We weren't going to get caught -- that much had become solidified in my mind. Although there was nothing to support this fact, I felt invincible! Yet, as I looked over at my partner in crime, a creeping thought began to take over: I used to be such a good kid -- what happened?!
But, before we can jump into the scenario, we first need to look back as to how it took place...
It was a warm, sunny day in the neighborhood; almost as if to reflect the jovial mood of us street kids. It wasn't summer vacation just yet, but the air was electric with our bubbling optimism. Only another week or two of torture at school, and soon we would be free!
Sam and I were sprawled out on her front lawn. At two years my senior, we only really hung out because we were the only girls in the neighborhood. Aside from that, I had no reason to; I had nothing in common with Sam. And as I began to reflect on all of the.. strange.. things that she made me partake in over the years, I started to question if she was really even a friend...
Sam sat up with her arms propped behind her back, making her lazy observation of the street. Having seen this behavior one too many times before, I knew exactly what it meant: she was trying to find something to do. Her head made its rotation to the right hand side, and Sam's attention finally dawned upon the next door neighbor's Sold sign out front on their lawn. A single house separating Sam's and mine; the mediator between two opposing forces.
Her eyes lingered upon the real estate sign... "The house is empty right now," she said aloud. "Did you know that? I saw them loading a bunch of stuff into their car and taking off."
I knew she was going somewhere with her statement, but I didn't know where. I wish I never had...
"Okay, so the neighbors aren't home. What's your point?" I asked.
There was a devilish smile set upon her face. "So, we could have some fun with it! Let's see if we can get inside." When we found no way into the house, Sam's plan quickly changed. "That's fine. We can have some fun out here, all the same." Again, I had yet to realize the magnitude of the situation...
She went into her house and returned with two spray cans of pink paint. You have to understand, although she was only 10 years old, it wasn't unusual for Sam to possess such mischievous things; it was simply the type of child she was. She approached me with the spray cans, then handed me one. "C'mon," she beckoned me to follow and didn't stop until we were standing in front of the empty house.
I looked at Sam nervously. "What are we doing?"
That devilish smile refused to leave her lips. "I already told you! The neighbors are gone." Obviously, I didn't know these unwritten rules of moving the way that Sam did, so she explained. "So, until the new neighbors move in, we can do whatever we want!" The can of paint rattled in her hand. "We should make their garage really pretty before they arrive -- they'll be so happy!"
Being as young and naive as I was, I could not recognize Sam's true intentions. I didn't know that someone could pretend to be a friend...
The two of us stood facing the pristine white garage door. Sam was watching me, intently. Every time I looked over at her, I was met with the maniacal smile of a homicidal clown. Yet, she was watching me, and for whatever inexplicable reason, I felt obligated to do her bidding.
My finger tapped the nozzle of the spray can; out hissed a cloud of pink paint. I jumped at the noise, startled with my first experience with the tool in my hand. Sam began to laugh, but she quickly guided me through the mechanics of spray painting. Soon, we were both hard at work, spraying lines and making polka dots.
It wasn't long before I started to feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. People were beginning to take note of us. Joggers stopped in their tracks. Children went running for their mothers. Soon, the entire neighborhood was gathered around us, completely flabbergasted! Mothers covered their mouths while fathers shook their heads. I couldn't understand what everyone was so upset about. Sam wouldn't make me do something WRONG, would she?...
The news had reached my parents. One of the neighbors had knocked on our door while Sam and I were preoccupied with our masterpiece. I know this because the crowd's timid murmuring was abruptly broken by my dad's mighty roar: "Alyssa!!" The can nearly dropped out of my hand as I spun around to see my father's livid face, glaring over at me. My mother stood beside him, a look of pure disappointment etched upon her own face.
They took me home, and I was quickly reprimanded for my actions. I was no longer allowed to be friends with Sam -- that much was a given. I was grounded for I cannot recall how many weeks, which consisted of a 7 PM bedtime and no playtime outside. At some point along the way, it was agreed that some of the dads would help clean up the pink garage, and before long, the whole mess was behind us.