Chapter 52- The McIntyre Party: I


"Jesus Christ."

Ethan McIntyre sighed, letting out the breath he'd been holding in while waiting for his parents to leave. He'd been visibly nervous all morning, afraid that they'd end up running late- as had happened a few times. But his parents had gotten packed last night- at Ethan's suggestion- and had gotten ready on time this morning, with Ethan's willing, even eager assistance. Now the black Ford Explorer was headed down the slush-laden street, and watching from the upstairs hallway window, Ethan finally let himself relax as the SUV went around a corner and disappeared. That was it; they were gone.

Seconds later Ethan was in motion, mentally keeping a running checklist as he went all over the large, Colonial-style, two-story house. Help would be here for the cleanup waiting on Sunday morning, but today, Ethan had to set up everything himself.

The first thing the black-haired sixteen-year-old dealt with was the silk sheets the Evans brothers had given him yesterday. One set went on his parents' bed, and the other went on his own. He vacuumed both rooms, put every single loose item away in a closet or drawer, then got out a Sharpie pen and wrote "Reserved For Henry Evans" and "Reserved For Mark Evans" on two separate sheets of paper. Tape fixed the signs to the doors, and after a final check in both rooms to make sure everything was ready, Ethan went into the first guest bedroom. Opening its access door to the attic, Ethan climbed the wooden steps two at a time. Once up in the spacious, frigid attic, Ethan hurriedly uncovered the hidden cache of drinks.

Grabbing the first case, grunting at the weight and taking care as he came down the steps, Ethan felt a surge of anticipation. His excitement only grew as he returned to the kitchen with the others, then with the pot. Ethan got every speaker for every sound system he had set up, dozens of bags of food and cheap plastic drink cups. He found himself smiling as he worked, very much looking forward to the party's beginning at noon. Though Ethan was mainly doing this for the reward and the social boost, the teen intended to enjoy himself as much as anyone.

Well, except for the Evans brothers, given what they'd be doing for most of it. He wouldn't be having that much fun until sometime after the party was over and successful.

But, Ethan smiled as he thought of what he'd ask for, It is so gonna be worth the wait.

XX

Henry and Mark spent most of Saturday morning in the basement, working out. They ran through a warm-up that most of their classmates could not have even tried, then furiously pushed themselves for more than two hours. Henry enjoyed the time working out with his brother, as he always did. Playful, competitive banter flew constantly back and forth, each of them encouraging the other to push himself to his limits. The adrenaline buzz that came from the massive weights they lifted, the pushups, sit-ups and pull-ups by the hundreds- there were only two things that Henry liked better. Killing, and fucking. He'd get to do one of them today, and sometime- sooner or later- he'd get to do the other again.

The blond teen smiled, thinking about it. He'd killed things many times by now. It had been animals at first. Even before he'd killed Richard, Henry had started with bugs, mice and rats, then worked his way up to cats. The bloodier it was, the more time he could take about it, the more it fascinated him. But before long Henry found himself wanting to kill something bigger, the one everybody made the biggest deal of.

People.

It would've happened anyway, even if Richard hadn't stolen Henry's toy duck. Henry would have killed him anyway. Because he had to know. At ten, Henry had been aching with desire, wanting to know what it was like to kill a human. Richard had simply come along and given Henry a good excuse to find out.

As much fun as killing on his own had been, though, it had gotten ten times better, a hundred, once he'd become brothers with Mark. Henry had never imagined killing could be more exciting, but with Mark, when they'd gone and killed Alice Davenport together… Henry had been high on adrenaline for days.

Then there were the girls they'd picked up on the road now and then, college girls looking for a ride. Henry remembered the first one, barely out of high school- he'd held her boyfriend back while Mark enjoyed himself, right there in one of Fleetwood Hall's many luxurious bedrooms. Then Henry had taken his turn; the girl's whimpering and pleading just made it better. After that they'd taken turns stabbing the guy until he finally died, then tied the girl up and left her for the house. She was probably still there, somewhere in the halls, her spirit trapped and unable to leave. Sometimes Henry thought he could hear one of them screaming, begging to be let out. It made him smile.

What was funniest of all was that because none of the crimes ever got reported, and sometimes they weren't even sure if the girl or the guy had actually disappeared in Portland, the city's crime rate remained low. And Maine was still being called "One of the safest states in the Union."

Bench-pressing side-by-side with Mark, Henry lifted the steel bar until his arms were completely stretched out above him, then lowered it to his chest. He exaggerated the motion, deliberately moving slowly, gazing with pride on his powerful, sculpted athlete's muscles. Under his flawless, pale skin, Henry's muscles rippled like water, and the blond noted with pride that he'd managed to work up a decent sweat today. With the enormous feats of strength Henry and his brother's bodies were capable of, breaking out in a sweat while doing anything at all was an achievement.

It meant they were working hard, testing themselves- the one thing Henry and Mark knew they always had to do. Their immensely-powerful bodies needed as much physical exertion as they could get to maintain their mass, and improve it, if that was even possible. Besides, anything less than pushing themselves to their physical limits would've been boring as hell.

