It started out okay. We left the school at 12:45, right on schedule. We spent around 4.5 hours on the road and stopped at a mall in Austin. We shopped for almost two hours, and met back outside the Great American Cookie Factory at 7:20.

While waiting for Michael Grey*, John York*, Harry LaFon*, and Howard Oaks*, the four seventh grade boys who came with us, to show up, the male members of the eighth grade team (Alex Peterson*, Charles Carmichael*, Mitch Landon*, and Kyle Petry*) devised a plan to trick the “chicks”. Kyle would hide on the floor of the bus and the other three imbeciles would attempt to convince us that he had been lost somewhere in the mall. This was especially effective, as we saw him dart across the parking lot while the others were barely keeping straight faces while informing us of the “tragedy”. We boarded the bus with Kyle still “missing” (Mr. Bigglesworth* was obviously in on it, as he stated that Kyle would “just have to stay there” because we were not going to look for him) and took off.

Soon after departing, Sarah Jacques* felt someone kick her leg. Since no one else was close enough to her to have done it, she realized it must be Kyle. The other guys, now with Michael, John, Harry, and Howard in on the act, were still trying to convince us that he was not there. Eventually, Mr. Bigglesworth told Kyle he had to get off of the floor. Janet Midler* told the guys that we were going to get them back that night, as we were staying at Mr. Bigglesworth’s daughter’s house, rather than in a hotel. She was joking, but the morons took it to heart.

We arrived at the home of Ms. Kenny some time around 8:00. We got ready for bed at 9:30, and were displeased in finding that the four boys (the seventh graders were at a hotel) were staying in the gigantic living room, whereas the six of us (Larissa, Bridget, Sarah, Janet, Anna Vitello*, and I) would all be jammed into a much smaller bedroom at the back of the house. The two rooms were joined together by a narrow hallway with a single door between them. Lights-out was at 10:30, and, as usual, we stayed up talking for approximately thirty minutes, after which we attempted to go to sleep. I don’t know which was worse: the hard floor, the alarm system that chirped really loudly about once every three minutes, or the thought of the boys being in the next room with a can of shaving cream and a camera preying on my mind. Whatever it was, it kept me up all night.

At about 12:00, Bridget and I started hearing doors creaking and muffled voices. This continued for about twenty minutes, then suddenly stopped. Hoping it was over, we attempted to go to sleep, but were still listening for any strange noises.

Around 12:30, I heard the door slowly creak open. Slowly, as in, it took them 5 minutes to do the job, for fear of waking someone up (too late!). As this was happening, girlish giggling and Kyle’s distinctive voice barking “Mitch, shut up!” could be heard, consequently waking Larissa and Janet. Then, a green flashlight came on and someone began swinging it around the room. Janet sat up in bed and said, “What are you guys doing?” They ran screaming from the room. I have never heard boys sound so much like girls before!

Janet and Bridget got up to close the door, and, in the process, Janet informed them that it was a “nice try”.

Attempting to regain control of their prank, they began banging on the walls and playing with the air conditioner vent. This inevitably woke Mr.. Bigglesworth up, and boy was he mad! We got thoroughly chewed out and were informed that we would not be going on the trip scheduled for the next weekend, as he could not trust us to go to sleep. He really got mad at Sarah because she “pretended” to be asleep, although she was completely oblivious to what had happened until the next morning.

Saturday morning finally rolled around and the guys admitted to everything. Even though I really hate them, I’ve got to give them some credit. Mr. Bigglesworth seemed somewhat less angry and the incident was not mentioned again.

This was not to be the last of our troubles, however. After leaving the Kenny residence, we went to McDonalds for breakfast. Coincidentally, after the events of the night before, we left Harry there, and didn’t realize it until we arrived at the school and found out they weren’t just crying wolf this time. “Harry is always trying to copy other people,” said Howard. The next Monday, Mr. Bigglesworth got visit from a rather ticked off Mrs. LaFon.

At the competition, there were a number of cameramen making a documentary on MATHCOUNTS. These inconsiderate individuals harassed Bridget, looking for an interview, made fun of Lucky Dran, delighted in covering the story of Harry, and didn’t see anything wrong in filming Larissa over her shoulder while she took her tests, causing her to become even more nervous and mess up. We have yet to see the actual video, but it may be better off that way.

The proctor at the meet made a big deal about how our school had won state the last three years, making it look really bad when we came in 3rd. Somewhere along the line, the contest schedule was delayed an hour, and we were not served lunch until well after 1:00. This would not have been a problem, had we had a more filling breakfast.

If that wasn’t bad enough, the bus broke down just the other side of San Antonio on the way home. We were stranded on a modern highway! We waited for an hour for a mechanic to show up, then waited for another hour and a half for a replacement bus. By this time, it had become pitch black and it was futile to try to play Catch the Daemon anymore. To pass the time, Bridget began doing Tommy Sherman impressions (see “The Misery Chick”). We had even been reduced to using the back of a building as a restroom (Mr. Bigglesworth was the first). Mr. Bigglesworth and Mr. Beddington* had told us to get any blankets and sleeping bags off of the bus, and we were going to camp out in the field until help came.

Just as we started to get comfortable, the bus driver got back on to give it one last try. We looked on as thick white smoke poured out of the exhaust pipe. Alex summed up what each and every one of us was thinking in three words: “Pollution is wonderful!” I hope I never live to hear that phrase again.

We boarded the bus and drove to the nearest gas station. There was a mad rush for the bathrooms by those of us who were not brave enough to risk the building. The rest of us tried, in vain, to find something at least semi-nutritious for dinner. Well, I did, at least. (I wound up eating one of those nasty, prepackaged tuna sandwiches)

The remainder of the bus ride was relatively pleasant: John reciting “Monty Python: The Quest for the Holy Grail” in its entirety, Larissa keeping Bridget and I entertained with some of her voice acting skills, followed by a large discussion about The Angry Beavers, Hey Arnold!, Daria, Jim Cummings, and the vision of twenty years from now telling our kids this story as they look at us with raised eyebrows. “You already showed me that episode of CatDog” my kid tells me in the same tone you use when your dad tells you he walked 15 miles in the snow, uphill both ways, to get to school.

One more unfavorable thing did happen, though. Going under an over pass just outside of town, the bus was hit by a prankster’s water balloon.

- Robin

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