Party (18 page)

know this, right? You know that even though I got a lucky break, they’re still going to string me up by my balls, as Morrigan would say.

Morry.

My girl.

God? Listen, man … I’m sorry. I am. I’m not even sure for what just yet, but I am.

I miss her. And I’ll do anything to get her back. Anything.

“What?” I say out loud, like I can’t believe myself, and I sort of can’t.

Get her
back?
On what planet is that even
remotely
sane? She made herself perfectly clear, last week and tonight, at the party and in that bedroom with one of my best friends.

Still. I miss her. And if there’s anything I can do to get her back, then …
by God …
I’ll do it.

But not if it means sleeping with her. I can’t go back on that. Not even for her. Not even for you, God. That’s right. It’s not about you anymore. At least not right now. If I sleep with her now, then all I’m doing is hurting her. I won’t do that.

Not that that’s going to happen. It’s too late to even think about it. Man, I am so stupid.

I get home in one piece and go up to my room without waking up Mom and Dad. They knew I’d be out late anyway. I sit at my desk and stare at nothing, then try to get my mind off Morrigan by playing Spider Solitaire. But I can’t sleep, I can’t stop thinking. I pull out my phone and stare at
it
for some time instead.

“You sure about this?” I say to myself.

No. Never have been. But I have to try it.

She’ll be asleep, I tell myself. It’s so late—correction, early—and she’ll just be passed out anyway.

Maybe that’s better. I can leave a message. Yes, leave a message, shoot the ball into her court, let her figure out what to do with it.

Yes.

I have to try.

If Tommy or Matt or Daniel or Ry—

If one of my
friends
was here, he’d try to stop me. He’d tell me it was a bad idea. He’d prob’ly be right.

I flip open my phone and turn it back on. It warms up, then shows I have a message and have missed three calls.

All of them from Ryan.

Huh.

I punch in my voicemail and listen.

“Josh, man, it’s Ryan. Look, you have to understand, nothing happened, okay, man? I swear to god, man, nothing happened. She came in right after Bethany left to go get me a beer and like attacked me, I swear I wasn’t going to do anything with her. All right? Man … call me back, okay? Let me know you got this. I swear to you, Josh, it was not what it looked like, I wouldn’t do that to you, okay? I swear, man. It’s a total misunderstanding, that’s all I’m saying. Okay? Okay, call me back. Later.”

I close my phone.

Ryan is many things. He’s a man-whore, screwing anything
that breathes, but he’s never moved on anyone we were dating. Or ex-dating. Never. He’s also not a liar. He hates it when people are pissed at him. He wouldn’t risk it.

I should have known that. Should have stayed and talked to him, asked him what happened.

That doesn’t excuse Morrigan, though. No fucking way. Right?

I mean, even if she was drunk and so pissed off she couldn’t see straight … that’s no excuse. And she did already break up with me. It wouldn’t have been cheating, technically.

Right?

I don’t know, God. I don’t know.

I just need to hear her say it one more time. Just say … “It’s over.” Once more, to be totally sure, then I’ll leave it alone.

Okay? Just let me at least try. And if she says Over, then she says Over, and I won’t blame you anymore. But if you could just do this one thing for me, man, just this one time …

I open my phone again and hit my contact list. Her number is right at the top as always on my Contacts.

1-Morrigan. I press send. And wait as her phone rings.

A c
OUPLE COPS ARE TALKIN’ TO THIS HUGE BLACK GUY
, A
NTHONY
. He plays football and whatever, I remember talkin’ to him when I tried out a couple years ago. Pretty cool dude. I was surprised he got up in that Arab kid’s face like that. Maybe it was the alcohol.

From where I’m standin’ on the front lawn, I can see the ambulance parked several yards up the street. The medics are rollin’ a bed uphill toward the van. I catch a glimpse of the guy on the bed, and man, he is messed
up
. Looks like he’s been hit by a bulldozer. I just met him tonight. Not a bad guy. He’s gonna be a senior next year. He says he’s friends with Beckett, that he was gonna find a way to get her to come talk to me.

So much for that. She never even showed. Brent was right, I guess. How stupid am I? Wasted three years, pinned it all on the night
after
we graduated, how the hell did I think I was gonna see her again?

