Why do you pick fights with other boys? It's the question Ryan has been running from all his life. The answer will shock you.
For as long as Ryan can remember, he's always wanted to be someone special. Now, a promising high school wrestler and a po...
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As Luke's teammates spent the rest of their night nursing Luke from their bender, Dalton and Cyrus went to a college party.
"Fuck Luke," Cyrus said as he parked his car and cracked open a Four Loko. "Fuck him."
Dalton wondered if he shouldn't have sparked the blunt he lit. "Are you sure you should be drinking?"
Cyrus finished taking a big swig. "It's a blessing in a can."
The Four Loko was one of the originals. The FDA had recently banned the beverage's prior ingredient list after several deaths that also happened in Washington state. One original Four Loko was the same as drinking seven shots of vodka and approximately six cups worth of coffee. Finishing a whole can meant you could be on the verge of blacking out, but still have enough energy to party.
Cyrus's older brother had two hundred original Four Lokos stashed at his house. He sold each for forty bucks except to Cyrus which he only sold for ten bucks.
"How the fuck are we going to get home?" Dalton asked. "Are you going to be good? There's like six shots in one of those -"
"And three cups of coffee!" Cyrus interrupted.
"So you'll still be dancing after you black out?" Dalton asked, dryly.
"Chill, bro!" Cyrus passed the can to Dalton. His body language was already appearing sloppy, but that could have been for other reasons. "We're going to be here for a good while. Ali's not coming for like another hour. Let's just focus on having a good time right now."
Dalton shook his head. "You know if you keep driving drunk you're going to end up crashing into a tree."
Cyrus belched loudly. "Did you say something?"
Dalton covered his face with his shirt. The smoke from the hit he took pooled through his collar and sleeves. The smell of the skunky weed was better than what Cyrus conquered. "Fuckin' nasty," Dalton commented.
"If you weren't such a good friend and didn't have such great weed, I'd tell you to get the hell out of my car and go preach that shit over at that fucking church down the street." Cyrus pointed to the dilapidated chapel a few blocks down that could or could not have been still operating. It was hard to tell with the crappy infrastructure surrounding the neighborhood.
"This whole neighborhood looks like shit," Dalton said.
Cyrus shrugged.
For a moment, Dalton felt hesitation. Something about the night seemed off. Maybe it was the neighborhood, maybe it was Cyrus's being his ride home, but, whatever it was, it didn't give Dalton any comfort. He sighed, as if the expression would release him from his worries. Not really. "Let's just go to this fucking party."
The party hosted mostly random people Dalton barely knew. Some of them were faces from other high schools Dalton recognized, but couldn't put names to. Most of the attendees appeared like college slackers and dropouts who were in their early to late twenties. It fitted with the vibes of the house of the party.
