"Dude. There's no more graham crackers."

"What? There was a whole box!"

"I don't know, they're gone now."

"Are you kidding me? What did you do with them?!"

"My marshmallow! It's slipping!"

"I didn't do anything! They're just gone!"

"Guys. There's a ton of graham crackers left. The box fell on the ground."

"Oh. Right."

"Good job there, bucko."

I took the proffered crackers and carefully slid my roasted marshmallow off the stick in my hand, along with a piece of Hershey's chocolate. The seven of us were seated in somewhat of a circle around a large campfire. Bree was beside me, long red hair pulled into a pony tail, the box of graham crackers still raised triumphantly in her hand for everyone to see. Jake snatched it from her, ducking his head to hide beneath his Red Sox cap, still looking slightly embarrassed about declaring the box's disappearance when it had been right behind him all along. Bjorn was shaking his head at him hopelessly. I smiled and munched my s'more happily.

We were camped out in a little clearing in the woods next to a pretty little babbling brook. Mark's car was parked nearby. Jake's car had been abandoned miles back; it hadn't quite survived the trip. It was a wonder we had survived the drive to New Hampshire at all. Most of us had just gotten our licenses last year, and some of us probably shouldn't have gotten them in the first place. And by some of us, I mean Bjorn. What were we thinking when we let him behind the wheel? Sure, switching off sounded like a good idea, but we should have realized that certain people should be excused- especially people who have been suspended from school for sticking a paperclip into an electrical outlet.

"We're gonna' die!" screamed Jake at the top of his lungs as the flimsy, white Sidekick jeep, which was really nothing but a big box on wheels, whipped around a bend in the road, zig-zagging around other cars despite the two yellow lines on the road, Zoe laughing hysterically all the while. She and Bjorn have been dating since freshman year. They'll probably get married someday. I can see it now: him in a dress and her in a tux, each with Insane Clown Posse makeup, saying their vows on a bridge before bungee-jumping off of it together. Perhaps we shouldn't have been quite so stunned when the little jeep went careening right off the road and tipped onto its side.

It was like the moment when you lean back an inch too far in your chair and you realize with a suddenly terrifying certainty: you are going to fall. My heart lurched in those brief seconds of confusion. My head thudded against the window and Zoe's weight fell on top of me. We lay stuck on our sides, no one saying a thing, the rush of adrenaline slowly fading.

"I'm going to fucking kill you," said Jake slowly, breaking the tense silence, staring directly in front of him.

Bjorn giggled.

"Shut up, I'm fucking serious, man."

Bjorn only laughed harder, his braided stalks of hair wobbling on his head as he shook, like some strange sort of alien. Zoe joined in at my side and I soon found myself laughing right along with them; I couldn't help it- everything seemed unreal and ridiculous. It was a miracle no one was hurt.

Fortunately Mark, Cole and Bree had been right behind us and saw it happen. They pulled over and we called AAA. They towed the thing and we were forced to pile into Mark's car. I ended up sharing the front seat with Cole, a boy with shoulder-length, dirty-blonde hair and a tan, masculine face that kept him from looking like a Hanson brother. On my other side sat Mark, at the wheel, his black hair falling across his forehead gently. Bree, Zoe, Bjorn, and Jake were squished together in the backseat, arguing good-naturedly over something. Zoe was screaming that she had to pee and we had to pull over. The Ataris were singing out from the CD-player: "In This Diary."

Unfortunately, when we arrived at the campsite at last, they informed us that it was only for families, and clearly, we were not a family, but bunch of rowdy teenagers. And so we were forced to continue onward, searching for a few more hours until finally finding someplace that would allow us to claim a patch of land for the night where we could roast some hotdogs and get eaten by bugs.

Setting up the tent had been another adventure in itself, not to mention blowing up the air mattresses, but about an hour of struggling and cursing later, the tent was up, the sleeping bags ready, the fire going and the snacks brought out. I popped the last bit of my s'more into my mouth, licking the chocolate and marshmallow goo off of my fingers.

"Was it everything you imagined it would be?" Bree asked, watching me.

"Yes."

Sometimes you just get cravings for something. You get it in your head that you would like to eat a certain thing, and will not rest until you do. I had been craving s'mores for the past week or two and was thrilled to be eating them at last. Several years ago, Bree and I had a similar craving one night when I slept over her house. Sadly, she hadn't had any of the proper ingredients at the time. We tried to compensate by using bread, fluff and chocolate syrup. It hadn't been quite the same.

"Alright," said Jake firmly. "It's time to burn this shit." He approached the fire steadily, a wide grin on his face. In his arms he held a large stack of papers.

"Yes!" shouted Bjorn, leaping to his feet and running for Mark's car, followed closely by Cole and Zoe. They returned proudly a moment later with their backpacks slung over their shoulders.

