I'll just preface this by saying three things:
1) I was a painfully, boringly good teenager. A little mouthy at times, but overall, well behaved. I went to church on Sundays and didn't drink until I was in college (where I bravely made up for lost time).
2) I grew up in the sticks. I supposed there are more remote places than Deming, WA. But when you're fifteen, living twenty minutes drive from the nearest "city" is tortuous. Suffice it to say, there's not a whole lot to do.
3) I am changing names to protect the not so innocent. But I know at least one of you reads this. Feel free to pipe in if my memory is hazy and I forget something.
Our story begins in quaint little Van Zandt, Washington, a tiny hamlet nestled, well, in the middle of nowhere. Though it does boast Everybody's Store (a.k.a. the Nickel Pickle, because they sold - maybe still sell - huge dills for a nickel). My dearest friend Bianca (we're going for the glamour names here) grew up out in those parts, and I and two other girlfriends were having a sleepover on a Friday night.
The rest of the posse - Antonia and Roxanne. Sitting around on a Friday night. What to do? A plan began to brew.
We were constantly hearing of the escapades the boys were having now that they were driving. Cool stuff like laying on top of a car going 45 mph down a county road and mailbox baseball. Why couldn't we go raise a little hell?
First thing (if memory serves) - we stole a sign. We were badasses, but not without conscience, so we thoughtfully selected a sign that would not cause a traffic problem. A Dead End sign. Conveniently, there was such a sign just down the road. After dark, we piled in Roxanne's car (she and Antonia were 16 - Bianca and I were still a few months off). There are no street lights out that way so we were under the cover of night - and dove into the ditch (which was surprisingly deep) when the occasional car passed. You may think knocking down a sign is pretty simple. Well, it's not. What we failed to recognize is that the sign post itself was probably ten feet tall. So once we had that sucker down, we couldn't fit it into the sedan Roxanne was driving. We thought fast - we opened the trunk, two of us climbed in, and held onto the signpost as it lay across the back of the car. The mile drive back to Bianca's house was harrowing - considering the sign went about three feet into the oncoming lane. Brilliant!
Once safely back at Bianca's house, we stashed the sign and cooked up a bunch of spaghetti. Noodles only, no sauce. I'm not sure if we had a plan for them at that moment, but we packed up the pasta and headed to town.
Next on the agenda - supplies. We went to the first grocery store as we came into Bellingham and loaded up - toilet paper, eggs, and plastic forks. If you are not familiar with teenage pranks, three of the basics are tp-ing, egging, and - wait for it - forking. I will explain this later and it is supremely stupid. But I digress.
We checked out and as we were loading our loot in the parking lot one of us noticed the car of an upperclassman - aka, victim number one. This is where the pasta was deployed. I can't remember completely, but somehow the pasta ended up all over the hood of her car. Yes, lame. But I'm pretty sure she was pissed and thought someone else did it - boys. HA!
That was only half of the spaghetti - I think we threw the rest at some random pedestrian on the way back out to the county.
Victim number 2 was not really a victim at all. He was a 19 or 20 year old guy who was the driver when a bunch of guys from my class egged my house the previous summer. The worst part was they were INVITED to my party - and egged my house instead. This is where the forking came in - we each took a pack of plastic forks and stuck them all over in his (parents) front lawn. Oh my stars! What a bunch of hooligans! I would be surprised if we didn't throw some eggs as well. It would have only been fitting.
Victim number 3 was a guy in our class. He lived right on the main highway and for some reason we felt his house would be a good one to toilet paper.
We slowed down in front and Roxanne cut the lights as we pulled into the driveway. We jumped out, armed with our toilet paper. I'm sure army crawling was involved. We needed to move fast, and have our getaway car ready if we needed to flee. Remember, the headlights are out on the car, and it's probably about 1 am. Three of us were doing a VERY CRAPPY JOB of toilet papering (we had little or no experience) and Roxanne began to back down the driveway onto the highway to get turned around.
And then we heard it - a screech and a crash.The three of us ran down to the highway to find Roxanne sitting dazed in the drivers seat, a truck with a dented front fender and a really pissed off dude.
We all jumped into the car and I won't name any names but ONE of us yelled "Drive, drive!" Roxanne threw the car into gear and drove.
Truck guy ran to his truck and tore after us. At this point we knew we couldn't outrun him so we pulled into the our high school parking lot. Someone was a quick thinker and explained to angry truck guy that we wanted to get off the freeway and under some lights! Whew - hit and run charge averted!
Numbers were exchanged - but no pleasantries. Angry truck guy left (looking back, I'm pretty sure he was drunk) and we sat in the deserted parking lot. I think we were probably crying at this point. We were in massive trouble, for sure.
The crying continued all the way back to Bianca's house, and the last thing I remember about the night was sitting on Bianca's floor in a circle, hands clasped in prayer. Please God, please don't let our parents find out. The prayer of a teenager.
I don't know about anyone else, but my parents didn't find out. In fact, I told my mother nearly six years later. She was still shocked. But she couldn't ground me.
So that's my story of teenage shenanigans. After this night, I was a little gun shy about pranks and tomfoolery - and then I went out with a guy for two years and became insufferably lame and boring.
But I'll always have that night! Thanks ladies!