell station, and the rumble of traffic on Main Street. My heart pounding like a bass drum, I threw my arms out and braced my hands against the roof of the car, which was plummeting down towards the asphalt road below. For a second I stood there like a moron, holding the car up, but then I quickly flipped it over and set it right side up on the ground; Boomer fell off of the roof and landed with a thud on the driver's seat.

I just stood there, my eyes huge in my face. The people that had fled the Shell station were all staring at me like I was a terrorist, and I suddenly realized that I had forgotten to breathe. While I choked and gasped, Boomer scrambled out of the car and dashed over to me, grasping and shaking my shoulders.

"Omigod omigod omigod!! Dude, are you ok?!!!" he squealed, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

I nodded quickly, still gasping. My muscles didn't want to move.

"Are…*cough* y..you..*gasp* ok?"

Boomer nodded, his bangs flopping over his sweaty forehead. We stood like that for a few moments, our minds still paralyzed over what had just happened. The street was silent. The traffic had stopped and everyone was staring at us. A distant siren started wailing. Dang, some idiot must have called the paramedics. Then something hit me like Brick's dirty fist. (not literally)The car.

Boomer must have had the same thought, because a horrified, helpless look washed over his face and he swiveled around to look at the car at the same time I did. But bless Jesus, the car was still intact, still whole, and still flawless. It sat there on the asphalt in all of its glory; you could almost hear the corny, swelling, triumphant orchestra music. It was like a single ray of sunlight was shining on that thing, it shone so nice. Now, that was a true miracle.

Well, seeing that gleaming car revived me like heck; I grabbed Boomer's arm and dashed over to the car, stars in my eyes.

"Hey; what..??"

"Boomer, shut up!" I hissed. "We need to get outta here before the freaking cops get here; somebody's gonna notice that we don't have licenses."

I grabbed the car, swiftly lifted it onto my shoulders, and blasted up into the air, the cool, night air whipping my hair and the skyscrapers of downtown sparkling. Boomer soared alongside me, his face annoyed and his shiny blonde hair flopping around.

"I thought we weren't going to use our powers!"

"Change of plans." I spat. "Or do you want to try and drive this thing all the way to school? We're gonna ruin it and owe that guy a billion freaking dollars."

Boomer didn't say anything; he looked nervously toward the ground that was twinkling far below us.

"But Brick…"

"Screw Brick. We're flying. Do ya see the school anywhere?"

Boomer's sapphire eyes scanned the ground below.

"I think that might be it…"

He pointed down towards a spot just a bit off to our left. I zoomed in on it with the telescopic vision and recognized the crappy basketball courts, the ugly murals, and the field of dead grass in the back. Plus, the parking lot in front was swarmed with cars coming in and out and chatty people in formal clothes.

"That's it. We're going down. C'mon."

We swept down through the air, slowly descending, like a pair of eagles, our streaks glowing in the night. We quietly hovered down to the parking lot and I carefully set the car down in an empty space. Then I gave Boomer a secret agent look and we silently zipped over to the roof of the MPR, the multipurpose room, where the dance was being held. We peered down over the edge of the roof like spies, watching the people crowding into the MPR. Most of the dudes wore tuxes and they laughed coolly with packs of giggly girls in elaborate dresses drooping with hideous lace and ruffles. One girl had these enormous stilettos on and her dress looked like a wedding cake. Where did she think she was going, the freaking prom? Me and the Boomstah snickered at her as she hobbled along with those dangerous heels; her boyfriend had her firmly by the arm, but his knuckles were white and he looked terrified that she would plummet to her death if he let go. Wow. Way to go, Stiletto Girl.

"Ya know; I don't think we're dressed up enough." Boomer said quietly, fiddling with the collar of his navy blue hooded sweatshirt.

"Who cares? We're not going to the freaking dance, we're just ruinin' it. Lemme see the backpack."

"But don't we hafta go in the dance to ruin it?"

"Just gimme the backpack."

Scowling, Boomer shrugged off the straps and handed it to me; I unzipped it and tore through it greedily. When I pulled out the first thing, I knew I had made a mistake letting Boomer pack. It was a Barbie doll, all dressed up in a horrible, sparkling pink mermaid tail.

"What the shi..why the heck didja bring this crap?!"

Boomer just sat there, trailing the movements of my hands with his eyes.

I dropped the Barbie and pulled out something else; Professor's horrid potato peeler that said 'kiss the chef' on the handle. My horror grew with every piece of useless junk that I yanked from the backpack; a bottle of ketchup, a broken battery charger, a chipped, faux pearl necklace, a thong, (where the crap did he get that?!) a Yankees baseball cap, Bubbles' jump rope, purple plastic jacks…

Oh my freaking god.

"Why the f-ing hell did you pack this CRAP?!!"

I was practically hysterical, but Boomer just shrugged.

"You said to pack random stuff."

"I meant stuff that could actually be useful!! Not Barbies, thongs, and jacks!!"

"Sorry."

I glared at him and threw the crap down, groaning in frustration.

"We are sooo royally screwed…" I hissed. "I mean, what the crap can we do with this junk; we might as well go freaking home right now."

I yanked a glittery snowglobe out of the backpack and kicked off of the MPR; it crashed open on the sidewalk below, almost hitting a girl in a tutu. The girl screamed and ran into the MPR, yelling some crap about ghosts. And that's when I got an idea. An evil idea. A devilish grin crossed my face. I stuck my hand in the backpack and pulled out a handful of purple jacks. They had pointed tips that could easily poke somebody's eye out; perfect. Then I snatched up the Barbie and took her ponytail holder out of her hair, giving it a few test stretches. It could stretch nearly as good as a rubber band.

"Butch, what are you…?"

Ignoring him, I scrambled over to the edge of the roof and slid over onto the ledge of a window that looked right into the MPR; it was open. Boomer followed me to the ledge, muttering the whole way. I searched the crowd until I spotted Mitch and Buttercup; they were drinking punch at one of the tables. My heart seized up and I felt like strangling that stupid idiot on the spot; he was wearing a plain tux and he was pouring Buttercup's punch for her. She smiled and took it; oh, god, she looked so pretty in her sleek black dress. Die, Mitch….I started fantasizing chopping his head up with an ax when I remembered my idea; I stretched out the ponytail holder like a rubber band and loaded it with a jack, aiming it at Mitch's nose.

Here's to Buttercup.

And I let it go.