Getting up after finishing his final 700-pound bench press, Henry walked over and looked in seven-foot-high mirror he and Mark had gotten put down here, just so they could admire themselves like he was doing. Henry struck a pose, raising his arms and flexing his massive biceps. They bulged to incredible size; even at a glance you could see the power, the strength in those arms. Henry smiled proudly at himself. With strength like this, he could do anything.

"Get out of the way," Mark said suddenly, coming up behind him and shoving the blond to the side. "It's my turn." He promptly assumed the same pose and began grinning as he admired himself, but didn't do it for long. Henry charged in and tackled him, and the two fell to the workout room floor with a heavy thud, shaking the walls of the whole basement. They wrestled fiercely, each trying to get the other in a headlock. After a few minutes of stalemate, the two seventeen-year-olds called truce. Sweaty, grinning and happy, they both attempted to trip the other several times on the way through the basement. Another brief wrestling match followed, and after that Henry and Mark headed upstairs to shower, laughing.

XX

Mark dressed in a pair of designer jeans and a seafoam-blue t-shirt, throwing a fur-lined winter coat over it before pulling on his black leather boots. When he headed over to Henry's room, his brother was getting his own boots on, wearing a tan suede jacket over a red t-shirt and new designer jeans. He pretended to take no notice of Mark, and began carefully brushing at his hair in the mirror on his desk.

The auburn-haired teen coughed.

"You ready, Apollo, or are you gonna stare at yourself all day?"

"Thinking about it," Henry answered, but he got out his keys and met Mark at the door a moment later. "Come on," he grinned. "Lisa's gonna give it up today. A whole fucking afternoon. You think I'd miss that for anything?"

Mark grinned back, both pleased for his brother, and thinking of his own likely prospects at the party. Jessica had been checking him out all week; he kept catching her looking at him in the two classes they shared, sneaking looks at his ass in the halls. She might not have planned on going all the way on what was basically their first date, but Mark wasn't concerned. He was very charming when he wanted to be, and very persuasive. One girl had said- tried to say- no to him in four years. Considering he'd averaged better than two girls a month when you added it all up, Mark had an excellent record.

Once they got outside and Henry started the Hummer up, Mark looked over at his brother. "So who're we picking up first?" he asked, over the growl of the huge V8 turbodiesel.

"Lisa," Henry answered, glancing left as he adjusted the driver's side mirror with the power controls. "Come on up to the door with me this time; I want you to meet Lisa's parents."

Mark grinned. He'd been looking forward to this.

XX

As they headed up the neatly-shoveled front walk to the Doyle house, Mark looked at his brother, walking just ahead of him. Physically strong, immensely popular and confident- Henry was a natural charmer. He might have struggled to win the approval of his classmates at first, but he'd never once failed with adults. Mark, on the other hand, had been much better liked by his classmates, but had none of Henry's unshakable inner confidence. Becoming brothers, bonding in the Glass Library of Fleetwood Hall, had been a priceless gift for both of them. Mark might have become a ladies' man even without Henry, had he just had the confidence, been more outgoing. But he knew beyond a doubt that he'd achieved more as Henry's brother than he ever could've without him.

The world was made up of two kinds of people; those with power and those who wanted it. And for now, in terms physical, social and financial, the Evans brothers had plenty. Mark would've had it no other way.

Henry rang the doorbell, and after a few moments Mrs. Doyle opened the door. "Henry!" she exclaimed, looking as pleased as she sounded. "Come on in. Lisa's upstairs, still getting ready." She gave an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes. "You know how she is. Every time you two go out, she spends the whole day in front of the mirror."

The blond titan smiled, laughing as he stepped into the front hallway of the house. "Yes, Mrs. Doyle. I think you could say I've gotten used to it by now, though."

"You must be Mark," Christina Doyle said after a moment's pause, looking up at him and smiling. "I wish Andy and I had thought to invite you over for Thanksgiving dinner, too. Henry's such a wonderful young man, any brother of his is welcome in this house."

"Thank you, Mrs. Doyle," Mark said, already wearing his warmest, most charming smile. He gently took her hand, bowing over it and glancing up. "May I?"

"Oh, Mark," Mrs. Doyle said, blushing and laughing a little, but Mark kissed her hand as if she were a queen.

"I'm so glad to finally meet you," Mark said once he stood to his full height again. "Henry talks so much about Lisa; I've been wanting to meet her parents for a while. I can see where Lisa gets her good looks from. I can't believe he said you were- no, ma'am, you have to be under thirty-five!"

Mrs. Doyle blushed again, and was almost giggling like a schoolgirl when her husband came out of the kitchen. His eyes narrowed just slightly when he caught sight of Mark, and right away the auburn-haired adolescent could tell the older man didn't like him.

He thinks I'm just like my brother, Mark thought in amused contempt, And he's right. A fierce sense of pride rushed into Mark; this idiot could've paid him no higher compliment.

"This is my brother, sir," Henry said, pride clear in his voice.

"Mr. Doyle," Mark said, smiling warmly and extending his hand. "Pleasure to finally meet you, sir."

