Party (8 page)

We walked and didn’t talk. I wanted to skate so bad. This walking crap was getting old.

“You think I’m like a total freak?” Max asked suddenly.

“Totally.”

“Serious, dude.”

“No, not totally. If you’d been all stalking her or something, then, yeah. But you did keep your distance. That’s good.”

“I
dated
,” Max said.

“Yeah, but you were thinkin’ about her the whole time. That one chick, what’s her name. Ashley … something.”

“Dixon.”

“Yeah, man, her. Dude, she was totally sweet for you and she was really hot and you totally blew her off. ’Member that?”

“Yeah …”

“You blew her off because you told me you were gonna ask Beckett to prom. And did you? No. So that Ashley chick went out with that douche surfer Todd before he bailed for Baja. You blew all
kinds
of opportunities because of this chick, man.” Like screwing Ashley, which I heard Todd did, but I didn’t bother bringing it up to Max.

“I know …,” he said.

“But,” I added, “like I said, at least you weren’t a stalker. So if you did talk to her, tonight,
finally
, at least she wouldn’t like pepper-spray you or anything.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. But since we’re on the subject—again—why the hell didn’t you talk to her all these years? I mean, for real?”

“’Cause she’s awesome. And I’m …”

I gestured for him to go on.

“I dunno,” he said.

“How do you know she’s so awesome, since you never talked to her?”

“I guess I don’t,” Max said. “But I gotta find out. Look, I know you’re right. I wasted all of high school starin’ at Beckett and thinkin’ about her and whatever. I know that. That’s why I have to do it tonight. I have to know, one way or another, if there’s even a chance.”

“Okay, yeah, I get it, but look, man,” I said, “you gotta understand something. I’m going to this party because I want to celebrate getting the hell outta high school. And that’s what I’m going to do. I’m not hanging out all night listening
to you go off about this chick again. You know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s cool, man.”

“You sure? ’Cause I’ll bail on you, I swear to god.”

He actually laughed. “Naw, man. It’s cool. You’re right, I gotta grow a pair and just do this.”

“Cool. Now, since we’re on such a unique topic, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, man.”

“What do you really think is going to happen? I mean—like, what’s your best-and worst-case scenario right now? Assuming she’s there?”

Max didn’t say anything for a minute. The crowded sidewalk had cleared a bit and I was itching to get on my board, but it woulda been hard to hear each other. Since I’d just asked the guy a question, it seemed dickheadish to start skating.

“Worst-case scenario is, I tell her I’d like to go out with her sometime and she shoots me down,” Max said, trying to sound all calm about the idea. “Best-case scenario is … who knows, man? Maybe we get married someday.”

“Bro, you are eighteen years old.”

“I don’t mean tomorrow, dude.”

“Just checking. Hey, you ready to skate?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

We dropped our boards to the pavement and got ready to roll. Finally!

And right then, I swear to god, who did we see walking down State under the 101 bridge?

Beckett f’ing Montgomery.

God
dammit
.

Max sucked in this big breath and damn near spilled his coffee. He grabbed my arm all melodramatic ’n’ shit.

“Brent!”

“Yeah man, I see her,” I said, and shook my head. I also pulled my arm away from him. It was too gay. Max was standing there, eyes all wide.

“See where she’s goin’?” Max said, sounding all excited again.

“The beach,” I said. Like, duh. The wharf was another couple blocks or so from the 101 underpass where Beckett’s funky hat was starting to disappear downhill.

“Naw, toward the party!”

“Max, man, we’re miles away from the party, she could be going anywhere,” I said. “Plus,” I added, and checked my cell for the time, “it’s like nine o’clock and no one’s gonna get there till like ten.”

“It started at seven.”

“What douche is gonna show up at seven? The drama fags?” The party was at this guy’s house near Shoreline, some hot-shit from the drama department. Not my crowd, but I heard the chicks put out and the guys scored excellent pot.

“She’s goin’ to that party,” Max said. “I’m tellin’ you.”

He started walking real quick. I had to jog to catch up with him.

“What are you doing?”

“Growin’ a pair!”

“What, now?” I yelled as we kept jogging.

“It’s what you said to do!”

I grabbed him. We skidded to a halt. I turned him around to face me.

“You can’t just walk up to her on the street,” I said. “She’ll freak out.”

