13. Max’s Party #3
Bridger raced for a fire poker and fished his skateboard out of the flames. The burning board dropped onto the hearth with a thud. He cursed and snatched a drink off a tipsy girl and dumped the liquid over the skateboard to put it out.
Once bright and flashy, Bridger’s board was now wet, sticky, and covered in black scorch marks.
The music still played, but everyone was watching him.
Back at the foot of the staircase, Gus struggled to push past the crowd to the main room, but there were too many partygoers blocking him.
Bridger’s fury rose so fast, the room spun.
Then, out of nowhere, Max slammed into Bridger so hard he crashed to his ass.
“Max!” Bridger howled.
Max picked up Bridger’s scorched board and made a break through the crowd again.
Bridger sprang to his feet to pursue his thief.
The head start got Max out the nearby screen door and into the backyard. He hurled the board far away to the ground.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Bridger bellowed as he caught up.
All around them, college students drank and danced to the music pouring from the house, the scene was so rowdy that even the arguing boys blended in.
Bridger tried to push past Max to retrieve his board, but Max wrenched him by the shirt and yanked him close. Bridger grasped Max’s wrists and pulled, trying to escape his iron clutch to no avail.
“I told you!” Max screamed in Bridger’s face. “You use MY boards, from MY shop. Not his!”
Bridger leaned his head back. “What the fuck are you on?!”
“Why the fuck were you sucking that fag’s face?” Max’s tone dropped to a crude sneer as he held Bridger tighter by the collar.
Bridger paled. He… he saw us?
“What?!” Bridger deflected as Max released his grasp. “What is wrong with you?”
“Me? Nothing!” Max hissed viciously. “Because I’m not fucking gay!”
Bridger’s mind reeled at Max’s words, his world crashing down around him. His face turned red. His eyes jumped around to see if anyone else had heard.
“Wha—? I—” He coughed. “No. I’m not!”
Undeterred, Max continued his tirade, his voice dripping with disdain. “And him?” Max thrust a finger back at the house. “HIM? Of all people?” Max looked at Bridger with disgust.
Only a few partygoers turned to witness the growing commotion. But Bridger began to spiral.
“And to think… we were friends.” Max shook his head. “I don’t even know you anymore.”
“Max! You’re drunk,” Bridger reasoned, trying to backtrack. “You don’t know what you’re say—”
“I just saw it with my own eyes, you fuck,” Max cut him off. “I almost vomited.” He shoved Bridger in the shoulder. Bridger took it with an angry wince.
“I let you skate with me for years. Years! And you were lying to me the entire time,” Max accused, towering over Bridger. “All you were doing was looking at us guys, checking us out. You disgusting fuck!”
“No. Not at all. I—”
“Take your fag boyfriend and get the fuck out of my party!” Max knocked Bridger to the ground again. Bridger groaned as he hit the muddy grass. Max twisted away.
“Pathetic,” Max muttered under his breath. “You always were useless.”
Bridger glared up at his former friend. He stood up quickly, grabbed Max’s retreating arm to drag him close, and punched him square in the face.
Max recoiled in shock. His nose immediately poured blood.
“Fuck you, you little twerp,” Max snarled.
Max punched Bridger back, aiming for his jaw. Bridger caught the fist, and the two scrabbled and fell to the grass. Max, exerting all his strength, pinned Bridger down with his knees. He wailed on Bridger over and over, pounding on him with unforgiving blows.
Max grunted in anger as onlookers whispered in fear. They did nothing, even as Bridger’s whimpers went quiet. Bridger’s gaze was fading, his head hurt. He couldn’t fight back anymore.
Bang! A skateboard crashed into Max’s skull, hard.
Max crumpled to the muddy ground. Gus stood behind him, his homemade board clutched in his hands.
Lying in the dirt, motionless, Max dripped blood from a gash on the back of his head.
The few drunk people nearby—seeing how very south this fight had gone—scattered. No one helped any of the boys.
Gus dropped to Bridger’s side. “Bridger? Bridger, are you okay?” His voice cracked.
Bridger coughed. His gums were growing bloody. He clutched his ribs and groaned.
Slowly, Gus helped Bridger to his feet. The boy was heavy and dragging. Gus tucked both their boards under his right arm and weaved his other around Bridger’s middle to clumsily hold him up.
Chaos swirled all around them. Gus had no idea what he was going to do, only that he had to get Bridger out of here. Together, both boys limped away from the backyard toward the front of the house.
Bursting from the front door, Tara spotted Gus as he shouldered Bridger toward the street.
“Gus!” Tara called out to him. “What happened?”
Gus didn’t hear Tara as he pushed past the beer-filled kids on the front lawn.
Tara, frowning, twisted to look toward the far-off backyard. There, she saw Max’s splayed drunk frame on the ground. She shook her head in anger and disappointment.
This was nothing new.