"No, no, the pleasure is all mine," Andrew Doyle said smoothly, but he looked like he'd eaten something that didn't quite agree with him. He couldn't refuse to extend his own hand, though, not in front of his wife. Just like Henry, Mark had left the older man with nowhere else to go. Andrew Doyle clasped hands with the towering, auburn-haired seventeen-year-old, and Mark enjoyed it immensely when he pressed much too hard, just short of actually causing swelling or breaking bones, and saw the pain in Mr. Doyle's eyes. He managed not to grunt or cry out, but clearly wanted to, and he let go as soon as Mark let him. Mark wanted to sneer; the fucking weakling. When someone was crushing your hand, you didn't show weakness by wincing, trying to get out of it. You crushed back.

"Henry!"

Lisa had reached the top of the stairs, and looked absolutely thrilled at the sight of her boyfriend. Beautiful, truly beautiful in her cashmere sweater and jeans, perfectly-brushed and conditioned blonde hair flowing down to her shoulders- Mark had never wondered why Henry had been so content with her for all this time.

Henry looked up at the sound of his name, his own face breaking into an identical grin. He came forward to meet Lisa as she practically bounded down the stairs, sweeping her into his arms.

While this went on, Mark caught Mr. Doyle's eye, and said it silently with his eyes, mocking and gleeful. My brother is going to be fucking your daughter's brains out pretty soon, and she's going to enjoy it. And in a few years, who knows? I might just end up being your son-in-law.

From the particularly sour expression on Mr. Doyle's face, one he could let himself show with his wife distracted admiring the happy couple, Mark could tell the message had gotten through. Just as clearly as if he'd said it aloud.

Once they were back inside the Hummer, Henry and Mark looked at each other. That was all it took. They exploded into laughter, Henry laughing so hard he had to stop when he first tried pulling away from the curb.

"Hey, what is it?" Lisa asked from the back, frowning in confusion. "What? What's so funny?"

XX

Meeting Mr. and Mrs. Banes for the first time, Mark was on his best behavior. Henry, who politely introduced himself once they all came outside, was charming and respectful as always. Unlike Mr. Doyle, Mr. Clifford Banes took to Henry right away, and got along just as well with Mark. Mrs. Banes was no less charmed; altogether the brothers left knowing they'd made an excellent first impression.

"Jessica," Mark said as he opened the Hummer's rear left door for her, "This is Lisa Doyle. She's been going out with Henry since the semester started."

Sitting across from her as the newest cheerleader at school got in, Lisa gave her an appraising glance. Very good-looking, in great shape- probably she would've been a threat had she been here at the start of this year. Lisa knew enough people that she'd already asked about this Jessica Mark had asked out, and she knew that Jessica had first gone all the way with a boy in 10th grade. Nothing Lisa heard about her sounded much like Amy Philips, that high-and-mighty cunt. It still rankled, all this time later, how Amy had looked at her when Lisa had asked "How was Mark?" not long after first sleeping with Henry. As if the question was absurd, and she'd somehow lowered herself in asking it. There was nothing Lisa hated quite so much as feeling like she was being viewed as a slut. Jessica Banes was much better, from everything Lisa had heard, and as the other girl got into the Hummer, Lisa smiled at her- it was partly in relief.

"Hey," Lisa said, holding her hand out and giving the new girl a friendly smile. "I'm Lisa."

XX

The December 11th party was the one that nobody, absolutely nobody, wanted to be late to. Henry parked the Beast in the McIntyre house's paved driveway at 12:15, and already he could tell a lot of kids had already shown up. The steady thud of music could be heard inside, and quite a few cars were parked around the neighborhood. The higher-ranked guests got to park out front, but only the brothers could park in the driveway unless they said otherwise.

A kid saw them coming in the windows, and two juniors, well-off basketball players the brothers didn't know, opened the double front doors for the Evans brothers and their dates. As they walked in, arm-in-arm with the girls, Henry and Mark glanced off to their right, to what looked like the living room. Loud music was on, and a few boys were arguing over an ornate glass bong, probably which one of them got to light up first. Henry shook his head but said nothing. Neither he nor Mark had ever understood this urge to see how high or drunk you could get, how much intoxication your body could take. It meant losing control, giving up your mastery of what you said and did. The very concept was repulsive to Henry and Mark, and as a result, they hardly ever drank while attending a party, and never once touched any drugs besides cigarettes.

But they didn't show any disdain for it as they entered the living room. Dylan Lucznik and a few fellow athletes were gathered around one tall, red-haired boy on one couch, holding what looked like to be an unusually-tall, brushed-steel and black plastic coffee cup. It didn't take long for the brothers to guess it was actually a bong, as the redhead clumsily flipped open his lighter and held it near an opening cut at the bottom. After holding the flame for a few moments, the redhead took a deep, long breath, accompanied by bubbling sounds from the bong- in seconds he started coughing.

"You know," Dylan Lucznik said with a grin, "The best part is that the more you cough, the more high you get. You're working that shit into your lungs even faster."

"Sounds great," Chris Marshal said hoarsely, still coughing. He stared at the floor for about a full minute before moving or saying another word. "Damn."

