Once upon a time, two lost children were found in the city.

They were quite the pair. The girl, Hanna, was small. She was so small she could fit in the palm of a hand. The world belonged to her, if only so she could burn it to ash.

The boy, however, was big. Rian—that was his name—could crush mountains with a single snap. His touch was cool like water, and sometimes this turned his heart to ice.

They were magical. They had power far beyond their comprehension. But not on the world outside, they had nothing there; they had power over each other. 

They were bound, connected, unshakeable in their faith. They were united.

No one knew this, though. To everyone else, they were simply misbehaved, properly-proportioned kids. Only they knew what the other was really capable of. Only they knew of the storms that raged in their souls—one of flame, one of frost. 

That's what they thought, anyways.

Weird story so far, right? Don't worry, you'll get it. 

You may also be asking: why are these children friends? They're complete opposites. Forget that, they sound insane. It doesn't make sense that they're together. They don't make sense. 

Well, the truth was even they themselves didn't know how they'd grown so close. Their families had always been tied. Each parent had known the other set for ages, and that meant that their children were raised side by side. If the two hadn't chosen to like each other, their youth would have been very, very annoying.

*

"Annoying?" Rian interrupted, frowning. "Did we really write that?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes. You were mad at me for getting you grounded, so you added that part," I answered drily.

"Oh."

"Yeah. You were real petty. Now shush and let me continue."

*

If that explanation still wasn't enough for you, then just accept the fact that you're impossible to please. These are the characters in the story. Deal with it.

*

"You definitely wrote that part," Rian interjected.

"Of course I did. Backbone wasn't exactly your thing when we were kids."

"Shut it, Hanna."

"I will, if you'd just let me read the story." 

I waited for a response, but none came. Satisfied, I continued.

*

Now, these two children had a secret. They had a third friend, one who visited them only once every month. He called himself Youth. 

He'd sneak in through their window like Peter Pan, whispering to them in the night. They'd play until morning, away from the adults, free to do as they pleased. They would fly. 

Their Youth was precious to them. Very, very precious.

But he only stayed for a short amount of time. When morning came, when they looked around the room, hoping against hope that this day would be that the one that finally stuck, Youth was already long gone. 

The time that they had with their Youth was short, painfully short. So they cherished it, and they cherished each other.

*

"We were pretty deep for a couple of ten year olds," I said, impressed. 

Rian's hand in my hair brushed my neck, one long finger tracing the outline of my face like he'd soon forget it. "Now who's interrupting?" he answered smugly.

"Shut it, Haltie. I'm the narrator. I can do what I want."

The pad of his thumb grazed the sensitive skin at the corner of my jaw. I sucked in a breath, eyes trained on the book. 

"What's wrong, Hanna?" he said, his voice low and taunting. "Didn't you say you could do what you want?"

I huffed, embarrassed and hyper-aware of his wandering touch. "Not with your hands on me."

"But I like my hands on you."

"Too bad. You've lost the right," I said, turning to glare at him. He smirked and withdrew his fingers from my skin, but kept them tangled in my mane of red.

And that was as far as he would go. I huffed again, turning back to the story.

*

On one such night, when Youth usually came to visit, Hanna and Rian waited eagerly for their friend to show up. It was the 21st of February, and snow sparkled on the ground outside. 

They waited. The sun rose. The pale light bouncing off the ice was blinding. The children's excited smiles grew thin, then disappeared entirely. The sun set.

Youth didn't come.

Disappointed and confused, they lied on the floor. There was no ceiling, so they looked up at the sky, hoping for stars. They always hoped for stars, even though they lived too close to the city for stars to be visible. The important thing was that they hoped.

But their hope didn't last. Youth's absence had taken something out of them, the capacity to believe in something purely on faith, on trust. They'd become dependent on him. 

How could he not come? How could he become their friend and leave them in the dust?

So yes, Hanna and Rian were all hoped out.

*

"I'm surprised that's the first grammatical inconsistency so far," Rian drawled, peering down at the book's pages. "Hoped out? That's not even a thing."

I rolled my eyes. "We were kids. Cut us some slack. It's a wonder we had the attention span to write this in the first place."

*

While they stared at the starless sky, something fluttered through the open air. The children shot to their feet, thinking it was their Youth, thinking that he'd come at last.

It wasn't. It was a piece of paper. 