This had been the plan. The day after our graduation, we were going to build a fire and watch our schoolwork burn, as a sort of ceremony symbolizing our freedom from high school. We would never have to slave away there again. Goodbye waking up at 5:30, goodbye Calculus, goodbye Physics, goodbye stupid Mr. Fundburg. I had actually decided that I would like to keep my notes, just in case I ever needed them in college. Mark and Bree agreed, but we looked on with smiles as the others tossed their papers into the eager flames.

"Adios, Spanish flashcards," Jake drawled, sprinkling the index cards happily.

"Yeah, same to you, Latin," said Cole. "Facio."

I laughed. "Facio" is Latin for many things: I do, I make, I build, I start, I beat, etc. Cole just liked the way it sounded. It is pronounced "fah-ky-o." He liked to conjugate it out loud from time to time: facio, facis, facit, facimus, facititis, facunt.

After a few minutes, they had finished. All that was left to do was sit and watch. I leaned back on my log and stared into the fire, watching the flames flicker erratically, hypnotically, the warmth tightening the skin on my face. The lulling smell of smoke filled the air and I sighed in contentment. Soot drifted through the air, stinging my eyes and making them water, but I didn't look away. I watched as the papers turned brown, then black, then gray, curling and folding into nothing but ashes.

The sun had nearly disappeared and I saw my friends as peaceful silhouettes all around me. Cole was sitting on a cooler, strumming an acoustic guitar quietly, his long, sandy hair falling into his face. Zoe sat across from me, her eyes blinking sleepily at the fire, Bjorn's arm around her shoulders. He was wearing short sleeves and I could see her name carved into his arm. Mark was poking at the campfire with his stick, watching it catch with intense yet amused blue eyes and quickly rubbing it out again. Bree was stretched out on the ground, staring up at the stars as they appeared. Jake lay beside her, singing quietly and tapping one foot to the sound of Cole's guitar.

These were the people that had been with me through all the trials of the last four years. It is difficult to get across the feeling of those years, so dark and full of questioning, groping blindly, despairing. And yet, in a way I look back on them as the best days of my life. It's because of my friends that I can say that. So many things had happened in those years. Cole had a taste of fame in the biggest local band in town, only to be kicked out after less than a year. He had dropped out of school for a few months for that band, taking classes online from his home. It had been difficult for him to keep up when he came back the next year, but I'm glad he did. Jake's brother went to war, and of course, he still claims that the Red Sox coming so close to the World Series and losing was a traumatic experience. Both Mark's and my parents divorced; in fact, both our fathers had affairs, coincidentally. Bree's mother got cancer and she quit every extra-curricular activity that had once been fun to her; Bjorn started doing serious drugs and getting in trouble with the law; Zoe attempted suicide by overdosing on Tylenol. These are things that change you. These are things that form bonds that will not be broken. We were not the same people we had been when we had met, yet somehow, parts of us remained the same. Some core connection between us remained through it all.

Would it still be like this, five years from then? I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe so badly that nothing would part us, not distance, not time, nothing. And I did believe it. Even so, as I sat there watching them that night, I decided that I was going to hold onto that moment by that campfire forever.

Something small and cold dropped onto my head. I glanced upward, annoyed. Another drop.

"Agh," cried Bree, sitting upright, one hand clasped to his forehead.

"Bug-bite?" asked Mark.

"No. Raindrop."

It was true. It was raining.

We fled the scene, hastily wrapping up food and tossing coolers, sleeping bags and backpacks into the car, and diving into the tent. We tried for about half an hour to stick it out. We were tough kids, after all. But the rain beat down steadily on the thin canvas and that babbling brook had somehow turned into Niagra Falls. We were lying there, all of us pretending we had somehow fallen asleep, when a flashlight suddenly clicked on, spotlighting a corner on the roof of the tent. Seven pairs of eyes watched as a drop of water fell, landing on Mark, whom we saw was holding the flashlight. I propped myself up on my elbows and gasped as my hand felt water on the floor. As thunder clapped and the rain intensified, we decided to sacrifice the tent; we'd come back for it in the morning.

We spent the night in a warm hotel room, praising the power of electricity. It had worked out for the best really, we told ourselves. We had gotten our nice quiet time enjoying nature, but we still got to sleep in nice, warm beds with mattresses. I curled up beneath the covers and smiled into the pillow, letting my eyes fall shut. School was over and the future was awaiting me, but for the moment, I was content to lie here, surrounded by these people I loved.

I was nearly asleep, when something woke me up. Jake sat up from his spot on the couch. "Oh shit," he said.

"Quiet!" groaned Zoe.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"What is it?" I asked groggily.

"I just remembered. What the hell am I going to tell my parents about the car?"