by Blake Nelson
I got out my phone and checked my messages. Still nothing from Jace or Emily.
A guy wearing a Santa suit rode by on the back of a convertible; I looked around at the other bystanders. Santa Claus on the Fourth of July? Was I the only one who thought that was weird?
After that some seven-year-olds dressed like ladybugs appeared. The poor kids didn’t seem to understand the concept of “parade” and were wandering all over the place, stopping to talk to people, eating ice cream cones. One of them was dragging his wings behind him. Another wanted to go home and started crying when his mother explained he had to keep walking.
I checked my phone again. Still no messages. Now I was getting pissed. This wasn’t fair. Jace and I were friends. And now what? We were never going to speak again? Just because I was caught off guard by a kiss?
Last was a middle school girls’ baton team. They were having problems too. One girl threw her baton up in the air, and it came down and hit the girl behind her on the head. . . .
* * *
After the parade the Reilly clan packed up their stuff. I was in a terrible mood. I told Aunt Judy I was going down to the beach, since that’s where the fireworks supposedly were.
My mood got worse at the beach. The Promenade was packed with tourists. There were gangs of high school dudes cruising around and girls shrieking and younger kids chasing each other through the crowds. Everyone was having a great time, which made me even more pissed than I already was. When three prep guys wouldn’t give me room to pass, I knocked shoulders with one of them. The guy immediately stopped and gave me a look like, What? He meant it too—he wanted to fight. But I kept walking, and his friends pulled him back. “Forget it man, he’s just some asshole local. . . .”
Farther down the Promenade, I heard someone call my name. I looked up and saw Justin and Tyler. There was a whole gang of them, Justin and his buddies, sitting on the Promenade railing, watching the people walk by. They were drinking beers and not bothering to hide them since the Promenade was so jammed with people. “Nick! Hey!” said Justin. He waved me over.
I have to admit, I was very happy to see his face. I went over to the group of them. Someone handed me a beer.
“You havin’ a good Fourth?” said Justin.
I made a vague shrug. “I got stuck watching the parade,” I said.
“The parade?” laughed Justin. “Now why would you do that?”
“The babes are right here!” said Tyler.
He was right about that. We all stopped talking to watch a pack of beautiful blond high school girls stream past us.
“Would you look at that . . . ,” said one of Justin’s other friends.
“Hey, ladies!” called out another.
“To the girls!” said Justin, raising his beer and then guzzling it.
We all drank in unison. It felt good, the beer going down, the fizz and the burn. My chest, which felt like it was about to explode a moment before, went calm.
I had just settled back against the stone railing when a hand reached out of the crowd and slapped the beer out of my hand. It hit me in the foot and sprayed all over my leg.
It was the guy from before, the prep guy who I’d knocked into. He was suddenly right in my face. “You should watch where you’re going!” he snarled. He was my age, gelled hair, polo shirt. He grabbed the front of my shirt and pushed me hard into the railing.
“Hey!” said Justin, jumping in. He grabbed the guy’s arm, and the three of us became tangled in a three-way shoving match. At the same time Justin’s other friends hopped down off the rail and snuck around behind the guy. They got him around the neck, yanked him backward and slammed him to the ground.
Then they beat him. Like seriously. Four against one. Punching, kicking, kicking in the face. I couldn’t believe how vicious they were. I thought they might kill him.
The prep guy’s friends came running up but stopped immediately when they saw what was happening. They began backing away, screaming for the police.
The whole thing lasted about three seconds, and then Justin and his friends took off running down the Promenade. I was still frozen in place, staring at the prep guy. He was rolling on the ground. His face was a bloody mess.
By then the flow of tourists had stopped, and people had their phones out to film the guy. I could hear Justin’s crew running away, whooping and hollering like wild animals. I realized I better do the same. I took off after them.
I ran fast. I was supercharged with adrenaline: the shock of the beating, the thrill of the escape.
