Fireworks are illegal in New York — not unattainable, just illegal.

For a group of 14-year-old high school freshmen — too young to be charged as an adult — the adventure seemed too tempting. Rise early for school, meet friends, skip school, head for New York City’s Chinatown.

With many of our parents employed in the city, waiting for the train to round the bend became a nervous nightmare. Heads were on a swivel, looking for any familiar face. On board, the doors closed and the sigh of relief echoed the air brakes as the train headed south.

An hour later, our train headed underground for the final 60 to the Grand Central Terminal platform. The doors opened, and we bolted. No one can find us now, we thought.

We studied subway maps, plotted our course and the search began.

Exiting at Canal Street, the four white teens cruising around Chinatown in May in the early afternoon meant one thing — and the locals knew it. A woman who certainly appeared to fit her Chinatown surrounding sprinted across lanes of traffic screaming at us, “Firework! Firework!” Others passed with a whisper. A man handed us a discount fireworks order form.

Bingo. Bottle rockets, roman candles, M-80s, you name it. We pooled our money, placed an order and waited in the vestibule of some nondescript apartment building. What seemed like forever later, the man returned with a black trash bag. We deftly filled out backpacks. He walked outside, knocked twice on the door when the coast was clear and off we went headed toward the train North.

Not until returning home did we examine the stash. Amazing. We were truly outlaws — and heroes of the freshman class. Four kids successfully cut school, took a train to New York City, shattered myriad laws and returned home without even a notion of being caught.

Saturday morning came and Dad and I were on a walk through the local park.

“So, how was the trip to the city?” he asked.

The mind raced for an excuse, but none existed.

Busted!

One of his coworkers was on that train. He knew us; we didn’t know him. He ratted us out.

The trouble I found myself was limited, thanks mostly to Dad’s sense of adventure.

“If I had the guts to do what you guys did when I was your age…” he said, then added, “Don’t do it again.”

Lesson learned.

Next time, we took a later train.