“Anyone want to go to The Exhibition?” Terry asked the room.
Beanie wrinkled her nose at the memory of her last time there.
“Can we maybe NOT go to The Exhibition this year?” she replied. “Don't feel like getting my clothes dry-cleaned from all the vomit again, thanks.”
Everyone but Gaston glanced away from Beanie, not able to look her in the eye. For maybe ten seconds there was silence, as they each remembered their own complicity in “The Great Exhibition Vomitician”, as the event had since been dubbed.
Gaston, who wasn't part of the group last year, looked around at the suddenly sullen faces and broke the silence. “How did you get vomit on your clothes at The Exhibition, Beanie?”
“I don't want to talk about it. Just suffice to say we're not ever going on The Zipper ever again!”
“Kevin hasn't been the same since,” said Terry.
“Look,” yelled Kevin, “just because a guy vomits and pisses himself AND shits his pants all at the same time, it doesn't make him a bad guy!”
“Now I really need to know what happened,” said Gaston.
“Okay,” sighed Terry.
“Please, no, Terry,” pleaded Beanie. “Quiet. Really.”
She looked quite serious.
Terry, however, had made his decision. Undeterred, he relayed the story of how everyone who was in their compartment of The Zipper, all threw up in unison, on Beanie mostly, as a result of the smell after Kevin had pissed and shit his pants in fear.
“Vomit!” laughed Gaston. “Who'd'a thunk you guys had such weak stomachs!”
Xerxes, the foreign-exchange student, who, up until this point, had remained quiet and unassuming, in the corner, finally spoke up.
“You should smell MY home town! Zipper-puke all the time!”