"What's up, guys?" Henry said, grinning as he moved into the room and started shaking hands, slapping palms, bumping fists. The silly grins and intense, yet vacant stares of more than a few boys said some pot was definitely being enjoyed in the vicinty.

"Hey, Henry!"

"Henry, what's up, man?"

"Hey, Mark! Henry!" Chris said, his eyes fixing on them as he sprawled on the couch. He clumsily held out the bong. "Dude. Ethan McIntyre got us some good shit. Wanna hit or what?"

The other boys cracked up, and Henry and Mark joined them. "Congratulations, Chris," Henry said, as he and his brother shook hands with the ginger. "Making the team. Enjoy yourself, man."

"Oh, hell yeah," Chris said, coughing some more. "Uh, does anybody know where Nicole is?"

"I'll find her for you."

"I'll fuck her for you."

"Hey!" Anthony Summers almost shouted as he came into the room, a good-sized bottle of Grey Goose in his hand. "The best football players this school ever had!" He raised his drink and took a swig of it. Seeing the look on Henry and Mark's faces, the playboy laughed. "Guys, me and Anne got here ten minutes ago. I'm not even drunk yet."

"It's all good," Henry said amiably as the brothers crossed the room to him. "Drink all you want, man."

"Sup, Tony?" Mark asked, casually bumping fists with him. He lowered his voice, speaking as if sharing something confidential. "You get anywhere with Anne yet?"

"Just second base this week," Anthony replied, and laughed. "Tonight, though…"

"Enjoy her," Mark grinned, "I did."

Anthony blushed a little, as he often did when his habit of picking up girls Henry or Mark had just discarded was brought up. But Anthony Summers was kind, gentle, romantic, and he was famous for getting laid more frequently than almost anybody in the senior class, or even the school. He was also very good at being constantly outgoing, always in a good mood. So he just grinned and laughed. "I'm gonna see how Chris is doing; you guys should check out the dining room, and the kitchen." He gestured over his shoulder down the hall. "Lotta good shit in there, man."

"Thanks, Tony," Henry said, and the boys slapped their palms together in a high-five as they passed.

XX

"Wow," Jessica said, taking in the scene between the two rooms at the center of the house. "You guys do this often?"

The kitchen counters held as much food and as many drinks and alcohol as there was room for. Speakers, more than a few, were playing- rather appropriately- "Get the Party Started", very loud. And around various tables, some furniture normally down here and others fold-ups probably retrieved from the attic, over two dozen kids were seated. Between the living room, dining room and kitchen, none of the new varsity hockey boys were moving very much, but sore muscles weren't stopping them from being among the most enthusiastic consumers of pot and alcohol.

"This is more than we usually have set up," Mark said casually. "But this is special. End of the football season, new guys just joined varsity hockey- so we asked Ethan to throw in some extra."

"We can't hold these every weekend anyway," Henry added. "Takes some time to get everything together, get the word around, and we gotta make sure people don't find out."

"So do your parents know we're even here?"

"Oh, they know," Henry said. "They just don't know about… certain things."

The four of them all laughed then, Lisa particularly enjoying Henry's reference- no doubt- to something neither of them told their parents about, but they frequently did.

"Hey, guys! You made it! What's up?" Ethan McIntyre came over then, a red plastic cup in one hand, a slightly nervous grin on his face.

"Hey, Ethan," Henry said casually. "You've been working hard, man."

Mark nodded too, looking around. "Did a good job, too," he said, then glanced back at Ethan. "So far, so good."

The dark-haired junior grinned, clearly delighted at the praise. "Thanks!"

Rushing around the counter to them, Martin Brodinsky came over. "Sup, guys?"

"Sup, Martin?" Mark asked.

"How's it going?" Henry said.

"Martin's been playing bartender since he got here at 11:50," Ethan said. "That, and flirting with Megan Kitchner."

"Nice, man," Henry grinned, slapping palms with Martin as he eyed the slender, red-haired sophomore girl, currently talking near the makeshift bar with a friend of hers.

"Gonna get some?" Mark asked, smile on his face.

Martin turned and caught her eye then, and she winked, smiling at him, before returning to her conversation. The dark-haired sophomore was grinning as he answered, "I might."

XX

Looking like a couple of kids at Disney World, 9th grader Carter Stevens and 10th grader Peter Tremont were leaning up against a space space of counter, staring around at the scene stretching from the kitchen to the dining room.

Brushing a hand over his black, buzz-cut hair- Peter had only just escaped from a one-year sentence at the Fishburne Military School in Virginia, managing to sway his parents to sending him back to Chamberlain this fall- the sophomore spoke in a low, awed voice. "Dude," he said, "Can you believe this shit? Every story I heard about these parties… they weren't fucking around."

"No, man," Carter said, nervously playing with the cigarette lighter in his pocket. "I don't even know what to do-"

"Sure you do, Carter," Henry Evans said, towering over the two boys as he moved in front of them, arm in arm with his girlfriend, Lisa Doyle. "It's easy, man. You just go over and say hi. Everybody here has heard of you. There's a lot of girls at this school who think you're fucking hot, man."