Hanna held it up to the artificial light, trying to read the looping words written on the scrap. She was angry it wasn't Youth—she felt creaky and tired and not at all like the child she was—and she wanted to burn the message. She wanted to see it go up in flames. 

She was fury, demon. Destructive.

An ice-cold hand plucked the paper away from her before she could make it happen. Rian read the messy scrawl on the page. He was also angry, but his was a cold anger, one that wanted to exact revenge on whoever took Youth from them. 

He was darkness, composure. Terrifying.

The paper read that their Youth had been stolen. He'd been kidnapped. It said that their only clue was the date, February the Twenty-First. The mystery assailant issued the children a challenge: to get Youth back, they had to venture into the one place they were warned never to go.

The city.

Now, you would think that these children, being as smart as they were, would stop and think about what that warning meant. Maybe they would discover the reason why the city was off-limits. Maybe they'd come up with another plan.

They didn't. They were kids, which also meant they were clueless. 

At least, that's what the adults told them, before locking them up in this ceilingless room together.

Youth was the only person, outside of each other, that they'd seen in a very long time. They weren't about to let him go just because of some inane superstition.

So they hopped out of their prison, clambering up the walls. They teetered on the edge of the rooftop. Up here, it was much easier to imagine that the stars were peeking back at them, just barely out of sight. 

Hanna dreamed of the stars, of fire that burned so brightly its white glow could be spotted millions of miles away. 

Rian dreamed of the stars, too, but only because he thought they looked like Hanna.

*

"Oh my god," Rian muttered, pulling his fingers from my hair. Instead, he used them to pinch the bridge of his nose. "That—there's no way that was me."

No words came from my mouth, but my self-satisfied smirk said it all. Rian scowled, the tips of his ears rosy as his lips. I continued with the story.

*

The two children were entranced. Like that, craning their necks to look up at the sky, they fell off the rooftop. 

It was a very long fall. When they finally hit the ground, the only thing that saved them was Rian's icy cold nature. They flew into a mound of winter snow, called to their aid by the Fallen King himself. 

That was Rian, by the way. Fallen King was a pun. Are you following along?

*

"We were annoying little shits, weren't we?"

"You were, maybe. I'm still trying to get over the stars comment."

*

They climbed out of the snow, shaking off the frosty remnants that stuck to their skin, to their fleecy clothing. The temperature was too cold for normal children, but Rian was used to the cold already. It lived inside him. 

Hanna, on the other hand, was a walking pyre—everywhere she went, she carved out a path of pure heat. The winter melted around her, effortlessly creating an enormous gap in their blindingly white surroundings.

Sounds pretty cool, right?

Wrong. It was a huge problem. 

Picture this: they had left home for the first time since their imprisonment—and was it so surprising they were imprisoned? They weren't exactly model citizens—and they already stuck out like sore thumbs. 

The Outside was dangerous. Traitorous adults prowled the ground they walked on. And the fiery trail Hanna was leaving was practically a giant sign that screamed 'Fresh meat! Come and get it!'

They needed to find a way to keep Hanna's volcanic skin under wraps, desperately. So Rian did the only thing he could do. He killed her.

*

"What?" Rian and I both yelled simultaneously. 

"You killed me?" I asked accusingly. I scanned the book's pages, looking for confirmation.

*

Haha, just kidding! It would kind of suck if Hanna died already. 

Rian just froze her for a little bit, to get rid of the heat, ya know? I mean, can you imagine what would happen if we killed off a main character? HAHAHAHA. We're not stupid.

*

"Yeah, we were annoying little shits," Rian affirmed, scowling down at the page.

My eyes, however, were stuck on a specific sentence. "If Hanna died already?" I exclaimed, outraged. What the heck was that supposed to mean? "Rian, do I get killed off?"

"I don't know." Rian's voice was smooth, but he glanced away. "I haven't read this story in years."

"I found it face-down on your floor, not even a month ago! It gave you a fever!"

He made a noncommittal noise. I narrowed my eyes. "If I get offed, then it better be while avenging your death, Rian, because there's no way in hell I'm dying before you."

He shrugged, avoiding my gaze. "Whatever you say."

I eyed him for a moment longer. "I'm gonna keep reading," I said dangerously. "But I'd advise you to watch your back, Haltie."

He simply chuckled and twisted a finger in my hair again.

