Authors: David Bernstein
“Or have a knocked-up girlfriend,” Gwen added.
Jim laughed.
Gwen reached up and pulled him to her. Their lips met, mouths opening. Jim felt the warmth of her gentle tongue against his, sending a bolt of electricity to his groin, but also making his heart feel like it was going to explode.
Jim loved her with all his being. She was his soul mate, of that he had no doubt, and was beyond grateful that he had her in his life. She was the best thing that ever happened to him.
The two lovers parted, Gwen holding onto his hand until she was too far away, the release almost excruciating for Jim, for his heart was saddened by the memories of the past and frightened of what was to come. He kept up the happy face, smiling at her. She winked, told him she’d see him tonight and walked away.
Jim headed to his car, stopping whenever he ran into friends, wishing them well, telling others he’d see them over the summer. There were so many people about to head into the next part of life—get jobs, or go to college.
Originally, Jim had no idea which colleges to apply to, let alone what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. According to his parents, college was a “must”. He had agreed with them. So he’d do what most students did when unsure, and take the basic, core classes while he decided on a major.
With that decision made, he’d had to choose which colleges to apply to. His grades were decent, but he was no Harvard candidate, nor did he want to be, and leaving for another state just seemed too far from his world, the place he felt safe. Some people, like Shay and Paul, were all about going out and seeing the world, living it up and not wanting to settle down until they were older, even if then.
Jim wound up applying to the same college as Gwen. Unlike himself, she knew what she wanted to be and planned on getting her four-year degree before she went on to nursing school. At least they’d be together for the first four years, then they’d see what happened, but he imagined himself having proposed by then anyway. He planned on locking her up early.
Halfway across the parking lot, Jim spotted Darren leaning against his car. Now that was a kid who knew where he was going. He was three times the size of the normal high school student, coordinated like a ballerina, and had been scouted by all the top colleges. He’d been told numerous times that if he performed well in college, stayed healthy, that he’d be NFL bound for sure.
Jim’s hand was swallowed up by Darren’s meaty mitt as they greeted one another, the big man all smiles. “What’s up Jimmy-Jim?”
“Nada much,” Jim said, matching the kid’s gleeful expression. He’d hoped to make it to his car without running into anyone else, but alas he was going to have to fake a good mood again. He just wanted to get home and be alone. He needed time to think.
“Ready for tonight? Darren asked. “Head out to the infamous Witch Island and do some partying.”
“Hell yeah,” Jim said, hoping he wasn’t overdoing it with his enthusiasm. “We’re all meeting up by the boats at seven, right?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Paul’s getting the beer, right?”
“Like always. Bastard’s got a killer ID. I’ll be with him, of course, to help him carry it all.”
A blue Toyota pickup pulled up to Jim’s car. Cindy Maynard popped halfway out of the passenger window. “Hi, Darren,” she said, then lifted her shirt to reveal two perfectly shaped breasts. Jim’s mouth opened. Darren grinned, shaking his head a little. “Something I’ve wanted to do for some time, sexy, and give you something to remember me by.” She pulled her shirt back down, and the truck took off.
“I’m kind of speechless,” Jim said.
Darren shook his head, a huge grin spread over his face.
“Damn, man, girls are already throwing themselves at you,” Jim said. “Did you bang her or something?”
“No, I’m a one-woman guy. Melinda’s the only one for me.”
“I know, just checking,” Jim said. “Our girls don’t know how lucky they are to have such upstanding, keep-their-dicks-in-their-pants kind of guys, do they?”
“I think they just might,” Darren said, nodding.
“You remember when Gwen was upstate with her parents?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I went to Pete Milford’s party. I was hanging out, drinking, feeling fine, when Melony Stewart started talking to me. She was drunk, touching me, flirting like crazy. Wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“She’s one fine-looking piece of ass.”
“No shit. I could’ve nailed her, but I just couldn’t, you know? All I could think about was Gwen and how much I loved her and how a quick romp with another girl would ruin everything.”
“Everyone knows you love Gwen. I’m surprised Melony tried.”
“She was pretty wasted.” Jim felt the moment was right to proceed, and pulled the keys from his pocket. “Is Melinda coming tonight?” He opened the car door and tossed his empty backpack over to the passenger seat.
Darren smacked himself in the forehead. “Crap.”
“What, Melinda isn’t coming?” Jim had only asked the question to keep the conversation going as he worked on leaving without being rude. He’d never thought she wasn’t going to be there tonight. He looked at Darren, leaving the car door open.
“No, no. She’s down. It’s you, man. Are you going to be okay with going there? I mean…well with, you know…”
Jim could take Gwen asking him if he was okay—she was supposed to be concerned for his well-being—but Darren? No, not Darren or any of his other friends. “Look,” Jim said. “Greg died five years ago. I’ll always miss him, but I’m okay now. I mean it’ll always be a thing for me, but I’m good, really—unless my parents find out where we’re going. They’ll flip.”
“Dude, are you sure about this?”
“Yes, I’m fucking sure,” he said harshly, the annoyance factor finally getting to him.
“Hey man, just want to make sure,” Darren said, holding up his hands in a defensive manner. “It was Paul’s idea to go there, and well, he can be a little self-centered.”
“I know.” Jim sighed, then leaned against the car door frame, putting one leg over the other. “Paul’s been that way since we were kids.”
“He’s a character,” Darren said.
“I’m sorry, man,” Jim said, shaking his head. “Didn’t mean to come at you like I did. Just a few minutes ago I went through this with Gwen. She’s worried about me, and I don’t want her to…don’t want any of you to worry. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, man,” Darren said, and slapped Jim on his shoulder just as Darren’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from its case on his belt. His face brightened as he looked at the screen. “My future coach. I got to take this. See you tonight, Jimmy-Jim.” He put the phone to his ear and headed to his car.