"Really?" Carter stared, disbelief plain on his face. "Wow. Uh- well-"

"He's just trying to make his mind up," Mark said casually, "He's got a lot of choices, Henry. Hard to pick which one he wants."

"Yeah, that's it," Carter grinned, doing his best to seem cool and confident. That really seemed to be the key here, why everyone admired the Evans brothers so much. It was about confidence. He stuck out a hand, shaking with Henry and Mark. "What's up, guys?"

"Peter, man, how's it going? How you like it so far?" Mark said.

"This is fucking cool," Peter said after staring around some more for a moment. "I had no idea you guys could do shit like this!"

"We can do anything," Henry said with an air of supreme confidence.

"Anything we want," Mark agreed, his tone just the same.

"I knew that when I first went out for the team, and I saw you guys watching us at tryouts," Carter said. "It's like I said, Peter. You wanna be somebody at this school, you gotta be like them." He gestured at Henry and Mark. The brothers glanced at each other just a moment, and they grinned.

XX

Jason Morgan was on his second beer, and seated pretty closely to Brittany Jorgensen on an overstuffed leather couch. He'd steered her over to this part of the dining room, across from the fireplace, partly because of the romantic aspect of the glowing artificial fire and the comfortable seating. He'd also done it because this couch faced away from the rest of the room, and he didn't want Brittany staring mournfully over at Mark Evans any more than she already had.

But she still was talking about it, and goddamnit if Jason wasn't doing his best not to haul off and smack her. He could lift nearly as much, could bench press more weight than nearly anyone else in this school. He looked fucking amazing in his underwear, everybody knew it, but no one cared because Henry and Mark Evans were around. And they just did everything better.

Doing his best to appear attentive, nodding and adding words or looks of sympathy at the right parts, Jason also did his best to devour Brittany with his eyes. He'd had her before, back in 8th grade. She'd been the second girl he went all the way with, and screwing her at her house on "study dates"- unbelievable her parents had bought that, hardly ever even coming upstairs to check- had been one of the best experiences of Jason's middle school life.

The memory of it had helped encourage Jason to swim over and start chatting Brittany up while she was lifeguarding at the Y this Friday, beatiful in her white YMCA shirt and red shorts. He'd asked her to the party, knowing she'd be going anyway. But it made him pretty happy when she'd agreed, because Jason had been thinking about it, and he'd realized he'd been single for nearly as long as Mark. And he hadn't gotten any in weeks. No wonder he'd been mad as hell all the time. It was fucking bullshit, the way Henry and Mark lorded themselves over everyone and everything. If not for them, Jason Morgan would've been alpha dog at this school, and knowing that- especially right now- was driving him crazy. He wanted to beat the shit out of Henry and Mark Evans, ruin those handsome, pretty little faces. But if he did, if he even tried- one of them would surely come after him while he was dishing out justice to the other. Even if he caught one alone.

So going out with somebody again, and more importantly getting laid again, was the best thing Jason could think of to get his mind off of it. Fantasizing about beating up Henry and his jackass brother was nice, but getting his dick wet was better. Maybe a lot better. It would help him forget what fucking assholes the Evans brothers were- for a while anyway- so Brittany was the focus for the afternoon.

"I-I just was so sure he'd ask me!" Brittany burst out, surprising Jason, who really hadn't been listening. She sounded close to tears, so he put a strong arm around her.

"Hey, it's okay," Jason said, kissing her on the cheek as a tear rolled down it. "You know something?"

"What?" she asked, sniffling.

"Mark's probably just… he's such a player. So's Henry. They've always been that way." Jason shook his head, making an expression of disgust. "I doubt Henry even knows what he meant to you when you two were going out." As Brittany started looking like she was really going to cry, Jason added in his most tender, heartwarming voice, "But I haven't forgotten 8th grade, Brittany. I couldn't forget."

She looked at him then, and sensing a good moment for it, Jason leaned in and kissed her.

XX

"To the hockey team," Andrew Cadiz said, raising the cold beer he was holding, and Brian D'Aramitz, sitting beside him at the fold-up table they'd claimed, raised his own. "To the hockey team." They drank, happily consuming their first beers of the day. Setting his down, Brian sighed contentedly. "That's some good shit, man." He looked at Andrew after a moment, his green eyes solemn. "Thanks, man."

"The beer's free, dude."

Brian laughed. "No, for recommending me to Henry and Mark. They talked to me in the locker room, after everyone else left on Friday." He frowned a little. "They… they talked to me about… stuff. All about how winning's everything; making the strongest team with the hardest training. Working out, nice cars. Pussy. They gave me all this advice, you know, about the team next year, about life and stuff. We went outside and all three of us smoked for a while."

"So what about me?" Andrew asked. "Where am I in this?"

"Well, they said you're strong like they are, and I just need to train up some more. That's what they said. And the stuff they told me, the advice and everything- it was a lot like what you told me about the other day. How you gotta be strong, and you-" he hesitated a moment, then continued- "You just gotta let the weak kids go." Brian sat there, still frowning, then said, "Is it really like that? Just the way things are?"