*

Carrying Hanna's frosted body over his shoulder, Rian left their suburbia. Hanna was feather-light, and he didn't have any trouble with the task. Before long, he found himself at the edge of the city.

It was dark and cold, colder even than what Rian was used to. He was suddenly grateful Hanna was unconscious, because she most certainly would have complained about the sub-zero temperatures.

A sharp sound drew his eyes to the city's centre. He could hear the crazed whoops of strange creatures bounce off the tall, mind-bending structures that poked the sky.

The creatures—or adults, as they were formally named—were their constructors. These things that they made were buildings. Mountains encased in steel. 

Rian decided that he didn't like these structures, or the loud noises of the animal-adults that called them home. They were irritating. Their artificial sheen blocked out the stars.

So with a flick of his finger, he sent them crashing down like dominoes.

The earth wailed like it was being ripped to shreds. The screech of metal was deafening. When the dust settled, everything within a 50-mile radius had been flattened. Much better.

With ease, and with Hanna firmly planted on his shoulder, Rian continued on. 

It was easy to step over the land he had levelled. The path before them was clear. But his ice-cold heart didn't pay attention to the whimpers, the agonized cries of those he had crushed. He either didn't hear their pain, or he simply didn't care.

Have you—or whoever's reading this project of ours—ever seen the Spider-Man movies? There's a phrase that's pretty relevant to this situation. 'With great power comes great responsibility.'

Rian had power. That didn't mean he was responsible with it. The groans of the broken echoed around his footsteps. They whispered curses on the name of this Monster, but the anathemas rolled off his body like pearls of freezing rain.

A hand grabbed his ankle from underneath the rubble, a silent call for help. He shook it off.

Another groan pierced the air, this one much closer. Rian glanced around for something else to crush, but the dark kept him from seeing anything. It was only when the creature moaned again that he recognized the source of the sound. 

Hanna had awoken.

She had completely thawed while Rian had marched through the city, wreaking havoc. Now, she slid off his shoulder with a squelch. The water in her clothes evaporated in a cloud of steam. 

She glanced around at the calculated destruction. It was always easy for her to recognize Rian's handiwork; it wasn't indiscriminate anger, like hers was—his was pointed and deadly and cruel. Nothing ever escaped unscathed.

Still, she was irritated with him. It annoyed her that Rian had frozen her without her permission. Calculated or not, he could never tell when he went too far.

Before she could tell him off, she heard a scream. The screamer was young, the screech shrill. 

It bounced off the glass-and-metal skyscrapers in the distance, the ones Rian's blast hadn't toppled, and pierced through the storms in their souls.

Hanna's fury stopped, like an old clock that had finally malfunctioned. She was brought to a standstill by the undisguised pain in that voice. It sounded like Youth.

She ran off to find the source, Rian close behind. It didn't take long before they located it, because Hanna burned everything in their way.

It wasn't Youth.

Instead, Hanna crouched down next to a crying child. 

Her first thought was that she was small, like her. The young girl had her thumb in her mouth. Her other hand was clutching a bunny-shaped stuffed animal. Inscribed on the toy was a loopy number 212. 

Hanna didn't notice the stuffed animal. She only noticed the girl's tears, and the fact that she was alone. Where were her parents? 

Everyone had a set of adults assigned to them—except for our two protagonists, because their adults had abandoned and locked them up in a starless room—but this girl was nothing like them. 

She was pure. And yet her parents were nowhere to be found.

Hanna's eyes strayed. They landed on a limp figure a few yards down the road. The vaguely humanesque body was surrounded by rubble and wasn't moving. Their chest was still.

Hanna felt something other than rage for the first time in a very long while. It was heavy and uncomfortable. 

She had discovered guilt, a new emotion. 

Hanna had never been guilty before, had never had any qualms about burning the world as she pleased. 

But for some reason her heart squirmed when she thought of this child, and of what they'd done to her.

She glanced up at Rian as if in horror—this child was alone because of them now, she had no one, just like them—but Rian wasn't even looking. He kneeled down to take the stuffed bunny from the child, not caring about her sobs when the soft cotton left her grasp.

Rian, with all his cold and darkness and strategy, immediately made the connection between the clue they'd been given and the inscription on the girl's toy. 

February the Twenty-First. 21/2. 212.

