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Ski Naked (cont.)
"We're, like, the naked class," shrieks a tall girl named Amanda. "Everybody has seen everybody naked, so nudity is no big deal to us. In fact, we're so close as a group that it doesn't matter if we see each other naked." I remain at a safe distance from the tub. Thankfully, everybody keeps their swimsuits on, but it's not always so. A kid named Josh leans over and whispers, "You should have seen last night what they were doing! They were totally flashing each other." As I'm exiting the hot tub area, Sondag appears tubside, clapping her hands and urging the kids to get ready for six o'clock Mass. A half-hour later we're sitting near the back of St. Mary's Roman Catholic Church on French Street, downtown. The priest's sermon, recalling his youthful days as a missionary, doesn't garner much attention as the kids use stubby pencils to play hangman on the backs of their programs. Afterward, on the bus ride home, Tyler asks Tim Russell a question. "Mr. Russell, if you drank a buttload of wine from Mass and then you went driving in your car, could you get stopped for a DUI?" "What?" Russell asks, perplexed. "You know, the wine is Jesus' blood, right? So if you drank a whole buttload, could they nail you for a DUI?" "That's a stupid question," somebody says from the back. "No, it's not," Tyler counters. "It would be a concern if you were a priest and you had to drive somewhere after Mass." A second boy named Drew—the son of two chaperones, the Driscolls—changes the subject. "Hey, can we get in the hot tub naked tonight?" "No," Mrs. Driscoll says from the front of the bus. "You can't go in the hot tub naked, because Dad and I will already be in there naked." The group likes this answer: "Yeah, baby!"
"Is it worth it, let me work it / I put my thang down, flip it and reverse it / If you got a big [grunt], let me search ya / To find out how hard I gotta work ya." "Missy Elliot rocks!" "St. Cecilia's class of 2003 rocks!" Around this time a couple of kids notice that Brett—a muscular athlete with dyed-blond hair and a botched tattoo depicting the Chevrolet logo with flames—is holding a tall, clear drink in his hand. Several kids scurry over to take a whiff. "It's real," confirms Melissa. "There's more where that came from," Brett says. "Whoa, you're going to get busted," says Juan, who asks Brett where he scored. "Can't say, but put it this way: He's a very cool dude." Some of the kids grab a glass of orange juice, and Brett spikes their cups. Word travels fast that bad behavior is about to go down in the girls' condo. A stream of curious kids—the naive and the not-so-naive—file into the room to gawk, as if they're about to witness a train wreck. After a few minutes, the cocktails take effect. "Let's play Fuck the Dealer," Katie blurts. "You know, the drinking game. It gets you totally fucked up!" A handful of kids grab seats around the dining room table as Katie deals the cards. "This is the best ski trip ever!" she says.
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