We never played mini-golf again. But that fall, when Leo felt too anxious to try out for the school play, I texted the group: What would Nansy do?
Then she pulled out a jar of pickles and a can of whipped cream. “Pickleback sundae, anyone?” We groaned, but we ate it. It was disgusting. It was perfect. teen funs nansy
Day two, she woke us at 5:00 AM with a bullhorn she’d borrowed from the neighbor’s garage. “Morning, losers! Today’s fun: dumpster diving for discarded corporate secrets.” Maya, who wanted to be a lawyer, was horrified. I, on the other hand, found a broken neon sign from a pizza place that Nansy later rewired to spell “FUN” in our treehouse. She called it “reclamation artistry.” We never played mini-golf again