The Last Talk

Now, for some unknown reason, YMPA school decided to end early because of some meeting with the directors of the YMPA.

That's ironic.

  Nonetheless, that means I could go to Greg's house earlier. At six instead of eight, I headed to his house, anxious but also exhilarated to find out anything else Mr. Drails, or those other guys from Mexico were doing.

They would probably be defending the Xeno and the Armonk, unless the Xeno is somewhere else in the YMPA grounds.

I walked over to Greg's house nervously. I knocked on the door, saw Greg's humongous mom, then rushed up to the living room.

"Hey Greg," I said, catching his attention immediately. He has this sort of way of turning his head, that he whips his head towards the person talking. It goes faster than the frames per second you can even see, if that makes any sense.

  "What's good, bro," Greg said, and we dabbed each other up. Dabbed is such a weird word.