The cops are still talkin’ to Anthony, but I’m too far away to hear. Man, I tried to break that up! They squared off and I stopped it, I thought. Shit. It’s my fault.

Except I
did
break it up, and that dude—Azize?—left the house. Anthony musta followed him out after I went back to the kitchen for a beer.

There’re three cop cars altogether, but I’m not sure how many cops. About a hundred, it feels like. They keep movin’ around and they all look alike, so it’s too hard to count ’em. A few of ’em are keepin’ an eye on groups of kids who are sittin’ on the curb or front lawn.

A cop asks me a couple questions, but since he’s askin’ if I saw anything happen
outside
, I don’t tell him about what Anthony and Azize said to each other inside. None of my business. The cop goes on to some of the more drunk-lookin’ kids. I keep an eye out for Brent. Lost track of him a while ago, and he has our boards.

One minute we were hangin’ out in the backyard, right after I tried to break up Anthony and Azize. The next, a buncha kids jumped over the wall and took off while the rest of us froze when a cop started shinin’ his flashlight in everyone’s faces. I lost Brent after that. Maybe he jumped the wall, too.

I didn’t see Beckett Montgomery anywhere. Man.

One lucky dude, that Azize guy who got beat up. I mean, as
far as luck goes. Coulda been worse, based on Anthony’s size. I move over to the edge of the lawn where the grass meets the sidewalk for a better look at what they’re gonna do to our all-star receiver.

Ashley Dixon runs over toward Anthony, but the cops stop her. She shouts his name. Anthony waves her off, like she don’t need to get involved. She talks to Anthony for a sec before the cops holding her back make her step off. Ashley goes back over to this dude Ryan, who’s holding her friend Morrigan up under the arms, and he passes her over to Ashley.

“What’s going on?”

I turn to the quiet voice I hear on my left.

Beckett Montgomery
.

—is looking up into my face, scared and confused and worried all at once.

Beckett Montgomery, still wearing her Rasta hat and a beautiful long skirt and kick-ass shirt, and oh god,
it’s Beckett Montgomery talking to me
.

“Beckett,” I say before I can stop to think to say anything else.

Beckett blinks at me. “You know me?” she says, her voice still quiet, and her voice … I want to taste it on my tongue, it’s soft and scratchy and a little deeper than I woulda expected. And sexy as hell even though I’m sure she don’t mean it to be.

“Yeah,” I say, and want to punch myself in the dick for being so stupid and not sayin’ somethin’ cool.

We just stand there and look at each other for about ten
years. The streetlight near the house where the party is—
was
—is falling right across her eyes, these green, green eyes that look like a cat’s but so much more like elegant and wonderful.

I’m gonna pass out or something.

“Have … we met?” Beckett asks.

“N-no,” I say. “N-not really. Uh. I just. I’ve, um. Seen you around.”

At least I don’t tell her I stalked her for three years. Dumb dick.

Beckett nods a little, then looks over at the ambulance.

“So, what’s with …?” Beckett says.

“Oh, um … this one dude beat up this other dude,” I say. “That one Arab kid.”

She whirls around on me. “
Azize?”

“Think so.”

“Who beat him up?” she demands.

I just point. Anthony Lincoln is talkin’ to some cops, and Beckett looks all confused.

“Antho
hurt him? Anthony Lincoln
hurt
Azize?”

“I—I think so …”

Beckett takes off toward the ambulance, and I follow. She might need me. Or somethin’.

They’ve got Azize propped up on the bed, and have cleaned him up a little. He’s startin’ to swell up some, but with the blood washed off he don’t look as bad as a few minutes ago. A cop is next to the bed, so Beckett stops short, and I almost run into her. I kinda wish I would’ve. To be
so
close, you
know? But she’s really freakin’ about Azize, so I’m glad I didn’t run into her.

“So you’re saying you just wanted to wrestle him?” the cop says, and he don’t believe it for a second. “You were both just, uh, horsing around?”

“Yes,” Azize says.

“He threaten you, son? Tell you not to talk to us?”

“No, sir.”

“Did he call you any names or anything while you were, uh, playing? Some witnesses have stated there were, uh, racial epithets being shouted earlier?”

“No, nothing like that. Just teasing things.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes, sir.”