"Absolutely," Andrew said firmly. "I tried reading about that shit the brothers are so into, 'Darwinism', and it fits perfectly, man. Strong kids get to have fun, win games, fuck girls. The weak kids just have to suck it up and be happy with the scraps we throw 'em."

"That's what I yelled at the guys, after Henry and Mark told me they were gonna have to drop me from the team," Brian said. "I said that the tryouts were Darwinism in action. I didn't even think about it, I just said it."

"You said the right thing."

"Yeah," Brian said, looking the very image of a diligent pupil trying to grasp a difficult lesson. Mostly there, getting there, but not done just yet. "Maybe it is. I want us to have a good senior year, man. Those other schools, their teams are gonna be after us. We gotta be ready for it. I think… I think you, Henry, Mark- I think you guys might be right."

Andrew Cadiz wanted to stand up and cheer. Brian D'Aramitz, the pretty-boy socialite who had been shaping up to be no more than the Anthony Summers of his class, was finally growing up. There was steel in him now, and he was finally starting to see that pitying the boys too weak to make the team on their own, or to fend for themselves in the halls, wasn't worth it.

But Andrew promised himself he'd keep it up, keep talking to Brian to make sure he came around. Maybe he'd even teach him how to bully a kid sometime. There were thousands of ways to do it. The physical was more obvious, and it was the only kind there'd be if Andrew had his way. But since it often left marks that could be used as proof, psychological bullying was more practical and worked about as well. Tell a kid he was a loser enough times and he might actually start to believe it. Accuse a kid of being a faggot in front of other students enough times, and it didn't matter if the accusation was true. People would start to think he was one, because someone of a higher station on the social ladder was saying so.

And that was something you needed to know in life; how to remind those who were clearly less than you what their place was. And to stay in it.

What the seventeen-year-old did say was, "I'm proud of you, Brian." He smiled at his friend, and Brian smiled back warmly. "Thanks."

Just then, a shadow fell over their table- two, towering, almost seven-foot-high shadows to be exact- and the two boys looked up to see Henry and Mark Evans themselves, accompanied by each of their dates. Andrew hungrily eyed Lisa Doyle, who looked so good with her ass filling a nice, new pair of jeans you got a hard-on instantly, and did the same with the new hot girl at school, Jessica Banes. It wasn't difficult to see why Mark wanted her. But the Evans brothers were famously quick to anger if they saw you eyeing their girl, so Andrew only gave himself a few seconds. Grinning and raising his beer, Andrew said, "To the best football captains we'll ever have."

Brian raised his drink too, and the Evans brothers grinned at them, enjoying the admiration.

"Mind if we join you guys?"

XX

Shifting impatiently from foot to foot, Lisa had followed Henry around this house for nearly an hour. Her boyfriend and his brother had apparently decided on saying hello to every kid in the place, and chatted with more than a few of them. Now, they'd found two of their current favourites in the 11th grade, and Lisa struggled to conceal her annoyance as Henry and Mark talked with them. And talked. And then, just when it seemed like they'd run out of stuff to talk about, they talked some more. Football, hockey, cars, college- it went on for what seemed like forever. Henry and his brother looked to be having a great time, in no hurry to go anywhere.

Why?

Lisa had never seen Henry take so long about getting upstairs. She was more than eager to get the hell out of here and head up to their reserved room, and as she watched Henry waste time, Lisa got so frustrated it was starting to give her a headache. Every time, once they did get a bedroom to themselves, Henry was tireless. He could go on, session after session, as long as Lisa could take it. And she knew he'd be like that, once they got upstairs today. Henry was a physically and mentally powerful boy, gifted with speed and strength like no one else Lisa had ever been with. Playing to varsity sports and attending all honors and college-prep classes, Henry was extremely busy, all the time. He needed a steady girlfriend, supporting him and helping him relax. Lisa was proud to be filling that role and doing so well at it, and to be fair, she needed it as bad as Henry did.

So what was it? What was keeping him?

XX

Being as closely, fiercely bonded as they were, Henry and Mark often had moments where neither of them had to actually say anything. They could devise solutions to problems, recognize a situation and how best to handle it, with little more than eye contact and a few gestures. So when Mark had begun to take extra time in socializing, greeting everyone and talking with guys he knew, Henry quickly sensed what he was doing. Mark had recognized he'd better take a while talking with everyone, introducing Jessica and showing her around, before he could get her to be cooperative upstairs. Henry had stepped right in as a good brother, taking extra time as well rather than heading right upstairs with Lisa.

Henry was also very warm and welcoming to Jessica, practically treating her as if she'd been dating Mark for months. He wanted his brother to have a better time with this girlfriend than with his last one; there had been nothing enjoyable about seeing Mark angry and frustrated like he'd been. So helping out here, and making it easier for Mark to get into Jessica's pants when the time came, was the right thing to do. Henry knew he could wait.

