key lime pies

It is Pi Day. Enjolras bakes pies for everyone. He makes sure they match his friends’ personalities and taste buds because he is a loving fuck, of the sort who will walk around town ruminating on the goodness of his friends and therefore of the sort who will match pies to his friends’ personalities and taste buds before giving them the pie. Apple pie, custard pie, pecan pie, key lime pie, all the pies, as long as they match. Pie is truth, pie is life.
Pie.

The Seven Mistake Road Trip (or, “How To End A Friendship In A Stolen Minivan”)

The first mistake was letting Elizabeth plan the snacks. She was excellent at picnics and dinner parties, and we figured those skills would be pretty transferable, but it turned out that she was terrible at road trips. Instead of plastic-wrapped finger food that basically meant nothing but empty calories and vague nostalgia, Lizzie had prepared actual food. The sandwiches she made were so artfully stacked it felt nearly criminal to squash them, but the alternative was littering the upholstery with lettuce, so we had to squash them anyway. She looked at us accusingly as we blatantly failed to appreciate her efforts in plating, but she was still Elizabeth, so after the sandwiches were goddamn miniature key lime pies, and I don’t even know why we invite her on these things. She’s hopeless.

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The second mistake was leaving the music up to Tabs. Historically, her taste had been pretty good, but half-way through our senior year she started dating this weird hipster from the local college, and, I swear to God, it was like she couldn’t remember what actual driving music was. I don’t mind the occasional venture into experimentalism, but she had no right to saddle the rest of us with the various travesties she promised us were cool before they were cool. It took all of my self-control not to leave her (and her iPod) at the state welcome centre. Well, all of my self-control and a direct threat before she got out of the car.

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The third mistake was trusting Charlotte when she said she knew a good campground. Spoilers: there is no such thing as a good campground. There are campgrounds that don’t completely suck, but “good” is a far stretch for all them. Charlotte insisted that this one had water and power and even WiFi, and, to be fair to her, it did have all of those things. But it was still an effing campground, and I hate sleeping on the ground more than I hate hipster music and miniature key lime pie.

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The fourth mistake was bringing Kendra at all. Which is too bad, honestly, because she is generally the most tolerable of all of us. She might be great at talking us out of detention or happily completely group-work projects while the rest of us do the absolute minimum, but she has a bladder the size of a freaking pinhead, and every time we stopped for her, Tabs would get out to stretch her legs or do yoga or some shit, and I’d be all tempted to leave her behind again. It really started to eat on my patience, which made me want cheesies, which we didn’t have, because Lizzie brought, like, artisanal quinoa snaps instead.

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The fifth mistake was believing Ally when she said she hadn’t been texting her boy-friend. They had this whole awkwardly adorable quasi co-dependent thing going on that summer, so really, this was 100% predictable and therefore entirely on us. At the same time, if she’d been able to sext like a normal person, we would have been fine. But no, she had to tell him where we were and, more critically, where we were going, and that really put the kibosh on keeping this a secret from our parents, because when they realized we were missing, he was first person Ally’s dad asked. When Tabs threw Ally’s cellphone out the window, I turned up the awful hipster rock for almost 10 seconds before I got so mad I had to physically sit on my keys the next time we stopped for Kendra to pee.

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The sixth mistake was leaving Abigail in charge of navigation. I picked her because she is level-headed in most scenarios (including a general lack of what I think is totally justifiable rage re: the music situation), and because of everyone I knew well enough to bring on this trip, she was the one best suited to sitting next to me in the passenger seat for hours at a time. She sounded so confident reading exits and road signs that I never really thought to question it until we’d been in the desert for two hours and were running out of gas and I remembered that we shouldn’t be in a fucking desert in the first place. She apologized, of course, but by then it was pretty much too late.

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The seventh mistake was all me.

I’d been so mad. I couldn’t remember who or what or even really why, except it was everywhere inside of me: bones and blood and breath. I wanted out, before I broke everything, and so I called the first six people in my contacts list and told them we were going on an adventure. I gave them their assignments and told them when I’d pick them up. And then I set my alarm for earlier than my family ever saw morning, and stole the car.

Not my best move, probably, if the flashing lights behind us were any indication.