26-Brad

Brad was showered, dressed, and ready to go, but it wasn’t quite time yet. He was picking up Amy at eight, and he didn’t dare get there early, or even on time. A few minutes late was the right time to arrive. He didn’t know why that was true, he only knew that it was.

He paced about his room, unable to sit still. Finally, he went to the phone and dialed a number, one of several he had memorized. Moments later Clay was on the line congratulating him.

“You’ve got a date tonight with the hottest girl in the tenth grade, man,” Clay said. “Perhaps we’ve underestimated you.”

“I wouldn’t call it a date, really. We’re just going to a party together.”

“But isn’t that what a date is? When two people go somewhere together?”

Brad didn’t reply.

“Don’t you see, Brad? This is the uncertainty that has arisen. It is an ambiguity you should be happily immersing yourself in. You’re kind of going on a date with Amy freakin’ Weaver. Embrace it.”

Brad exhaled nervously. “But, man…Paul was wasted last night when I was talking with him. What if he doesn’t even remember inviting me over?”

“So? What are you afraid of, dude?”

“I don’t know. Rob is surely gonna be there too, and he is the same guy that just yesterday tried to rip my head off. What if he decides to finish the job? What if I get kicked out of the party?”

“Dude, first of all, stop lunchin.’ Second of all…you ain’t gettin’ kicked out, man! You’re rolling with Amy Weaver. They’ll have the doors wide open for you.”

Brad perked up. “That’s true,” he said, with sudden confidence.

“Yeah, man. Amy is key. She’ll get you right in. A hot chick can do anything she wants.”

“Or…”

“Or what?”

“Or she could be a nightmarish bitch and walk in the party while leaving my ass out on the street.”

Clay was silent for a moment. “But she wouldn’t do that. Right?”

“Nah. Not Amy,” Brad said. Brad hoped.

“Well, you better get your ass over there. It’s almost eight.”

“Yeah, alright. Later.”

Brad got in his car feeling anxious. But he wouldn’t alter his course. Bailing out now would be the pussiest thing in the world. He’d rather get trounced by Rob at the party. It would feel better. Infinitely better.

It was a picture perfect summer night as he drove to her house. Not long later he stood on her front porch and rang the doorbell, telling himself that it was indeed happening.

She opened the door immediately, like she’d been hovering nearby, waiting. She said hi, her smile gorgeous, as she stepped outside, shutting the door behind her. She wore her low jeans, with a strappy shirt, and there was so much midriff for all to see. It had become her trademark look, and one she seemed to do better than any other girl in the school. Brad felt like he was a different person entirely as he walked with her back to his car.

Brad then relished the entire process of getting in the driver’s side and reaching across to unlock her door. He secretly glanced at her from the corner of his eye, in disbelief as she sat down in shotgun of his shitty car.

“Hey, do you mind if we pick up Jennifer, too?” she asked him.

At first it felt like a devastating blow, like he could finally see the truth, that he was just the driver for her and her friends and that was all. But the more he thought about it, the more he flipped the idea around entirely, and then he began to really like it. Amy was stunning enough, and Jennifer Young—she was a pretty hot Korean chick. Walking into the party with these girls would make Brad invisible. Or it would make him a hero. Neither one of those was a bad way to be.

“Sure, where does she live?” Brad asked casually.

She explained, and then they were off.

They talked cordially on the way there. His letter—or any of the things he had said in it—never came up in their conversation. Brad wasn’t sure if that made him glad or disappointed. He couldn’t tell. Ultimately it felt like the letter had planted some kind of seed, but he wasn’t sure what would bloom from it—the response he so desperately yearned for, or just more awkwardness. A deep-seated fear within him pointed clearly toward one of those.

Fuck it, Brad thought. What’s done was done, and despite everything, at the moment he was on some kind of a date with Amy, and soon enough her hot friend would also be riding along with them. So, Brad was doing just fine.

Indeed, moments later Jennifer Young was in the back seat, her pretty, black hair straight and shining, and Amy spent most of the ride physically turned around and talking with her, while Brad was mostly quiet. Still, he didn’t mind at all. His thoughts remained strategic and focused, and hilariously opposite of the lighthearted, giggly chatter he heard coming from the girls.

Soon Brad drove through Antwann’s neighborhood, the same streets he had spent last night wandering through psychedelia. The memory made him feel tingly for a moment, but this vanished as he parked the car out on the street, in-line with several others. As he opened the door, he could already hear the hooting and hollering coming from the back yard.

They stood beside his car, and Brad noticed it was the girls who suddenly appeared hesitant, even nervous, which he thought was laughable—like they’d have any trouble getting in. Nevertheless, the girls waited for him to come around and lead them in. So Brad did, without hesitation.