I finally caught up with Justin and Tyler, and the three of us ducked behind a wood fence and struggled to catch our breath. I had never run so fast in my life. I had to lean against a tree to steady myself.
Justin smiled at me. “You okay, Nick?”
I was shaking slightly, trembling in my legs. “Yeah, I think so,” I gasped. “Sorry to get you involved in that. That was my fight.”
“Sorry?” said Justin. “Are you kidding? That was awesome! I love kickin’ me some tourist ass!”
Tyler seemed to agree with this. He was grinning ear to ear.
Justin reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a can of beer. He popped the top, and it sprayed beer all over.
“That was crazy,” I finally managed to say.
“He asked for it . . . ,” said Tyler with a shrug.
“That guy won’t be pickin’ on any locals any time soon,” said Justin. He took a long swig of the beer and belched loudly. He handed me the beer and I drank too.
“Whaddaya doing now?” Justin asked me. “You gotta go home or you wanna go to a party?”
I looked at him. I looked back up the Promenade. “I wanna go to a party.”
20
Justin, Tyler, and I snuck back into the center of town, weaving our way through the tourist hordes. We made it to Tyler’s pickup and climbed into the cab. Justin grabbed a fresh pint of whiskey from the glove box and cracked it open.
Tyler had parked in the Ace Hardware parking lot, and we found ourselves stuck behind some other cars, which were also stuck, because of the crowds in the street. After a few minutes of waiting, Tyler turned the truck around and drove up and over the sidewalk behind us, squeezing between two parking meters and then dropping down into the street with such force, we all bounced up and hit our heads on the cab’s ceiling.
Tyler floored it, and we roared out of there, speeding along for two blocks before we got stuck in another traffic jam, since there were so many cars trying to get on the highway. “Now we’re screwed,” said Justin. There seemed no other remedy for the traffic jam than more whiskey and a joint, which Justin fired up. I took a hit. Tyler took a hit. Justin took a hit. Around it went, while outside on the street, people ran between cars, swung around parking meters, yelled and whooped and caused whatever chaos they could. Two younger kids jumped onto our back bumper, rocked us up and down a few times, and then jumped off.
“Fourth of July,” said Justin with a big stoned smile. “You gotta love it.”
* * *
We finally got out of Seaside, and Tyler gunned it down the highway. We drove twenty minutes, uphill into the mountains, and then took a left onto a gravel road, which turned into a dirt road, which turned into a narrow dirt road. Another truck appeared, speeding the other way, and for a moment I didn’t see how both trucks could squeeze by each other. But Tyler floored it and swerved off the road on the right, and the other truck skidded into the dirt on the left, and somehow the side mirrors didn’t hit. The other truck was full of laughing, screaming partiers, with Metallica blasting out the windows.
We arrived at a wide clearing at the base of a mountain. There was a farmhouse and some other buildings and a large barn. Tyler parked in a field full of other cars, and we tumbled out of the cab. The air up there smelled delicious: cold and clean and full of adventure. I thought so anyway, stoned and drunk as I was.
A large bonfire crackled just behind the farmhouse, and beyond that you co
uld see the open doors of the barn and a crowd of people milling around. As we got closer, loud electric guitar chords blasted out through the barn doors. A drumbeat began to play. “Sounds like we’re just in time!” said Tyler.
Before we went in, though, we hit the food tables by the bonfire. On two long plastic tables were chips, chili, Cheez Doodles, a plate of cold-looking hamburgers, and several hot dogs that were rolling around loose. I was suddenly famished, so I folded a hamburger bun around a hot dog and added some egg salad and salsa and ate that. Justin and Tyler also picked through whatever they could find, stuffing their faces and chewing with their mouths open.
