Overall, I had a pretty sane (read: boring) high school experience (except for the German exchange, but that’s several different stories). Fourth of July my senior year, though, my boyfriend’s friends asked me to go with them to buy fireworks. My BF and his friends were juniors and 17, I was 18 and could legally buy fireworks (in Illinois, anyway). So we drove from Milwaukee to the fireworks barn that was just inside the Illinois border, picked up some Roman candles and a shitload of bottle rockets and headed back. Most of the rest of the evening was spent sticking bottle rockets into hot dogs and pieces of chocolate cake to see if they’d blow up. After dark, we drove to my dad’s house. He’s a very sound sleeper, and the backyard was low-lying and soggy; the perfect place to set off the Roman candles. Afterwards, we still had tons of bottle rockets left. We lived in a very quiet, conservative, upper-middle class suburb, and we knew that if we just started setting them off, the cops would be called in a second. How could we keep the cops from finding us? The answer was obvious: become a moving target. We drove around in my parents’ car with two empty soda cans, a lighter and the bottle rockets. Stick a bottle rocket in a soda can, light it, and hold it out the window. HAH! TRY AND CATCH US NOW, COPPERS!!