We Are Rebels.

Jason, Carson, and I are bad kids. Bad, bad kids. Shame on us.

We wanted to go to the pool, but it was locked because of the storms. Did that faze us? No way. We hopped the fence and went in anyway.

Just as I was about to go in, this fat employee lady yelled from across the resort, "OUT OF THE POOL!" and began waddling over. She resembled Mrs. Puff. So I quickly ran over to my clothes and put them on while she loomed closer. "Come on, guys!" I shouted to my oblivious brothers, trying to by the sweet, innocent one. "OUT OF THE POOL!" she shouted again, in an ugly witch voice. Jason got out and jumped the fence like a jackrabbit, stealthily getting away. He walked in the direction opposite of our condo, so she wouldn't track our room or anything.

Meanwhile, Carson was taking FOREVER to put on his clothes and dry off. I went over to him while Mrs. Puff watched us silently. I feebly tried to hop the fence, but was unsuccessful. I stood there, unsure of what to do, pretending like Mrs. Puff was not glaring at me sharply.

I timidly tried to hop the fence again, but to no avail. "Would you like to get out over here?" Mrs. Puff growled, unlocking the fence.

"Oh, sure," I said sweetly, pretending like I was not silently begging for her to say that very phrase. I walked briskly to the gate, said a sugary "Thank you!" to the Puffinator, and walked in the same direction of Jason while Carson lagged behind me. We all pretended like we were unaware that we were not even supposed to have been swimming, but I'm sure she saw me hopping the fence (I had to very obviously climb on 2 chairs) and just kept it to herself.

Ah, safety. We arrived back to our condo, only to hear the phone ring. My dad picked it up, and started talking.

"Hello?........Yes.......Yes....."

We were positive that Mrs. Puff had somehow tracked us down, found out what condo we were staying in, and waddled back to the front office to call our parents and report our mischievious behaivior. But how? Did she have spies out looking for us, tracking down our every move?

We all looked at each other, laughing at this bizarre situation. Papa finally hung up the phone.

"Who was it?" I asked innocently.

"Oh, it was the resort manager of another resort, wanting to know if we still wanted our reservation."

Sigh. Our rebellious streak ended steadfastly. But lo and behold, this is the start of...

Bad to the [Bone] Heather. (da nuh nuh nuh nuh)