So then it was into the barn. The band was a bunch of scraggly, gray-haired guys standing on a stage made of hay bales and plywood. They didn’t look very professional, but they sounded pretty good. They started playing “Sweet Emotion,” and the mostly older crowd went wild. It was a pretty rough-looking bunch: forty-year-old women with cowboy hats and short-shorts and lots of cleavage, most of them sloppy drunk, yahooing and holding up their Bud Lights, while their balding boyfriends stood around with their beer guts and black leather biker vests. Tyler started jumping around, doing a weird hippy dance. Justin laughed at him. I just stood there, taking it all in. These are the mountain people, I thought, as a guy beside me stirred his drink with a hunting knife.
* * *
At one point I went outside to piss. Even that was its own special thrill: standing under the stars, staring straight up the face of a mountain, amazed at how far away from home I was, how young I was, how strong and full of life I felt. Holy shit, I thought, I’m seventeen years old!
Stumbling back toward the barn, I noticed there was a whole other party happening in the farmhouse. I decided to check that out. I circled around the bonfire and went in. It was loud inside. People were drinking and yakking and smoking cigarettes. One of the counter girls from the Freezie Burger was there, and the skinny guy who made the sandwiches at the coffee shop.
I made my way to the kitchen, where I snagged a fresh beer from an ice-filled plastic tub. I didn’t know anyone, not well enough to talk to, so I cracked open my beer and took a deep swig. That was when I heard a familiar female shriek. Nicole! I moved out of the way, as she came crashing into the kitchen. And then, behind her, was Phoebe. The sight of her hit me like an electric jolt. Nicole was doing her brassy party girl thing, but Phoebe looked like a rock star. Short skirt, lipstick, eyeliner. And that cocky smirk on her face. Like, Whatever, losers, get out of my way.
I watched the two of them pass through the kitchen into the large playroom area behind it, which was empty except for a handful of people standing around.
“What’s going on!?” said Nicole loudly. “I thought there’s supposed to be dancing!”
“There is! There is!” said someone.
“Well put on some music!”
Two guys hurried over to a bookcase to figure out the music.
Phoebe and Nicole stood waiting. Some other people also entered the room, apparently wanting to dance too. Phoebe took a sip from her beer. Nicole started yelling at someone.
I wondered if I could go in there and start a conversation with them. Phoebe was the one I really wanted to talk to. I didn’t see how I could, though, so I stayed where I was, in the kitchen, next to a bowl of pretzels, nervously grabbing handfuls and munching them down.
Meanwhile an older guy came over and started eating pretzels too. He said he recognized me from the Happy Bubble and began telling me a story about Uncle Rob. I was like, Yeah, right, whatever. As he talked, Phoebe came back into the kitchen. I made room for her at the pretzel bowl, smiling at her, since I was still pretty drunk and feeling brave. She smiled back and reached into the bowl. She stood there with me and the older guy, chomping pretzels.
“You’re Phoebe,” I said.
“That’s right,” she said, without looking at me.
The old guy was still talking, but I ignored him. Phoebe ignored him too.
“I’m Nick,” I said.
“Hi, Nick,” she said.
There was this amazing moment of silence. Except for the old guy, who was still talking. And the general noise of the party. But I didn’t hear any of that.
“Do you remember me?” I asked her.
She glanced at me once. “No,” she said. “Should I?”
“I met you at the beach party?”
“Oh yeah?”
My heart began to thump in my chest. “It was actually after the beach party,” I said. “You probably don’t remember.”
“I guess not.”
“I’m Kyle’s cousin.”
That got her attention. “Really?” she said, studying me more closely. “I didn’t know Kyle had a cousin.”
“Yeah. We’re cousins.”
“You sorta look like him.”
“Do I?” I said, blushing.
“I dunno, maybe not,” she said, nibbling a pretzel in a flirty way.
Now I could barely breathe I was so excited. I took a deep swig off my beer.
In the other room they’d figured out the music. Someone turned down the lights in the playroom. “Bust a Move” began to play. Phoebe and I watched while Nicole and some other people began to bob their heads to the beat.
Here’s a tale for all the fellas
Tryin’ to do what ladies tell us
“Do you like to dance?” Phoebe asked me.
