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Timothy grabbed Walt by the forearm as soon as he was fully inside the house and started pulling him deeper into the party.

They were dragged through the kitchen, to the front of the house, to the basement stairs, then down into the darkness.

It was quiet, dim with only one lamp. William’s basement was finished; there was a couch, coffee table, and TV, all pushed against the walls so that the thirty or so guys in there could fit in the space, gathered in a circle. Timothy let go of his arm and pushed Hollis forward.

Hollis met James’s gaze first. James looked tired and angry, like he didn’t want to be there at all.

Everyone else in the room was a guy Hollis hadn’t spoken to or didn’t know in any real way. Some basketball guys, some baseball, more than a few on the football team, Stephanie’s boyfriend, Tim and James, of course. None of them were speaking, and they all looked serious.

It was so confusing that it took a moment for him to recognize Jorge.

He was standing in the middle, waiting.

“Hey,” Jorge said, sharp and loud.

“What is this?” Walt asked.

Jorge... didn’t look good. His cuts had healed enough for him to be walking around, but he was crisscrossed in lines of pink. Coming back to school like that was going to be difficult. His whole life would probably be difficult, if Hollis was being honest. But again, this wasn’t Hollis’s fault.

Timothy rubbed the back of his neck, agitated.

“He wants to fight you, man,” he said, like it was embarrassing.

Walt looked back at the stairwell, then returned to the conversation.

“I assume I’m not going to be allowed to leave?”

“What do you think?” Jorge snapped.

Walt ignored him and looked to Timothy again.

“If I win, can I leave?”

Timothy glanced at Jorge, then shrugged.

“I don’t... really see that happening,” he said without an ounce of malice. “But, I guess.”

Jorge turned on him quick. “That shouldn’t be a question. You think I’m a worse fighter than James? James had him on the ground and you think I can’t?”

Timothy put his hands up and took a step back, closer to James.

“I got him down here, what else you want from me?” he muttered. “Chill.”

James sucked his teeth. He was chewing on a lollipop stick and sitting on the back of Will’s sofa.

“You got a problem too?” Jorge snapped.

James tilted his chin up, looked at Jorge from under his lashes. “S’not a fair fight, is all.”

You’re really calm, Hollis said.

I think that guy has a pack of cigarettes in his left pocket, Walt said inexplicably. Maybe a lighter too.

What? Why does that matter? Do you think he’ll share with us after he beats us half to death?

Hollis felt the thrill of Walt’s amusement.

“I don’t like people thinking you got the jump on me. You didn’t,” Jorge was saying.

“I know,” Walt said. “The cops came to my house about it. Why do we have to do this? Can’t you just leave me alone? I don’t even care if you date Annie—”

“Oh, we’re way past that now,” Jorge said dangerously.

Timothy sighed loudly. “Can you guys just get this over with?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jorge snapped.

“Okay, fine, we’ll fight,” Walt said, eyes glued to Jorge’s pockets. “But after this you have to stop bothering me. Completely. I’ve never had any problems with you, and technically you shouldn’t have any problems with me. Half the people in this room have had good reason to beat my ass, and they did. But you’re not one of them, Jorge. So, let’s just get this over with.”

There were a few laughs in the crowd, and Jorge did not like that.

He lunged at Hollis, but Walt moved back quick, faster than Hollis anticipated.

“Promise you’ll leave me alone after this or there’s no point to it.” Walt looked back at the crowd and pulled a face that got a few more laughs.

“I’ll leave you alone. After they scrape your ass off the floor,” Jorge yelled.

“Great.”

Walt snapped Hollis’s arm out lightning quick. His fist was loose.

Hollis was sure he was about to slap Jorge, which would have been funny and probably hurt his hand a bit. A nice appetizer to a beating that was certain to land them in urgent care, yet again.

Instead, Walt’s knuckles collided with the side of Jorge’s head with a sickening crack, and Jorge fell like a sack of meat.

He didn’t move.

The room was dead silent. Hollis was dead silent.

Walt rolled his shoulders, walked over to Jorge’s unconscious body, and turned him over. He rummaged in Jorge’s pocket and took out his cigarettes and lighter.

“Can I take this?” he asked Timothy.

Timothy took another step back.

“Do what you want, man.” He sounded scared.

Walt flicked Jorge’s lighter until he was sure it would light.

God, it’s been months. I’m gonna have to do this in private.

What the fuck...

“What the fuck?” James said out loud.

“He’ll be fine.” Walt replied. “How much are these now... five, ten bucks?”

He pulled out Hollis’s wallet and removed ten precious dollars and tossed them on top of Jorge’s body.

“Not a thief,” he muttered. “Anyway, see you guys later.”

Walt walked them toward the stairs, and the crowd parted immediately to let them through.