They passed through the side gate and merged into the crowd in the yard. There was laughing, wrestling, and quarters bouncing amidst the smoke and the twilight of the young party. But almost immediately Brad found himself being pushed far away from the girls he’d come with, as some loud and obnoxious dudes descended upon them with frightening speed. One of them in particular, a loudmouth named Lance Gill, upon sight of Amy had darted toward her, moving across the yard like a shark cutting through open water. Brad had never cared much for Lance, who was a jock-type who took himself way too seriously. He was tall, with a thick build, and within seconds had Brad boxed out as though expecting a game-clinching rebound. Brad seemed lost in his shadow, and all along he heard Lance’s booming voice bouncing back and forth with Amy’s, a weak-ass ping-pong that should not have been effective but somehow it was, judging by the pleased tone of her responses.

All along Brad kept his eye on the back porch, looking for a lifeline. Finally, he saw it, as Paul emerged from the sliding glass door, his face wearing a mellow, stoned glaze.

“Paul!” he yelled out.

“Dude! You made it.” Paul waved him up with a welcoming grin.

Brad glided swiftly up the steps, thinking how Paul was surely the coolest dude in the entire school.

“What’s up, man?” Paul asked. “How you feelin’ today? Did you ever sleep?”

“Dude, I slept all damn day,” Brad said merrily.

“That’s good. You needed that shit. I was gonna say, if you hadn’t slept yet, I’d be worried you was some sorta crackhead. Hey, do you know Lauren?”

“Nice to meet you,” Lauren said, as they shook.

“Who’d you come here with?” Paul asked curiously, his eyes scanning through the new arrivals in the yard.

“Amy and Jennifer.”

Paul grinned. “You the man. Hey, Antwann, do you know Brad?”

Antwann stepped in, extending his hand. “Nah, yo, but I gotta meet this kid. Whaddup, pimp? You always roll with this kind of entourage?”

Brad could only smile sheepishly.

“What is everyone drinking?” Brad asked, noticing so many people with the red party cups. “It must be strong. Everyone looks drunk already.”

“Go get yourself some, bro,” Paul said. “It’s going fast.”

Brad did just that, and returned with a cup full of the drink, complete with pieces of fruit floating within. But his smile vanished at the sight of Rob Smith walking in through the gate, making his entrance. He had a pissed-off look on his face.

Brad tried to look chill and nonchalant, but he knew it was coming. Rob strode through the yard, taking instant notice of everyone in attendance. Then he hopped up the stairs as Brad felt an awful déjà vu. Amy and the girls were all there yet again—a gorgeous audience assembled to witness his impending humiliation.

It came immediately.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Rob asked nastily, a scowl on his face, his body tensing instantly. The speed with which the pressure built was astonishing—like flipping a switch. Brad even saw a cord stand out on his neck.

“Yo, shut the hell up, Rob, man,” Brad heard himself say. The ensuing silence seemed to last five years, but it was really only a second or two, as Brad stood there in quiet disbelief at his own words.

“What?” Rob replied. He obviously had not been expecting that. Strangely, his body language actually eased. He actually looked fatigued, like he wasn’t really into this.

“Chill, Rob,” Paul said, stepping in. “He’s cool.”

After a moment of silent confusion, Rob spoke rather absently. “Nah, kid, I’m just playin.’” He reached his hand out. “What’s up? What’s your name again?”

“Brad.” They shook hands.

“What up, Brad,” Rob said. Then he lit up a Newport, appearing to have entirely dismissed the whole situation and any ill will along with it.

Brad took a giant sip of his drink, and another one after that. He could feel its bite and it wavered through him. Strangely, what he felt was an instant respect for Rob—it was actually admirable how someone could flip like that and just let things go, just because Paul had spoken for him. That was all it took.

“You just come from work?” Paul asked.

“Yeah,” Rob replied. “It pretty much sucked today. I can’t wait to get my drink on.” He looked around. “What the hell kind of fruity-ass shit are you guys drinking, anyway?”

“Jungle juice,” Paul answered. “I lost count of how many bottles of liquor went into it.”

Rob went in to get some.

The girls had made their way up onto the porch and stood nearby. With a newfound confidence Brad tried to break through the full-court press around them, but the defense was relentless, swarming, and most of it came from Lance Gill. Amy seemed quite attentive to his loud and persistent voice—and probably his thick build too, Brad thought, angrily.

Amy and Jennifer were no match at all for the jungle juice, as Brad noticed how almost instantly they’d become tipsy and laughing. The herd of guys continued to shadow them, hoping to be recipients of some drunken affection.

The party changed dramatically at the introduction of deep bass thumps coming from the basement, the music reverberating from down below, seeming to shake the entire back porch. It was a calling of sorts, and Amy, Jennifer, and the herd of guys following them were whisked away into the basement, where surely many things commenced, dancing being just one of them.

With all the suddenly open seats, Paul and Lauren sat down at the porch table. Rob joined them. Brad sat down too, noticing that Rob was packing a bowl.

