Celeste grabbed Nick’s hand. “Come on,” she said.
“The screening’s not going to start for another half hour.
Let’s go sample the dessert bar before all the raspberry cheesecake is gone.”
“Okay. What the—?!” Nick’s reply was lost as he
stumbled backwards. He made a choking sound as a hand spun him around by the collar of his shirt.
“Get your hands off my girlfriend, you piece of shit!”
Travis bellowed, shoving Nick to the ground. He reeked of beer. Celeste could almost see the waves of drunken-ness pouring off him. “Get up!” Nick staggered to his feet, rubbing his neck, and Travis drew his fist back to punch him.
“Travis!” Celeste screamed and grabbed his arm. He didn’t even pause, just socked Nick in the jawbone.
Nick staggered but didn’t fall and, launching himself through the air, flung himself on Travis. Both of them fell heavily to the deck, cracking one of the teak boards under the force of their combined weight. Celeste screamed again before thinking in the back of her mind that she shouldn’t be attracting more attention to the fight than it was already getting.
Nick and Travis rolled over and over on the pool deck, punching each other as hard as they could. An interested crowd was gathering around them, people still clutching drinks as if they were watching the Rumble in the Jungle. Nick managed to get on top of Travis and, straddling him, punched him hard in the face. Travis groaned and then heaved himself upright, grabbing Nick’s shirt in both hands. He yelled. Celeste could see where they were heading—right for the giant white screen perched at one end of the deck. She closed her eyes and heard a crash and a whooshing noise.
When she finally dared to peek through her eyelids, the screen was gone. Only a white tangle of vinyl lay on the ground, with a large, thrashing lump underneath it. As everyone watched, the lump began moving and slowly, two heads emerged from the edge. Nick and Travis struggled to their feet. A murmur ran through the silent crowd as Celeste’s father stepped forward. For a long, painful moment, he studied the two figures in front of him, Nick, dripping blood from his nose and Travis cradling his elbow. Then he turned around, and with a brilliant smile, waved his hands at the crowd.
“So sorry about this, everyone,” he said calmly, his voice carrying even to the farthest gawkers on the edge of the crowed. “We were concerned you all might get bored before the screening, so we arranged this little extra—ah— entertainment.” He smiled and everyone laughed. “Please enjoy the rest of the party.”
People started turning away, talking to one another and glancing curiously at Nick and Travis, who still had not moved. Celeste’s stomach was churning and her hands were icy cold. Her dad’s nose was white around the edges and the back of his neck was red, but those were the only outward signs of his anger. To any other observer, he looked completely relaxed. Celeste could see the Saunderses over her father’s shoulder, their faces set stonily.
Mr. Tippen turned to the group. “Why don’t we all step into the office for a moment?” he said calmly. Mr.
Saunders nodded his head slightly in response. The parents turned and wove their way through the crowd, with Nick, Travis, and Celeste following behind. Celeste felt like she was the one who had been in a fight. Her mind was numb, except for the vague feeling that she might throw up at any moment. Travis bumped her arm as they walked, and she jerked away. She couldn’t even look at him, much less bear the thought of him touching her.
Nick walked right behind. Celeste could hear his ragged breathing. She threw him a quick glance and he raised his eyes briefly to meet hers. To her shock, he winked at her. Celeste whipped her head around.
Mr. Tippen let everyone file in front of him into the little, cramped office and then firmly shut the door.
Celeste held her breath as he turned to face the assembled group: Mr. and Mrs. Saunders standing next to the desk, Celeste’s mom on a straight chair, Nick slouched in the corner, and Travis on the sofa. Slowly, Mr. Tippen strode over and stood in front of Travis.
“Well, Travis,” he said quietly. “You’ve used up your three strikes this time—and then some. Surely this was the finest display of immaturity that Pinyon has ever seen.”
His voice remained even, but Celeste could see his eyes flashing. Travis stared straight ahead at the wall. Celeste wasn’t sure just how drunk he still was. Mr. Tippen went on. “If you haven’t ruined Pinyon’s first film festival, you’ve certainly tried your best.” He paused and Celeste caught her breath. There was something about the deadly calm tone that was far worse than yelling. “Naturally, this is the last time I ever expect to see you on Pinyon premises,” he said. “Please leave now.”
Travis started to get up from the sofa, but before he could, Mr. Tippen turned to Celeste. Travis dropped back on the cushions as if he’d been shoved. Celeste cringed as her father’s gaze fell on her with a thunk.
“Celeste,” he said. “You have shown spectacularly poor judgment in your constant defense of this young man in the past. At your urging, I agreed to allow him to work at Pinyon this summer and I did not fire him after his first fight with Nick here. I hold you—”
“Wait!” Nick jumped up from his chair. All heads turned toward him.
There was a moment’s silence. Then Mr. Tippen said,
“What is it, Nick?”
Nick looked at Celeste. “Uh, I have to make a confession.” He was sitting at the very edge of the sofa, his back straight and his hands clasped between his knees.
More silence. Celeste realized she was holding her breath.
Suddenly, Nick’s posture relaxed. He sprawled back against the cushions in his old
