Then I got the text from Toby.
“My house tonight. Six. Be there, motherfucker.”
I hated Toby’s house. It was crumbling and dark, all creaking floorboards and antique furniture that felt heavy and sickly.
At least, that’s how I’d remembered it from all those years ago. Toby and I had met in fifth grade when he’d tried to steal my skateboard, and I’d shoved him in the mud so hard he’d scraped his knee up bad. When he saw the blood, his pink face had scrunched up like a fist and then he’d started cackling like it was the funniest thing in the whole world. He laughed so hard that snot came out of his nose, and that just made the whole thing even funnier. We’ve been friends ever since.
My phone bleeped again. “Never mind,” it read. “Meet at seven. My fucking relatives are here.”
Toby’s relatives were always dropping by unannounced, making sure his cousins who frequented the decaying home had enough to eat now that his parents were dead and gone. The relatives were always giving, smiling with their mouths but never their eyes, and if they noticed the rank stench of weed or the group of tattooed men measuring and weighing bags of cocaine and crack now and then in the kitchen, they never said a thing. Tony’s club owner uncle never really came by much. Usually he was there to collect his monthly cut of the profit.
The rest of the relatives came by every week or so, bringing flowers that smelled like furniture wax, root beer, and little Tupperware containers of potato salad and mac and cheese, whispering in hushed voices and worried tones as they hurried out as soon as their gifts were accepted. Toby would leave the food in the fridge to rot. His oldest cousin, D’Angelo, was his official guardian, but I rarely saw him around. I preferred it that way.
Thinking of his house made me shiver. I wrote back, “Should I invite Connor?”
Not more than three seconds later he responded, “As long as he brings some good shit.”
Toby’s creepy house was really only good for several things: Drugs, booze, and a loud, pounding bass.
And the thought of Connor being there…it brought back that secret thrill from before.
When I got to Toby’s, he, Max and his cousin Gabriel were already seated in the living room. It was always so weird seeing burly, tattooed guys like that on all that flowery, antique furniture. We used to hang out in this room as kids, watching Saturday morning cartoons and eating cereal so sugary it made my teeth hurt. Now the walls were yellowed with smoke fumes, the sandy carpet covered in beer and soda stains, and the flowery sofas and chairs afflicted with cigarette burns.
“No, see, Ambien is not a benzodiazepine, nor is it a hallucinogen. It’s a hypnotic,” Max was explaining as I walked in, doodling chemicals in his notebook.
“But you can get fucked up off it, right? Like hallucinate and shit?” asked Gabriel. I put my bag down and joined them on the flower couch with the cigarette burns.
“Well no, you’d probably just fall asleep,” said Max. “See, it’s similar to a benzo in that it…Oh hey, Jack.”
“Am I interrupting something?”
“Just business,” said Toby, and as usual I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. He was seated directly across from us in a wingback chair that used to be something beautiful, but now was browning around the edges. “You bring me anything good?”
“Nah,” I said. “Connor said he would, though.”
“Who the fuck is Connor?” Gabriel asked.
“A friend of ours,” I said quickly. “He’s cool. He goes to school with us.”
Gabriel shook his head. “Nah man, he may be cool but he can’t know about our business. And he can’t come in here. You didn’t tell him anything, Toby, did you?”
“No, no way,” Toby said. “He’s straight, right, Jack?”
“What?”
Toby looked at me like I might be a moron. “I said he’s cool, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, yeah, he’s cool.”
Gabriel swung his hand across the coffee table, knocking a glass to floor. It shattered instantly, shards of glass nearly puncturing Max’s arm. I heard him gasp as Gabriel got up in Toby’s face and shoved him, hard.
“You don’t say anything to him, you got that? You keep your fucking mouth shut. That goes for you and your punk ass friends.” For the first time in a long time, I saw fear in Toby’s eyes. “You remember what D’Angelo said, yeah?”
It was then that the doorbell rang.
By then Gabriel was already on his way out the back, Toby trailing after him. I could hear the shouting, the cursing and the grumbling and growling that slowly picked up in volume.
I opened the front door to let Connor in. Just the sight of him made my chest tighten.
“Hey,” he said, glancing around the room at the broken glass and Max all backed up in the corner, spooked. “Did I miss the party?”
“Uh, screw the party, man,” I heard myself say, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Toby and Gabriel were out of earshot. “We’re actually gonna head down to the Strip now.”
“We are?” Max piped up. He had gotten over his brief state of shock and was now standing in the middle of the room, swaying back and forth, hands in his pockets. “I thought we were gonna chill here.”
“Max,” I said through gritted teeth, turning to shoot him a look. “Shut up.”
Connor just grinned and pushed past me, making his way into the house before I could stop him. “Interesting digs.” He pulled a joint from his pocket. “Got a light, Max?”
Max turned to me for guidance, but I