Besides, Henry could tell Lisa was getting more frustrated every minute. Being nowhere near as skilled as Henry and Mark at concealing thoughts and emotions, Lisa practically shouted her annoyance with her expressions and body language. Henry secretly enjoyed it as she started to grow desperate; she was just about going crazy. Henry's growing desire made it even more fun. He wanted her, and the wait was just making it better. When he finally did get Lisa upstairs, they wouldn't be coming out of that room again for several hours.

XX

Sitting alone in the kitchen as she had lunch, Julie had a feeling she wasn't going to be seeing Mark today. Maybe not at all this weekend. He was going to have to be out spending time with that new girl he asked out, that Jessica. Although Jessica wasn't in any of Julie's classes, she heard some girls in her 6th Hour class talking, gossiping about how Mark Evans had asked out Jessica Banes.

What Mark was doing was necessary; Julie knew that. And she felt grateful that Mark was strong enough to do it. Even so, it hurt!

Just then, she heard the sound of the mailbox flap falling shut. Getting up, Julie left her lunch in the kitchen, heading up to the front door to check the mail. To her surprise and growing excitement there were two packages stuffed in there for her- two of the pregnancy books she'd ordered!

Hurrying back to the kitchen, Julie quickly cleared the table. Getting out a pen, highlighter, and spiral notebook, Julie felt momentarily like she was back in college, studying for a test. But this was something different; something much more important than her grade on any test she took. With a sense of gratitude for something to concentrate on, Julie soon immersed herself in the first book.

XX

Word of the ambush Carter Stevens and several of his friends had pulled on John LaFleur and Scott Shepherd traveled quickly around the school on Friday, and as soon as everybody knew Carter was there at the party, he had a crowd of admirers insisting that he tell them about it. Watched by more older guys and girls than he'd ever had attention from before, Carter told them. He started with the idea he and his best friend Tyler Rose had gotten on Tuesday, and how they'd enlisted help from several friends of theirs in the 9th grade.

Carter felt his excitement growing as he remembered how hard they'd worked, showing up well before school started to make sure the snowballs they'd made and hidden last night- risking a trespassing charge in the process- were still ready and waiting behind the brick wall lining the front walk. He could feel it in the crowd, too, from the seniors and juniors down to the handful of underclassmen lucky enough to be present. Carter threw in little incidents that happened along the way, like how they'd almost detoured to pour water on John LaFleur's car doors while it was still dark, freezing them shut, but had to drop the idea because his house was too far away walking.

Then, of course, he got to the best part.

"We were all out there when they showed up, all of us. Ricky kept saying, "Now? Do we go now? How about now?" And he kept throwing these nervous glances at them." Carter imitated Ricky's excited expression, throwing a few mock glances himself. Several kids laughed.

"Those dumb shits didn't even know what we were gonna do," Carter said, laughing himself. "First one I threw, got John LaFleur right in the face." The crowd cracked up, genuinely amused by the visual image of John LaFleur being smacked dead-center in the face by a snowball. Putting on a look of mock shame, Carter shook his head. "It was such a pretty face. I just had to mess it up."

That got them laughing even more, and boys leaned forward to bump fists with Carter, and his lean, bony shoulders grew sore from repeated slaps on the back.

"Did a nice job on the little faggot," a big, sturdily-built senior said as he handed Carter a beer. "Wish I'd been there to see it. Shit, I'll help you guys next time."

"Thanks… Jason," Carter said, managing a smile. He'd never had a drink before in his life. He also had been sure Jason Morgan hated him, or at least hated all freshmen. Jason was famous among underclassmen boys for how harsh he could be. Even the athletes he was rough with, frequently bullying them and unleashing torrents of verbal abuse anytime he watched them practice. But Jason was smiling now, and seemed to want to be halfway friendly. Carter took the beer and just held it, not sure what else to do.

But while he was looking around, the fifteen-year-old boy spotted something else; Angela Coulter was here! She was one of the hottest girls in the 10th grade, and she'd been Carter's dream crush since he started at this school. She wasn't a cheerleader, but she could've been. She had the looks for it. Slender, shapely legs and flowing, golden-red hair, nice, well-shaped breasts and a beautiful figure. She was smart, taking two 11th grade classes, and right then she caught Carter's eye. She gave him a little smile, and Carter felt himself melt inside.

Then the crowd pressed in on him again, and Carter once more found himself accepting congratulations and praise from one boy after another.

"Damn, man," a kid said, "Wouldn't a snowball fight right now be fun?"

Things quieted down just a moment. Before long, nods and murmurs of assent started coming. The idea quickly snowballed as more and more kids began speaking up in favor of a snowball fight.

"We should do that."

"That'd be fun."

"Hell yeah."

"Dude, we let's do it!"

Kids started setting down snacks and drinks, and a general migration for the back yard started. So many boys Carter didn't know were tugging at him or motioning as they headed out.

"Come on, Carter."

"Let's go, Carter."

"Come on, man, join our team when we get out there."

"Whaddya say, Carter?"

"Carter, you coming?"

