Umm... absolutely random. I seem to have something with the river theme, so this may/may not connect to drowned-boy. *shrugs*

----------------------------

Naturally, it had all seemed like a grand idea at the time.

"Hey!" Horace had cried out, sudden as train wreck, "Let's all go to the river, or something."

Horace was always concluding what he had to say with "or something." It was a trait of the desprate, the ones who feared that if they said one thing wrong, everyone would hate them.

"It's not even light out anymore, but..."

Horace took on a desprate look. This, of all things, was his mistake?

"All the same, let's do it. Maybe we can grease the slide in the playground."

While Horace was always speaking as if he'd been whipped, Michael spoke with the authority and bravado of a world dictator. He could bring up anything, anything at all, and it'd seem a brilliant idea to the lot of them. It was funny like that: no one really liked Michael, and everyone liked Horace, yet it was only on Michael's word did they actually go out and do something. He was tempermental, a single child who'd always had his way in life. The kind of kid who, when growing up, went to chess club to scope out people to depants.

Nevertheless, he was the leader. So to the river they went.

Naturally, they took the van. It was pushing 30, the van was, which made it older than any of its occupants. Still, it was the vehicle of choice among the group--about six or seven years ago, Horace's older brother had modified it so that it actually could go up to 110 per, even though if you attempted that speed, the driver's door was likely to fly open.

KTCH-KTCH-KTCH! The van barely made it going 60. Jordan and Ken both eternally thought that hilarious, the fact that any second the damn thing was going to break and they'd all be off to flaming asphalty death. They didn't even buckle up, electing instead to grab onto the seat infront of them--they always took the furthest back seat, even though the van seated about 16 with ease and there was only ever 7 people in the thing. Michael always called shotgun. And even then, everyone knew he'd be driving if he owned anything that could seat any more than the fancy-ass new car his parents bought him for his 16th birthday. As for the other two--Hal, a certified math geek who'd rebelled his senior year of high school to become a fast food guru instead of going into medical school; Julia, the girl who refused to date any of the guys "on principle;" and Kira, who would date all of them--they sat on seat behind the driver.

Jordan and Ken, by national consensus, were freaks. Especially according to Hal, who voted a definate "no" on the firey-death thing.

When they pulled into the parking lot, the park was long closed. No one really cared. They were rebelling, and, besides, there weren't any fences or police to deter them. All the cops, at this hour, were busy making sure everyone had a ride home out of whatever bar was having a "cheap booze night."

The wind was cold, despite the previous heat of the summer day. Julia wrapped her arms around herself, and, instantly, Horace offered his Hawaiian shirt. She accepted it. In his case, it was usually chivalry, not desire to be laid.

Michael observed this with disgust; Hal and Kira, with jealousy; and Ken and Jordan were already running, like puppies, to the river.