Jim climbed into his Honda Accord and shut the door, killing the annoying car chime, and breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t believe he had lost his cool with one of his best friends. Tonight’s event at Witch Island must be bothering him more than he knew.
He sat back, wanting a minute to relax before he started the car, when he felt as if he was being watched. He looked to his left and saw a 1968 Chevy Camaro parked in the spot next to his. The ride was beyond sweet, with a cherry-colored paint job and chrome rims. The windows were blacked out, making it impossible to see who was inside, but Jim knew it was Billy Montgomery’s car. Jim had been so focused on tonight and getting home that he hadn’t noticed the vehicle.
Son of the sheriff, Billy got away with everything. The kid was never pulled over by anyone but his father. He was never ticketed for his blacked-out windows, for speeding—which he was notorious for—or any other traffic infractions, like driving while stoned or drunk. Two summers ago, Paul was issued a ticket for the tint on his Jetta’s windows only a day after getting them done. On top of losing money on paying the ticket, he had to remove the tint or face more summonses. Billy had the same blacked-out windows he always had, yet never suffered any consequences.
Jim understood how the world worked, how some people received special treatment because of their position in society—cops, judges, politicians, etc.—but Billy was a total waste of flesh and bone. The kid was always getting high, starting fights, disruptive in class. There was no doubt that if it wasn’t for Billy’s father, that kid would’ve been expelled from school, and probably serving some kind of stint in prison.
Jim continued to stare out his window, seeing his own reflection stare back at him from the black sheet of glass on the Camaro. He noticed that the window was rolled down about an inch. A blast of white smoke billowed out. Most likely, Billy and his stooge, Damien Kellogg, were smoking a big, fat blunt. Jim wasn’t against smoking weed, but not at school. The loser couldn’t even wait until they left the grounds. Then again, it seemed like Billy and Damien were always high. Every time he saw the kid, his eyes practically glowed red. He wondered if the window had been open like that when he and Darren had been talking.
Jim cracked open his own window, and heard heavy metal music coming from Billy’s car. It was noisy outside, kids hollering, cars honking, music blasting, but he would have remembered hearing that noise from the asshole’s car.
Jim stuck the car key into the ignition and started the engine. He rolled his window up and backed out, looking forward to getting home and not having to deal with the likes of Billy Montgomery ever again.
Billy grinned. “Did you hear that?” he asked.
Damien nodded, his eyes fixed on the joint Billy was holding between his fingers. “You going to light that up or what?”
Billy picked up the lighter that had been resting on the dashboard, stuck the joint between his lips and lit it. He puffed a few times. The end of the joint glowed brightly, cascading the car’s interior in an orange hue. Smoke clung to Billy’s face like some phantom beard.
With the joint fired up and cooking nicely, Billy took a long drag, watching the paper burn away as the smoke poured into his lungs. He held it in, fought against coughing and passed the marijuana cigarette to his friend.
Damien mirrored Billy’s actions, holding in the smoke.
Finally, Billy exhaled. He didn’t know why he held it in for so long. Only so much could get absorbed before it was just wasting time.
Damien let loose his smoke, adding to the car’s already foggy interior.
“Damn,” he said, “this is some primo shit.”
Billy was holding in another hit, and passed the joint to Damien. “I know,” Billy said, coughing and exhaling at the same time. He passed the joint to Damien who took a long drag, then passed it back.
Billy sat there for a moment, letting the weed do its thing. It seemed like minutes passed and Damien still hadn’t exhaled. “What are you trying to do, kill yourself?” Damien shook his head, his face turning red. Billy smacked him upside the head and the kid coughed out what little smoke remained.
“Dude, do you really think holding it in that long will get you higher, cause it won’t. Saw a show about pot and how to smoke it properly.”
“What were you saying before?” Damien asked, eyes lined with red capillaries.
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, you were about to say something, remember? When that douchebag Jim Ryan was talking to that ’roid freak.”
“Oh yeah, right. Did you hear what they were talking about?”
“Something about a party.” Damien took what was left of the joint, now a roach, and smoked the life out of it before placing the remains in the ashtray with about ten other roaches. They’d roll them up later and smoke them too.
“Yeah, a party. Those fags are going to Witch Island.”
“Fuck that place. I ain’t going there.”
Billy punched his friend in the shoulder. “You stupid or something? That’s just a rumor.”
“So why haven’t we gone there?”
“Why the fuck would we want to?”
“Good point.”
“But now we have a reason to.”
Damien sat back in his seat, his eyes barely open. “And what’s that?”
“To ruin those assholes’ good time.” Billy turned up the music. Damien started playing air guitar. “I fucking hate those motherfuckers.”
“Me too. Fucking douches. And their bitches are uber bitches. Think they’re all that and shit. Fucking whores, though I wouldn’t mind doing one or two of them, especially Shay Washington. Mmmmhhhmmm, she’s hot.”
“Well, it sounds like a small group of them are going to that island and camping out.”
Damien grinned, flipping his long hair back. “Party crash?”
“Don’t you know it. We’ll teach those pricks a lesson. I owe them all, especially Ryan. Fucker slammed me into a locker a few weeks ago because I was staring at Gwen’s ass. It’s free to look, isn’t it?”
“Fuck yeah.”
“Yeah. You screw with Billy Montgomery, you’re going to pay.”
Chapter Two
Steve Mayfield stared at the bottle of Oxycontin in his hand. The medication was his mother’s. He’d swiped it from her drawer of pills while she was passed out drunk in her usual spot on the living room couch.
Five years ago, his father had walked out on him and his mother. The bastard sold his dental practice and moved across the country with his new twenty-two-year-old secretary, or whore, as Steve’s mom often referred to her as.