Hanna scooped the child up into her arms, making an awkward attempt at comforting her. She didn't quite know how—she'd only ever destroyed things, never restored them—but her inexperience didn't seem to matter.

The girl quieted down almost immediately, settling into Hanna's arms like she belonged there. Her chubby hands grabbed onto Hanna's clothes and didn't let go.

Hanna was helpless. As she marvelled down at the little creature clinging to her, she was surprised to see that her fire had dampened. It was no longer an all-consuming inferno. Had it been so, the little girl she was holding would have burned to a crisp long ago. 

Instead, she was peacefully sleeping, fingers curled sweetly against her mouth, carried in the arms of a stranger.

Hanna had changed.

The realization made the very ground shake. Rian looked at her in shock, a sharp crack making a place in the frozen lake he held inside him. His composure rattled.

Hanna was glowing. 

The light that beamed from her wasn't destructive, nor was it damaging. It was brighter than the sun glancing off the snow. It was brilliance personified. Rian suddenly knew what the stars looked like.

Without warning, the child wrapped in Hanna's arms disappeared. Smoke drifted between her hands, and for one moment Hanna was worried she hadn't changed after all.

But then a voice boomed across the decimated city. 

Hanna and Rian shot to attention. It was the voice of Youth, telling them they were on the right track. He said Hanna's step was completed. Only Rian's was left.

They yelled at the sky, at the dark, at the metal behemoths in the distance. They called for him. They wanted their only friend back. But Youth didn't reply.

Determined to find him, they set off across the city again. Rian could still hear the cries of animalistic adults in the areas he hadn't yet crushed. All adults were animals, to him. 

He lifted a regal hand, wanting to finish the job.

Hanna stopped him. The glow around her had dimmed, but it was still difficult for Rian to look straight at her. He didn't understand why she would spare them. He believed that the adults weren't deserving of his mercy. 

But how could he ignore a request from Hanna? How could he, with that angelic shine surrounding her? Reluctantly, he did as she asked and lowered his hand.

Quieter than they could hear, Youth chuckled in his prison.

They travelled silently for a while, Hanna's remaining light illuminating the way ahead. Eventually, they arrived at a misty passage. It branched off into two paths, both shrouded in a darkness even Hanna couldn't pierce.

They wordlessly decided to take one each; the right for Rian, the left for Hanna. They weren't particularly worried. They had no doubt that the other would be able to protect themselves. After all, it had never been a problem in the past. 

But that was before. Hanna had changed, remember?

Rian was halfway down his trail when he first heard the screaming. The voice wavered in pitch, going hoarse with fervour, with sheer agony. His blood froze. 

This sound was not the adults. It wasn't some pathetic child, either. It wasn't even Youth.

It was Hanna.

Before he realized what he was doing, he'd collapsed the tunnel, rendering it a pile of useless brick. He sprinted to where he'd heard Hanna's cries, sending out blast after blast when he heard her scream again.

The screams wouldn't stop.

The crack in his frozen lake grew. It widened into a gaping maw, revealing the stormy waters below. His composure was breaking.

Finally, he found her. 

He stumbled to a halt, dropping to his knees. The screams had ended. Hanna was lying on the snowy ground, her halo gone. Her light had disappeared. She wasn't moving.

Rian's composure broke, and he howled.

*

"What the hell?" I fumed, gripping the book tightly. "I died?"

Rian slowly edged away from me, but he couldn't get away fast enough. I whirled on him, narrowing my eyes.

"Explain!" I ordered.

He exhaled loudly, settling at the end of the couch. "I don't know! I didn't get that far," he said defensively. 

My eyes narrowed further.

He rolled his own. "I started feeling feverish when the screams started, okay? I really can't remember what happens next." His tone became wry. "And then you actually turned up at my house. Do you know how trippy that was for me?"

I huffed in response, slamming the book shut. "That's it. I don't want to read the rest."

He raised his eyebrows incredulously. "But we're almost at the end!" he argued.

"I don't care. I'm dead. There's no point anymore."

He muttered something under his breath. All I could catch was the word 'conceited,' but that gave me a pretty good idea what he was talking about.

I scowled and started to get up. I was half a step away from the couch when a hand wrapped around my wrist, tugging me back down. I stifled a yelp as I landed in Rian's lap. Again.

"You've got to stop doing this," I muttered, my cheeks red. 

