We're not really going on a hike even though Big Moose Mountain is a hiking place with a breathtaking view once you're on the top of the mountain. One of the reasons is that Dylan didn't bring his hiking stuff, and I don't own one. And for Isaiah, I don't think he's had time to prepare for this considering my mom and Bill just talked to him in such a late notice. But Dylan did describe the length and surface.

Before you reach the top, you have to trek 4 miles. Now, I'm not really a big fan of "miles" because in the Philippines, we always use kilometers, so when Dylan explained it to me, I was the only one who looked like an idiot. He didn't clear it, though, so I had to search it on internet: "what is 4 miles in kilometer". And I got the 6.4 kilometers as a result.

Still I must have looked like a real idiot.

As he told me, when entering the trail, you will be greeted with hardwood forest consisting of maple, beech, and birch, and as you enter the trail, you will see a lot of stuff that's abandoned but preserved greatly such as the old fire warden cabin – a symbol of Maine's historic dedication to the protection and preservation of its natural resources. As you continue to trek, the path will be quite steep and rough, but while trekking, you will get a glimpse of the towns surrounding the mountain which is certainly breathtaking. Once you're on the top, which will take an hour or so, depending on how fast you trek.

Earlier, Isaiah went to the nearest town to go grocery shopping as he didn't seem to be interested with what Dylan was telling me about the mountain. In fact, he seemed irritated. Surprisingly, Dylan let Isaiah use his car. Maybe because he thought that we really needed food and a few things while we're here. I expected that there would be a bit of an argument between the two, considering they always like to throw shades at each other. Maybe I judged them too early, or maybe not.

So Dylan kept telling me about this place and how it is special to him in so many ways as this place is the first area where his dad took him to go trekking, and at that time, he wasn't really interested at that sport because he couldn't really think of why someone would like doing this. But eventually, when they reached the top, his perception changed and his dad was able to convince that trekking is good.

It's so nice to listen to the person who shares what they like to do, and talk about their experiences.

Me, I really don't have much experience with trekking, or mountain climbing. Even if I wanted to, my mom would never let me as it's too risky for my age. If you have a Filipina mom, you would understand. Filipina moms are quite scary, and the tsinelas; you don't want them holding a tsinelas. Otherwise, get ready to sleep as you cry your eyes out. Filipino moms, in general, are terror moms. But they can also be the most loving humans you'd ever meet.

"Oh good, he's back." Dylan stands up from his seat, and we both look out the window. "Damn, it's night already. I wish he bought some meat so we could grill. There's a griller outside we can use. Just have to ask from the reception for permission though."

"Goody." I feel excitement rushes through me. "I'm quite hungry. We better start preparing. Otherwise, I'd tell my mom that both of you are not taking care me. Get her to slap you with some tsinelas."

"Oh fuck off," Dylan laughs as he rolls his eyes.

We meet with Isaiah who is carrying a few grocery bags. I look at what he purchased: chicken, pork meat, colas, a few chips, and a card game like Uno, which by the way, I don't know how to play.

"Do you know how to play Uno?" he asks me, and I shake my head.

The look on Isaiah's face tells me he's not expecting what I answered. It appears, though, he wants to start ranting, and I just put up a peace sign. He sighs then nods his head. I take one of the bags from his hand, and our skin briefly makes contact. He looks at me for a few seconds before walking ahead.

Dylan tells us that he got permission from the reception to use the griller, and he seems really excited as he rushes back to our room.

A few minutes later, Isaiah comes back with a different card in his hand. "Please tell me you know how to play Cards Against Humanity." I nod my head, laughing, and he sighs in relief. "Good, because regardless, I'm going to teach you to play this shit. I'm not a having no as an answer." He laughs.

"Okay, start the griller, Isaiah. I'm going to marinade those meat with these," he holds up a limes, garlic clove, and pepper. "We could make a cilantro-lime chicken. Might work well with the pork meat, too."

"No, no," I tell Dylan. I mean, I'm not really an expert on food. But I don't like a citrusy chicken or meat. It just doesn't work for me. Dylan looks at me with confusion etched on his face. "I mean, for the chicken yes, I guess I could try. But I've got a better idea on what to marinade the pork in. Isaiah, did you buy a ketchup?"

"Why would I buy a ketchup?" he asks me, confused, his eyes squinting.

"You don't marinade the chicken or meat in ketchup?" They shake their heads. "It's better. Trust me on this. Either you guys don't really marinade meat in ketchup, or what I watched on Youtube is a lie. Those are American content-creators. Oh, this would be better with rice."