The cop nods, kinda like to himself, then says, “Well, you need to go get checked out. We might have some more questions for you later, all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

The cop walks away toward the other cops and Anthony. Beckett waits till the cop passes us, then rushes over to Azize, her hands on the bed’s rails. I take a couple steps, but don’t get too close. The paramedics are gettin’ ready to start loadin’ him into the ambulance.

“Azize!”

Azize holds up a hand to stop the medics. He smiles, and it’s kinda gross, ’cause his face is so busted up.

“Beckett.”

“What happened, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Beckett. Really.”

“What did he do to you?”

“It was just playing around. It got out of hand is all.”

“Azize, that’s not playing around! I know Anthony, I need to know what happened, who started it?”

Azize smiles again a bit. “It’s not important.”

“It is to me. Please.”

“Beckett,” Azize goes, all quiet like, and he lifts her hand off the bed, takes it in his, and I get so
jealous
. “Please believe me. I was afraid and angry. And when people are afraid and angry, they do stupid things. It’s no problem.”

“Miss, we really need to get him outta here,” the paramedic goes, and Beckett takes a step back.

Azize turns his head a little toward my direction, wincin’ like it hurts to move. His good eye opens a bit wider for a sec, then he gets that messed-up smile on his face again.

“Have a good night, my friend,” he says.

I sorta wave a little, feelin’ like an asshole. Guess when it’s all said and done, he did bring us together after all. Now it’s up to me to do somethin’ with it.

They load him into the ambulance as Beckett glances at me.

“Everything is all right!” Azize says to her just as the doors close. She don’t see him gimme a thumbs-up, like secretly.

Beckett turns back toward the house. The cop who talked to Azize is off to one side with another cop.

“So, you’re friends with Azize?” I say.

Beckett don’t look at me. “Yeah. No. Sorta. We traded
comics in the library once in a while. He likes the Hulk.”
Now
she turns to me. “Do you know what happened?”

“Dunno. It was like racial or something.”

Beckett sorta scowls and I feel like I did something wrong. “Racial how?”

I really don’t know how to handle this so she won’t get mad at me. “Well, like, maybe Anthony said some shit? Um, said some
stuff
, and Azize said some stuff back. I dunno.”

“What did Anthony say?”

I clear my throat. This ain’t the conversation I rehearsed for three years.

“You sure you wanna know? ’Cause if you’re friends with both of—”

“Yes. Tell me.”

So I tell her exactly how it went down in the house between ’em. “And Azize left, I watched him go. I dunno what happened after that.”

“God,” Beckett whispers. “It must be his brother.”

“Huh?”

“Anthony’s brother. Mike. He’s stationed overseas.”

“You mean like in the Army?”

“Yeah. In the … Middle East.”

Oh,
shit
.

“Oh,” I say, ’cause I really don’t know what else to say. “That’s messed up.”

“But Azize is from Turkey,” Beckett says. “He’s not even …” She stops and rubs her eyes. “Whatever,” she mumbles. “Stupid night anyway.”

I can’t take my eyes off her. It’s here. This moment, this stupid moment I should have and could have created any time I wanted the past three years and now it’s here and I dunno what to do with it after all this noise. Plus she’s lookin’ at the cop car Anthony’s in now, like I ain’t even here.

Perfect. Just perfect, you know?

Then someone’s sayin’ her name.

We both turn. Two girls are walkin’ toward us, Ashley Dixon and Morrigan Lewis. Ryan’s off by himself, talkin’ on a cell.

Morrigan looks like she can barely walk, let alone talk. She’s hangin’ on to Ashley’s arm for dear life, draggin’ her red Converse on the lawn. Ashley, on the other hand, looks stone-cold sober. Designated driver, I guess.

Ashley scowls at me, but only for a second. “Hey, Max,” she says, like all kinda cautious.

“Hey,” I say, and can’t stop my eyes from darting to Beckett, who’s got her head tilted down like she don’t want to be recognized. I hope Ashley don’t wanna start anything with me ’cause I turned her down that once. It ain’t that she ain’t cute or nothin’, she’s just not …

“Beckett?” Ashley says. “You’re still here. I thought you left.”

“Yeah,” Beckett says back to Ashley, brushing a stray hair out of her face. I don’t actually see the hair, though. It’s like she’s imagining it. “I, um … was on my way home.”