I nodded that I did.
Phoebe began to turn back and forth to the music. She took another drag off her own beer. Then she reached out and grabbed my arm. “C’mon,” she said.
She pulled me into the playroom, then released me and began to dance with Nicole. I fell in with the two of them. More people joined in; they came pouring in from the rest of the house. It was true what they said: Wherever Phoebe and Nicole were, that’s where the party was.
I stayed near the two of them. Phoebe moved around in a bored way, not taking any of it too seriously. She drank her beer as she danced. Then she grabbed my elbow and pulled me close. “What’s your name again?” she yelled over the music. I could feel the warmth of her breath on my face.
“Nick,” I said into her ear.
“Nick,” she repeated.
Then she turned away and danced and ignored everyone else. Which is what I did too. That was the best strategy, I figured: act as if nothing was happening, that this wasn’t a big deal. Though in fact everything was happening. My whole life was happening. It was a very big deal.
21
It was easy to lose yourself around Phoebe and Nicole. They were so cool, so funny, so at ease with everything. This was their life. Cigarettes. Drinks. Music. The eyes of every guy and most of the girls on them. It wasn’t a life with a lot of future—I understood that. But what was the future anyway? Did it even exist?
The three of us danced for one song and then another and then another. When a slow song came on, I stood with them and drank my beer and kept my mouth shut. When we eventually took a break, they pulled me with them to a couch, and sat on either side of me.
“So you’re Kyle’s cousin!” Nicole said to me, in her loud, saucy voice.
I nodded.
“I can see the resemblance,” she said. She pushed her shoulder into mine. “Do you know who I am?”
“I think so.”
“I’m Kyle’s great high school love!”
“I’ve heard that,” I said.
“You have?” she said with concern. “From who?”
I shrugged. “Everyone,” I said. “You’re famous.”
She laughed. “Oh my God! I sort of am, aren’t I? Ha-ha. I like you. I don’t even know you, but I like you already!”
“I like you too,” I said.
“And you know why we broke up, don’t you?” she said.
“No . . .”
“His coach didn’t like me. It was his coach! And Kyle’s such a big-shot baseball player and all. . . .” She did a pout-face to emphasize the unfairness of thi
s. “And Kyle always does what his coaches tell him. Because he’s like that. He’s a Boy Scout basically. People think he’s so big and strong, but he’s a Boy Scout. He’s afraid of me, is the real problem. He didn’t know what to do with me. Because I do what I want and I speak my mind. And I don’t take shit from nobody! That’s something you need to know about me.”
“Okay,” I said.
She sighed. “But anyways, so yeah, we were in love. We still are. He tries to pretend we’re not, but I know. Girls know that sort of thing.”
I nodded.
“What about you?” she asked me, tapping my thigh with her pointy fingernail. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“I did.”
“What happened to her?”
I considered telling her, but then realized that would be a mistake. “We broke up,” I said.
“What about now?” she said, leaning closer and turning slightly so that her large breasts mushed into me. “Are you available? Or has Phoebe already claimed you?”
“Uh . . .”
She leaned forward so she could see her friend. “Phoebe!?” she said loudly.
“Yeah?” said Phoebe, who was looking at her phone.
“Have you claimed Nick here?”
“What?” said Phoebe.
“I said, have you claimed Nick? Or is he still available?”
Phoebe shrugged.
“You know, he’s Kyle’s cousin,” said Nicole.
“I know,” said Phoebe. “I’m the one who told you that.”
“Well do you like him or not?”
“He’s okay.”
“Just okay?”
Phoebe didn’t answer. She didn’t look up.
Nicole sat back on the couch. “Well I think you’re adorable,” she whispered into the side of my face. Her breath smelled like beer and cigarettes. “Unfortunately, with you being Kyle’s stepbrother and all . . .”
“Cousin,” I said. “I’m his cousin.”
“Well, either way, it might be a little incestuous. . . .”