"I bought rice, it's in the other bag. I got you." Isaiah shakes his head in amusement. "Sarah told me Filipinos love rice. So I assumed that you would want to eat rice tonight, or tomorrow, so I bought it for you."

"You're starting to be nice. Honestly, it's creeping me out." Dylan butts in.

"Shut the fuck up, Dylan. I'm not talking to you, you piece of shit."

"And that's the Isaiah I know. The asshole."

"Stop it, you two. Come on," I tell them, almost pleading. I pout at them and they cross their arms at me. "It's a good night. Just look around you. It's so peaceful. We could just talk, share stuff, and eat good food while having fun. Even Tom and Jerry have a good relationship than the both of you."

"So you just compared us to a cat and a mouse. A cartoon."

"I did, Dylan. Now, as what Isaiah said, shut the fuck up." Isaiah laughs. "You too, shut the fuck up. I'm going to marinade the pork now in ketchup, and you better start working on that griller, Isaiah, because I'm hungry. I'd really tell mom that I'm not being taken care of here."

"Oh shut the fuck up," they both say simultaneously.

I make face at them, and they return the favor. I head straight to the reception and ask the lady if they have a ketchup that I can use, and that I'm willing to buy. She looks at me weirdly, up and down, then tells me that they do have Heinz, which I was hoping it's not because I really don't like the taste of that ketchup. My aunt who used to live in California used to send us Heinz ketchup, and nobody in the family ever really liked it because our tongue is only for banana ketchup. And that's a fact. But I guess this would have to do. I just need to put less, and a bit of salt and pepper. That should work.

The reception lady, whose name I forgot to ask, hands me the ketchup she got from the room she went it, but does not ask for payment. She just nods her head and winks, which quite creeps me out. I mean, she's not old, but she shouldn't be doing that. I'm still considered a minor for fuck's sake.

After that weird encounter with the reception lady, I head back to the room to get a few things such as plate, forks, and other stuff that I need, then head back down. The reception lady, as I walk across her, smiles at me and I just give a small, awkward nod.

God, did she flirt with Dylan as well?

"Okay, so here it is. Pass me the salt and pepper please." Dylan hands me what I asked, and watches me marinade the pork with ketchup while Isaiah is blowing fans on the grill with a hand fan.

Dylan seems curious as to how I marinade the pork, spreading the ketchup, salt and pepper all over the meat with my bare hands. He doesn't seem disgusted though. Fuck, I haven't even washed hands.

This is so disgusting.

Once the pork is ready, Dylan starts working on the chicken and I hand Isaiah the marinated pork. Our skin briefly touches again, then he reaches for my arm. He holds my wrist, pulling me forward, then slowly he gives me the hand fan.

"You do that." He laughs at my reaction. "Seems like you're an expert on grilling."

"You piece of shit," I shake my head while laughing, glaring at him but the amusement in my eyes are visible. "I'm being played dirty here, damn it."

Both Isaiah and Dylan look at me, laughing at how Isaiah did me dirty. I make face again, which make them laugh harder. I start fanning, setting the coals on fire. Man, I miss doing this back in the Philippines.

Whenever there are parties or occasions, grilling porkchops and eggplants are always served. Most of the time, my mom would season the porkchops with banana ketchup, Sprite (yes, the drink), salt, soy sauce, and a juice of calamansi, and then she would marinate the porkchops overnight. And trust me, almost everyone loves that.

Here, my options are limited, and I wish I could have told my mom to buy some banana ketchup that I can carry anywhere just in case I need it. Most likely, I'm going to need it always. I don't like the ketchup in school.

After half an hour of grilling, Dylan and Isaiah have prepared the table overlooking the lake and the mountains. The sky is pitch black, dotted in stars and the moon is shining as bright as ever. Isaiah puts a couple of plates on the table, then grabs a few utensils while Dylan grabs the alcoholic beverages on the table. Now, I'm not really drinking alcohol since I don't like the taste, but I can drink. Max and I drink occasionally, but with permission from our moms.

"Here's the rice," Isaiah grins as he places a plate of rice on the table.

"You know how to cook rice?"

"Of course, I do." He rolls his eyes, and I stick my tongue out. "Give me some credit. I do household stuff, too."

"That's hard to believe." Dylan butts in.

"Dylan, do you want to get some still hot grilled chicken in your mouth?"

Dylan shrugs. After grilling the last chicken and pork, we all take a seat and wiggle in excitement, which make the boys laugh. I stick my tongue out again, as if I'm a freaking ten-year old kid, and grab my plate.

