The Importance Of Going To Newton

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I must have said “Newton” at least fifty times already. “Are we going to Newton?” “How are we getting to Newton?” “How far away is Newton?” “Why are we in fucking Newton?” I sat squished against four other people in the backseat of a Mitsubishi Outlander, flattened against the window like one of those pressed pennies you pay 50 cents for at the science museum. That said, the driver was excellent at three-point-turns. It was kind of sexy. Six of us crowded five seats; the driver’s and passenger’s seats held one person each and the three seats in the back were now stretching to hold four. After convincing two of my friends, and myself, to go to the homecoming dance, which was totally, ridiculously uncharacteristic of me (I have no school spirit),