"Then don't give up on things so easily," he returned, grabbing the book. With another scowl, I opened it and flipped to our page, ignoring how I was still nestled against his chest.

*

Rian cradled Hanna's body in his arms. His ice-water, trapped inside him for so long, now flowed out in the form of tears. They dripped, alone and unloved, onto the cold ground. 

His darkness had fled. All he felt now was pure, unadulterated sorrow. Grief.

Rian had never felt grief before. He hated it, hated how it tore at him relentlessly. 

In that moment, he wished for Hanna back. He would give anything, even his Youth, for that to happen. 

The sky was not meant to be so starless. And he was suddenly so cold. He didn't want to be cold anymore.

Youth's voice abruptly washed over him. Rian went rigid, but all Youth said was that Rian's step was complete. 

Rian could hear the smile in his voice. Why would Youth smile, with their friend Hanna unmoving in his arms?

He couldn't think. Slowly, the rubble began to creak. The world around him, the one he had so coldly brought down, began to rebuild itself. Piece by piece, the skyscrapers rose again. Stone by stone, brick by brick, the broken city was restored. Youth laughed in delight.

Rian's shoulders shook, the last of the ice-water slipping away. The snow melted.

Hanna opened her eyes.

*

"Yes!" I whooped. "I'm alive! Suck on that, Rian!"

I could feel rather than see him roll his eyes. "I never wanted you dead."

I grinned, triumphant nonetheless. "Whatever. The story's fixed now. I knew your dad made you take those writing classes for a reason."

He scoffed. "Be grateful that he did. If left it to you, this book would be riddled with spelling errors. A first-grader wouldn't read it."

"Shush. You may have had book smarts, but I was cool. So I win."

"Just finish the story, Hanna."

*

Rian brushed a damp strand of fiery hair away from Hanna's face. He kneeled there for what seemed like hours, unspeakably glad. There she was, hazel eyes blazing, right in front of him.

He still couldn't quite believe she was okay. He was almost too afraid to move, for fear he'd jar himself out of whatever dream he'd grieved himself into.

Then Hanna smiled at him, and his fear evaporated. 

She sat up, still in Rian's arms. Her glow was back, softer and warmer than before. It brightened when she realized that the warmth she felt originated from Rian. That had never happened before.

Rian had changed.

He radiated heat now—not harsh and punishing heat like the old Hanna, but the relaxed comforting warmth of a friend, of someone who cared. Hanna decided that she liked it.

Neither of them had the chance to bring it up, though. A sudden rush of wind blew past, whipping their hair around their faces wildly. 

The world quickly blurred around them, too fast to be perceived. The city melted away, the din of bustling life falling from their ears. 

The pair glanced around in alarm, still clutching one another tightly. They were moving; they just didn't know where to.

Finally, after what seemed like ages of spinning through this strange wormhole, they stopped. The end of their journey was abrupt, and it took a few minutes for the pair to collect themselves. 

When they did, they realized that they were in a long, infinitely stretching hallway. Hanna and Rian both trembled, because they recognized the doors. They had the same design as the door to their prison, their starless apartment, except now there were hundreds of them. Why had they been brought here?

Another stiff gust of wind blew over them. A paper fluttered out of Rian's pocket, and he caught it in midair. 

It was the clue they'd been given, the one that outlined Youth's disappearance. Both Rian and Hanna made the connection instantly: 212.

They immediately began inspecting the doors. There was a gilded number engraved on the entrance to each apartment. Even though the hallway was infinite, they knew which number to look for.

After a long, hard search, they found it. Smiles bloomed across both their faces. Apartment 212.

Their Youth was behind this door.

Slowly, they pushed their way inside. Their first thought was that it was too bright. The light shining through the entryway was nearly blinding, but still they could see enough, just enough to comprehend what they'd really walked into. 

The golden grins slipped off their lips. This wasn't Youth.

It was their parents.

Rian stumbled away from them, from these adults that he hated. Hanna stood stock-still, not hearing the gasps that sounded through the room, not feeling the arms that grasped her in their embrace.

They were hugging them. Why were they hugging them? Didn't they despise them?

Hanna couldn't understand what was happening. The sobs of her mother were a foreign sound to her, but she knew enough to realize that the person clutching her couldn't possibly hate her. Her grip was too tight, her touch too gentle. For some reason, this woman loved her unconditionally.