Isaiah opens the alcoholic beverages that I don't recognize, pours it to our cups, then hands me spoon and fork. I thank him, but start using my hands to eat. Both Dylan and Isaiah have this expression that it's so funny I wish I could have taken picture.

"Try eating with your hands. Give my culture some love," I tell them as I continue eating. Isaiah doesn't seem sure, but Dylan seems interested. "Okay, your fingers should go like this, and you use your thumb to push the food into your mouth. Hmm, this is really good. Thought that Heinz ketchup wouldn't do good."

"Hold on, hold on, hold on," Dylan grabs his phone and starts recording while he starts eating his food using his free hand. Isaiah does the same. "God, this is crazy. I never thought I would be eating with my bare hands, but it's totally cool."

"Yeah, I think the food tastes a lot better when you're eating with bare hands." Isaiah agrees, moans in agreement as he eats. "Man, you did good marinating the pork."

"Ako pa ba," I tell them.

"What does that mean?" Isaiah asks.

"It's a Filipino expression," I start explaining as I chew on my food. Mom would kill me. "Basically, it just means, I'm the best. Literally it means 'I'm still me', and you say it to the people who don't expect that you're going to do good and you tell them right in the face that you're the best after you proved that you can do it."

"Ako pa ba," Isaiah says in the most American accent he has, and I laugh. "Wait, wait, toast up!" We all raise our cups and drink it. I definitely don't have permission from my mom. So it's best not to put this on my story. Good decision.

It has been a long night, and I'm pretty much drunk. I know I'm drunk because my world is spinning, and I get tripped a lot. Dylan is wasted as well as he's been telling us gibberish things. On the other hand, Isaiah seems to be the only person who is immune to alcohol. We've been drinking for a few hours, and we shared what we used to do before all of us met each other. At some point, Dylan and Isaiah talked about Dylan's ex but they were just simply talking – no grudge, no you son of a bitch.

But my world is still spinning, and my head is pounding. I think I've vomited once. I'm not really sure. I remember drinking water though. I grab another cup of alcohol, and Isaiah forcefully grabs it from me. I pout.

"You're drunk enough." He tells me, and I'm pretty sure my eyes are pleading. Isaiah shakes his head. "No. It's bad enough our room would smell alcohol. And this dumb ass bitch just decided to sleep on the table. Hold up, I'm going to bring him to the room. You stay here, and keep your hands off the cup."

I grudgingly nod my head.

Isaiah comes back a few minutes later, and I'm just staring at the sea. I'm about to stand up when Isaiah grabs my wrist.

"I want to go swimming to the sea," I tell him, still in a pout.

"First, that's not a sea. That's a lake."

"But it has waters on it,"

"I thought people were supposed to be smart and honest when they're drunk," Isaiah mutters. I squint my eyes at him. "How come you're being a stupid drunk?"

"But I really want to try that,"

"No,"

Isaiah starts guiding me to our room, but I get tripped every now and then. My arm is wrapped around his neck, while his arm is on my waist, supporting my weight. Slowly we walk upstairs, and after a few minutes of him basically carrying me, we arrive in our room. Dylan is already sprawled on the bed, sleeping peacefully. And Isaiah basically throws me on the bed.

"Don't you dare vomit on me, or I'd kill you."

"I won't." I mutter.

He pushes me until I'm in the middle, and he goes in beside me. My head hurts, so I shut my eyes, taking deep breaths. Once I'm comfortable enough, I wrap my arms around to the hard pillow beside me.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing?"

"Why is the pillow here not soft?" I grumble. And the pillow is warm. "I'm going to rate them bad because the pillows are not soft. One star."

"Bro, I'm not a pillow. You're literally sleeping on me, and stop touching my goddamn nipple. This is weird. Man, this is the reason why people should drink moderately. I think I'm being sexually harassed here. Help."

"But in fairness, the pillow smells nice."

I scooch closer, putting my leg on top of the pillow, and hugging it tight. I hear a few grumbles, but it stops a few moments later. I sigh in contentment as I get more comfortable as each second ticks by. Hmm, the pillow is so warm, and the more I sleep on it, the more I actually want to sleep more on it. I'm taking that rate back. I'd give them five stars for warm and hard pillows.

"Oh great, now, he's giving me hickeys."

I think I'd rate them four stars. The pillow is a talker.

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Author's Note: Hello, everyone! I'm back! It's been a long time since I posted an update for this story. I'm pretty sure all of you have seen my message about what happened to me. Thank you for all the support and encouraging message you send me.

On top of that, I'm looking for someone who speaks Spanish because I want to improve it. In the future, I would love to write in Spanish. Por favor, si alguien aquí habla español, enviame un mensaje.

¡Gracias!