“Well, whaddya want me to do, huh? You just said she
wouldn’t
freak out!”

Okay. I had to help a brother out. “Look, let’s say you’re right, that she’s going to the party. Cool. You want to talk to her there because it’s your lucky night, cool. At least it’s not outside the realm of, like,
expectation
. You jump on her on the street, she’s just gonna get flipped out. Know what I’m saying? Then you
will
look like a stalker. At the party, it’s like an organized event. You’re
expected to
talk to a lot of people. Don’t go picking up on her on
State Street.”

Max chewed on his lip for a second as he watched Beckett disappear under the overpass. Max and me called it Michelle’s Hill, after this chick we used to hang out with freshman year who Rollerbladed down it once and totally jacked herself up when a rock lodged in her wheels. I mean, it was an epic bail, bad enough to get the hill named after her. Michelle moved to Phoenix a couple months later, still in two casts. Funny shit.

Max’s board twitched in his hand, like he was itching to jump on it and cruise down Michelle’s Hill to cut Beckett off.

“If you want to go, go,” I said, all like exasperated. “But I’m going to the party.”

But I didn’t take off, and I’m sure he knew I wouldn’t, because he still stood there, staring at the overpass.

“All right,” Max said. “You’re right. I’ll wait.”

“You sure?” I said, mostly to be a dick.

“Yeah,” Max said, missing the joke. “Let’s just head out.”

“Cool,” I said. We dropped our boards and I let Max lead us down State, as if we weren’t really going to follow Beckett. It didn’t matter, because by the time we got to the 101 and Michelle’s Hill, Beckett Montgomery was gone.

Max looked disappointed, but didn’t say anything as we hung a right onto Cabrillo and skated toward the house where the party was.

I decided I’d get him nice and plastered at the party so he could forget about the hippie reggae chick. We had our whole lives to live. Why the hell blow this awesome night for a chick who might be a major head case, or worse? When you’re that focused on one person, there’s only one way it can end, and that’s
badly
.

We skated all the way to Shoreline Park and up Beachfront to the house where the party was. We walked right in without ringing the bell or anything.

The party was going full tilt. There must have been seventy, eighty kids jammed into the living room, bumping their uglies to some stupid music. We moved toward the mob, looking for the beer.

At least, that’s what I was looking for. Max was looking all over the place.

“See her?” he asked over the music.

“Dude, just find the beer.”

Max scowled but veered off toward a hallway that prolly led to the kitchen. I picked through the crowd and ended up standing in front of this L-shaped black leather couch. A huge flat-screen was mounted on the wall—sweet. But the channels kept flipping, one after the other.

I looked down at the couch, which was entirely empty except for the A-train himself, Anthony Lincoln, who was slouched down and holding up his head with one fist and changing the channels with a remote. He was wearing a Raiders jersey. Max told me once it was his dream to play for them. Well, that wasn’t going to happen if next season he played like he did those last few games.

He was on the short end of the L, so I sat on the long end, just close enough for him to hear me.

“Hey man, what’s up?”

Anthony’s eyes slid over to me and he gave me a backward nod. “Sup.”

“Not drinking tonight?”

“Naw, man.”

“Cool.”

Which wasn’t exactly a cool thing to say, but I had nothing else. Man, was this it? Bunch of f’ing dancing to Top 40 and watching TV? F that in the A. I started looking for Max to come back with those beers. No wonder A-train looked bored. This place needed booze, and stat.

Fortunately, some eye candy happened by and sat down next to Anthony. It was that freaky chick Morrigan, who’d just
busted up with her boyfriend. That meant she was available. Sweet. Not exactly my type, but cute. Her friend, Ashley, the one Max had shot down last year, was with her.

They didn’t even look at me.

“Hey, Antho,” Morrigan said as she splooshed down onto the cushion next to him, and Ashley sat beside her. Close enough for me to touch.

Anthony grinned a little and bumped fists with her. “Sup, Macbeth.”

I snickered. Good name for her, all gothed out like she was. Big fan of black clothes and eyeliner, anyway. I thought she’d get pissed at him, but she smiled.

“Just getting warmed up,” she said, and pulled a pint of Jack from her bag. She twisted the cap off and took a swig, shuddered, then gestured to Anthony with it. “Some?”

A-train shrugged and kept flipping channels.