On the opposite side of the room, Rian's father thumped him on the back while his mother ran her hands through his hair. He jolted from each affectionate touch, sight unseeing. He was painfully unused to affection.

Their eyes locked, both gazes equally unsure. Was it possible? Did their families actually want them home? 

As if in answer, Youth's voice spilled into their minds. They both flinched, but no one else seemed to hear it. 

Youth said he had a secret to tell them, and to consider it the last gift of their friendship.

Their parents had sent them away, yes, but it wasn't because they were unwanted. It wasn't because all adults were heinous, vile, cruel creatures. 

It was because of them. Hanna and Rian. Fire and Ice.

They were too dangerous, too powerful, too uncontrollable to keep around. In order to avoid the destruction they'd cause—like flattening a metropolis, perhaps, or burning an entire world to ash—their parents had put them in a room together and forbade them from the city. It was heartrending, but it had to be done.

In order to be welcomed back, they had to change.

And change they did.

The smile was back in Youth's voice. Hanna and Rian stared at one another with shocked eyes. Their parents hadn't thrown them away. This was a revelation they'd both secretly dreamed of, but had been too ashamed to verbalize. And now it had come true.

Youth continued with his secret. Apparently, the fact that they had been jointly placed in that room was an attempt, on the part of their parents, to make their isolation easier. If they had to be quarantined, at least they would be quarantined together.

However, they hadn't recognized the blessing in disguise. Instead, they had gone looking for other sources of friendship. They couldn't realize that the answer to their problems was sitting across from them, all along.

That's when their Youth came into existence, the physical personification of everything they would be missing if they squandered their childhood, if they refused to change their ways.

And change they had.

Now, Youth said, he no longer had a purpose. He'd drawn them out of their apartment—invented the kidnapping, given them the hint, all of it—for this very reason. They were reunited with their families. They were harmless children once more. So he had to leave, and this was final goodbye.

Goodbye, their Youth whispered.

His presence in their minds disappeared, never to be heard again. But surprisingly, Hanna and Rian were happy. They knew that their Youth, their true youth, was still ahead of them. And happiness was a new feeling, one they'd never felt before. One they hoped they'd feel every day from then on, in the embrace of their families. 

And, of course, in the company of each other. Appreciation was a new feeling, too. They liked it.

*

"Aw," I said, blinking away unexpected tears. Parents were a touchy subject. "That was . . . surprisingly sweet."

Rian's long finger pointed to the end of the page. "Wait," he said, his own voice hoarse. "There's more."

*

By the way, if you haven't quite gotten it yet, the moral of this story is to be grateful. 

Be grateful for the adults in your life, the ones who care about you, even if that doesn't always seem to be the case. Parents don't stick around forever.

Be grateful for your Youth, for the time that you have, because one day it will flee and you won't be able to get it back. 

And above all, be grateful for your friends. Sometimes it's difficult to see what's right in front of you. Sometimes, when the sky seems the most starless, their shine is hidden closer than you think. But don't look elsewhere, because the grass is hardly ever greener on the other side.

Your Youth speaks, and it only ever speaks the truth.

*

"We were annoying, smug little shits," I said, my voice choked by tears. 

My words hung in the air, unanswered, as we both stared down at the page. Neither of us really saw the words. Neither of us really believed the irony. Lecturing us on cherishing family—that was rich.

We'd written this when we were ten?

I slammed the book shut, blinking away the traitorous burn at the backs of my eyes. For a moment, I wished I'd had the time to tell my parents I loved them, too, before they'd been taken. A second later, I banished the thought. 

Rian's grip on my waist tightened as I tossed the novel on his coffee table. He was no doubt reflecting on his own regrets.

Thankfully, a knock on the door tore us away from our melancholy. I smiled, if only because I couldn't stand to be sad any longer, and slid off Rian's lap. He let me go, mirroring my grin when I turned back to look at him.

"At least we're good storytellers," he offered wryly, lifting a shoulder.

I shook my head, and with it shook away my grief, before heading over to his door. Without checking the peephole, I swung it open. My grin widened into something a little more genuine.

Lisa, Rokim, and Isaac smiled back at me. Lisa lifted a bagful of whiskey bottles in her hand, throwing another one past me into the house.

"Get ready, guys," she said devilishly. "We're gonna get hammered!"

And right then, nothing sounded better than that.