FicWad

Pete rode his bike faster up the hill. He pedaled fast and hard, his friend Joe barely keeping up.
"Pete, wait...your going....too....fast!" he gasped from ten feet behind Peter.
"C'mon Joe! We agreed this would cheer me up! And you cant even keep up!" Pete said with amusement. Him and Joe had plotted a major teepee on a house tonight.
Acually, not just any house, the house of the people his parents hated.
Here's the story.
The Stumphs.
They lived three blocks from Pete and his parents had reason to hate them.
They had CLAIMED not to have hit Pete's parents' mail box......three times. When they actually DID. In plain daylight, when Pete's father had seen them. Yeah, them and their stupid mini-van hit the mailbox, the hedge, the fence.....a bunch of things, and they denied it. They always won in court, because the mother knew the judge. It wasn't fair.
And Pete didn't really care if those neighbors hit the mailbox or fence or anything really...he just liked a good neighborhood squabble. And especially after his girlfriend had broken up with him for no apparent reason and run off with some drummer, he needed this.
Joe had suggested they teepee the house. It would be great fun and he knew it would cheer Pete up. So, they finally stopped, flipped up their kick-stands and strode across the lawn. The house was all dark. Perfect.
They would JUST hate this...Pete sniggered a bit as he imagined their facial expressions when they woke up to find their home looking like a mummy.
Joe had already began thowing toilet paper onto the roof. He hoped they couldn't hear it from the inside. Pete helped, whipping roll after roll up onto the roof.
By 2AM, they admired their finished product and high-fived each other. To them, it was a thing of beauty. The laughed and bit when a car suddenly pulled up along side of them. They turned as the guy driving the car hastily stepped out.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" the guy asked. He was clad in a truckerhat, jeans and a t-shirt.
"Uhmmm....uh..." Joe said, dumbfounded. They were screwed.
"This is my fucking house, I'm calling the cops!" the guy yelled.
"No! Please! Please, please, please,....dont!!! We promise never to do it again!!! PLEASE!" Pete pleaded as the guy strode towards the front door to the house. Actually, he looked younger than Pete, but he certainly had Pete's temper. He spun around, glaring into Pete's large, pleading, brown eyes. Pete saw it when his face softened a bit, although the boy tried not to show it.
"Why should I let you off the hook!? Guess who'll have to clean this tomorrow? ME!?" he shouted.
"I-I'll come over and help!" Pete said quickly. He looked for any signs of mercy on the boy's face.
"Who are you, anyway?" the boy asked.
"Peter." Pete said blankly, all calmness rushing into his body as if this was becoming a normal crumpets-and-tea conversation.
"Its 2 fucking AM, I'm fucking tired....there are a trillion god damn PETERS in the United States, let alone Chicago..." the boy began, getting more and more irritated.
"Peter...Wentz." Pete replied hesitantly. He cringed as the name began to sink into the boy's head.
"Uhm...Pete...?" Joe questioned, as if to ask silently, "Should we just make a run for it?". Pete ignored, staring at the boy's face.
"Wentz?! Your those punks that are blaming US for hitting your mail box....10 YEARS AGO!!!!" the boy exclaimed irritably.
"Uhm...sure." Pete replied.
"So now I have NO reason to let you slide." the boy admitted, and turned back towards the house. He began walking up to it, put a key in the door, and slipped inside carefully, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Pete looked at Joe.
"Lets get outta here. He'll call the cops." Joe said, grabbing the handles of his bike and hopping on.
"Alright." Pete said, dazed. He wasn't sure what just happened.
The two friends pedaled out of sight of the house.