Rob lit it up and Brad could hear the bud crackle within. The bowl made its way around and was offered to Brad without a second thought. Brad took a hit and then passed it across the table back to Rob, who took it calmly, and he even politely said thanks. Then he fired it up again. Brad really began to think he’d had Rob pegged all wrong. It seemed the dude could actually be super-chill.

Occasionally the back door slid open, with traffic moving in and out. Each time the volume increased tremendously and was accompanied with screams and happy shouts from within, which then became muffled once more as the door slid shut.

Brad hit the bowl again before it was cashed, and Rob knocked out the ashes. They sat back lazily, wearing easy smiles.

The door slid open again as the music streamed out, but this time it came with the loud giggles of a large group, Amy and Jennifer among them.

The group smoked down some cigarettes and then vanished back inside again in a whirlwind of incoherent conversation.

“Better get in there, Brad,” Paul said with a grin.

“Dancing?” Brad scoffed. “Are you kidding me? You know how shit-faced I need to be to even consider dancing?”

Paul shrugged. “Well…she ain’t out here.”

“Who?” Rob asked, in a mellow voice. “Who ain’t out here?”

“Amy,” Brad replied.

“Amy Weaver?”

“Yeah.”

“Man, I was trying to get on her last night. She’s a trick, dude, don’t even waste your time.”

Brad chuckled. This conversation was the absolute last thing he’d expected on this night.

“Now that Jennifer chick she’s with—she’s hot,” Rob continued. “But man, those Asian chicks can be stuck-up, because they know they’re in high demand. Paul’s Asian, and even he don’t try for them Asian chicks.”

“Hey!” Lauren said, as Rob smirked.

The cigarette smoking crowd came out again, but this time it was a much larger one, like the first wave of dancers finally decided to take a break, and they filed out in a long line.

“I’d say it’s about time for Megaspliff to make another appearance,” Raza said, a cup of jungle juice in one hand, his body still vaguely moving to the beat coming from downstairs.

Paul nodded. “Megaspliff, yes, indeed. You got to hit that shit, Rob. You too, Brad.”

“We should wait for Joe’s ass to show up, too,” Trey suggested.

Crystal Stevens collapsed tiredly on a porch chair, while fumbling for a cigarette. “Where is Joe, anyway?” she asked.

“We should be askin’ you that, Crystal,” Raza said.

She shrugged. “Hell if I know where he is.”

“That’s actually a really good question,” Rob piped in, suddenly very curious. “Where the hell is Joe? He wouldn’t miss this.” Rob looked around. “Is he dead?”

“Maybe,” Raza muttered.

“Paul? Did Joe die?” Rob asked again.

“I guess so,” Paul answered.

“Seriously, where the hell is Joe?”

“I don’t know,” Paul said. “He never called back when Antwann tried paging him earlier.”

“Crystal? Where’s he at? Seriously?”

Crystal looked angry. “How many times do I need to say it? How the hell should I know where Joe is?”

“So, no one’s heard from him then?”

Silence around the table.

“Fuck him, then. Let’s spark that shit.”

As if on cue, the back door slid open, and Antwann emerged, grinning, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. Everyone stared at him.

“What?” he asked. “Oh, y’all about to smoke, huh?”

“Unbelievable,” Rob said. “Happens every time. He’s got a weed radar.”

Antwann, still grinning excitedly, merged himself in with the crowd around the table, claiming his spot in the rotation.

Trey produced the Megaspliff, and everyone stared at in stunned silence, as though paying homage.

“Holy shit,” Crystal said, to a chorus of laughter, nicely summing up everyone’s thoughts.

Brad grinned widely, loving this. It wasn’t just the excitement at the thought of the massive joint soon heading his way. It was looking around the table and seeing all the friendly new faces. All year he’d spent so many nights just with Clay and Zack, each of them bored out of their minds, the two guys constantly seeming to berate him. Tonight he had discovered this whole new world. He sat at the table with these guys and girls, most of whom were juniors and seniors. They were each hilarious in their own way, and best of all, they had each welcomed him right in. Even Rob, whom prior to this he’d been deathly afraid of, suddenly had his back. He was suddenly a good friend, it seemed.

Brad was already one of them. He loved how quickly things could change.

While waiting for the joint to circle around, Brad realized that he’d been broadcasting his wide grin across the table. Crystal Stevens happened to notice it, and she looked back at him curiously, her face searching, like she wondered who he was. He caught her looking, but rather than glancing away, she instead held her gaze, and offered him a warm, welcoming smile. Brad loved it, and he swore then that Crystal would forever be one of his favorite girls in the entire school. He didn’t know her, but he knew who she was—he knew she was a junior, that she partied, she listened to hard rock, and that altogether she seemed bad as hell.

They all seemed bad as hell, the whole group, Brad thought. He was so happy to be there.