“You here by yourself?” Ashley asked, leaning over Morrigan’s lap.

“Yeah,” Anthony said, kind of looking around at everyone like he wasn’t sure.

“Where’s the team?”

Anthony shrugged. “They’ll be by,” he said, like he didn’t care.

“They still talking shit?” Morrigan asked.

Another shrug. Dude, this guy’s shoulders were fing huge. “Naw,” he said. “They over it.”

“That’s cool.” Morrigan took another sip off the Jack and again tried to hand it to Anthony, who grinned and shoved her hand away.

“Yeah,” I chimed in, “they should shut up.”

All three of them looked at me.

“Well, they should,” I said. “A-train’s the boss, right?”

“Uh—okay,” Morrigan said, and they all went back to talking to each other. Skank.

“I’m glad you came,” Ashley said to Anthony.

“Thanks, sister.”

“Yeah, you needed this,” Morrigan said. She gestured with the Jack. “And this!”

This time Anthony took it and had a sip of his own. “Goddam,” he said. “That’s gonna rot your guts out, girl.”

“I should be so lucky,” Morrigan said.

“Shouldn’t you be out and all ravin’ or something?” Anthony asked.

Morrigan socked him on the shoulder, which made Anthony laugh. “I’ll rave on your ass if you don’t gimme my Jack back.”

“Tss, naw, you lost it, too bad,” Anthony said, all like teasing, and took another sip.

This turned into a wrestling match on the couch, which was kinda funny—this tiny white chick fighting this enormous black dude, like she had a chance in hell. Anthony just kept putting the bottle out of her reach until she got tired and climbed off him. He just laughed at her. So did Ashley.

“I was just
sharing
,” Morrigan said. “C’mon, man, I need that to make me pass out.”

“There’s a keg in the kitchen and bottles outside,” Anthony said. “You’re too young to be drinkin’ this.”

“You’re like six months older than me!”

“Not my problem.” He was grinning.

And Morrigan grinned back at him, like they were best f’ing friends. Man, it’s weird who gets along with who sometimes, ain’t it?

“I
swear
! I knew I should’ve just left you here all sulky.”

“I’m not sulky.”

“You are too. I’m the queen bitch of sulk, man. I know.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“We all know that, sweetheart,” Ashley said, and flicked Morrigan’s ear. I was hopeful for a second they’d start wrestling or something, but they didn’t. Damn.

“Hey,” Ashley said to Anthony, leaning over Morrigan again. “You okay? We haven’t talked a lot lately.”

Anthony looked at her. Something went past his eyes, like a thought, you know, but then he just shook his head. “I’m okay,” he said. “What?”

“You going to play next year?”

Anthony turned away and flipped the channel one more time. CNN came on.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe.”

“Well, you should,” Morrigan said, and stood up. “Serious.”

“Yeah?”

“Totally. You’re awesome.”

This time I saw Anthony wince when she said that. “Yeah, maybe not anymore.”

Morrigan frowned at him. “Antho, come on, man. It’s been
months
since—”

“Yo, Macbeth, go get yourself some beer, huh? Come on, now. Don’t start with me.”

“Antho …”

“It’s a party, girl. Come on, start drinking or something. I don’t wanna be talking all serious.”

“Then give me back my Jack!”

“Mm … naw, I better hold on to it for safekeeping.”

“Jerk.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Morrigan leaned over and gave him a hug, and Anthony hugged her back with an arm the size of a boa constrictor. “All right,” she said. “I’ll go drink stupid-ass beer then.”

Ashley scooted over to A-train and hugged him, too. “You have to have a good time, all right? Not sit here watching TV all night?”

“Yeah, sure, sister.”

“Hey,” Morrigan said, “you know where that drama department kid is, the one who sells weed? Isn’t this his house?”

Anthony gave her a disgusted look. “Don’t do that, that’s nasty.”

Morrigan looked shocked, but recovered quick. “All right, damn! If you say so.”

“Hell yeah I say so,
Macbeth.”

She punched him in his rock abs.
“Sulky,”
she said. She turned to Ashley. “Beer outside? Let’s make that happen.” They started poking through the dancers.

“Hey!” Anthony called. “Come get this Jack!”

“Keep it!” Morrigan called back. “I’ll get in enough trouble without it!”