"Gimme a minute," Carter said, keeping his voice casual. Setting the edge of the cap of his beer on the counter, the lean freshman tried something he'd seen his dad and some friends do. He drove a fist down hard, and just like he'd been praying it would, the cap went off with an audible pop. The boy raised the cold, condensation-covered glass and took a gulp of it, fighting not to mess it up and start coughing as the alcohol went down his throat. Then he set it down hard, stood up, and joined the mass of teenagers going to get their jackets and gloves. On the way, he found the gesture of adolescent bravado had worked; some half-amused, half-admiring glances were sent his way by several older boys, and if anything there were more requests for him to join either team.

"Feel like joining my team?" a towering, grinning blond senior said, his strong hand set on Carter's suddenly tiny, inconsequential shoulder.

Looking up into Henry Evans' smooth, pale, handsome face, Carter nodded so eagerly he must have looked like a Bobblehead, because Henry laughed. "Come on, man. Show these kids what you're made of."

XX

Teams quickly formed, as many as six or seven as kids first stepped outside and snowballs began sailing through the air. But when Henry and Mark Evans arrived, taking up positions opposite each other, like dueling opponents in the backyard, all the fragmented groups ceased to be. Immediately, there was a rush to join one Evans brother or the other; no one wanted to even contemplate fighting both of the brothers together. The only way you'd even stand a chance against their deadly aim, blinding throwing speed and expertly-made snowballs was by pledging allegiance to the team one of them led.

Grinning as they marshaled their assembled teams, the brothers made a show of holding back fire at first, both sides gathering snowballs, hurriedly making improvised fortifications. Led by Carter Stevens, the underclassmen on Henry's team worked like boys and girls possessed. They made snowballs and piled them and began making forts to hide behind. Henry finally called a halt to it, and organized his team into three rows. The first he ordered to kneel, the second to stand, and the third to stand atop a line of speed-bump-like forts Carter and his fellows had constructed.

Across the field, Mark Evans grinned, and arranged his team into two rows, a firing line wide enough to effectively make a wall across his half of the white-blanketed backyard.

Then, locking eyes and grinning again, the brothers shouted it at the same time.

"Fire!"

A snowball machine gun might have opened up on either side of the yard as both sides let loose. A blinding flurry of white spheres sailed out and slammed into both lines, and boys and girls alike cursed as they were hit. When Angela Coulter was hit in the eye by one, Carter Stevens knelt over her and brushed the snow gently away, taking several hits to his back and pretending to not even notice. "Hey," he asked, "You all right?" The concern in his voice was real, but when she looked up at him, a smile started across Carter's face. "Uh, hi," he said, not awkward in the least. "I'm Carter."

The orderly, militaristic firing lines quickly melted away as kids broke and ran for cover, or simply took to running here and there in the hopes of not getting hit. The Evans brothers stood firm, visibly fearing nothing. Henry and Mark simply knocked down opposing team members with throws a professional baseball player would've envied, and relatively few direct shots were thrown at their girlfriends- more than one kid feared what would happen if one of the brothers decided to take offense to that.

XX

Lisa Doyle, standing beside Henry as the melee erupted, felt the last of her patience slipping quickly away. Two minutes in, she wanted to scream. What do I have to do? Lisa wondered, driven to near-madness by her frustration. Would pulling down Henry's pants and giving him a blowjob in front of everybody get his attention? Or would that be too subtle a hint at this point?

The upside to her immense frustration was that Lisa was in rare form as a snowball fighter, dishing out shots one after another. She beaned that skinny little kid Henry liked so much, that Carter Stevens, in the back of the head as he and some girl ran forward past her and Henry. He went down with a very satisfying "Oof!" and Lisa smiled a little, baring her teeth as she scooped another snowball together and threw again. The throw at the Carter boy had actually been friendly fire, but Lisa didn't give a damn. It wasn't like he was gonna do something about it.

Throughout the fight, Lisa threw hard and rarely missed. Had she not been so irritated by the delay Henry seemed to be deliberately imposing, she would've been enjoying herself. When she saw someone's shot smack into Mark Evans' new girlfriend- the culprit quickly vanished back into the fighting, no doubt fearful of retaliation- Lisa tried to overlook the other girl's misfortune, pretending instead that it was Amy Philips.

XX

"Jessica!" Mark cried as the brown-haired girl was hit, thrown off-balance and fell in the snow. He quickly put his arms around her, picking her up gingerly, yet the way he so effortlessly lifted her showed the immense strength his arms wielded. Mark shielded Jessica with his body, shrugging off falling snowballs like it was nothing, and he pulled her close, letting her feel the warmth and heat that seemed to radiate out from him. He smiled warmly at her, and she smiled back, just inches from the other's face. Mark leaned gently in, and he grinned inside, enjoying the hard-on he got as they shared their first kiss.

First base, first date. A big deal for some boys, but not for Mark. He'd done it plenty of times by now, priding himself on his ability to get from one base to the next so fast. He had plans for the rest of the day, and so far it looked good. Things were moving right along.

XX

The snowball fight that went on in the McIntyre backyard that afternoon might have more accurately been called a snowball battle. Ground was gained and lost, segments of the back yard were taken, lost, and retaken, and leaders junior to Henry and Mark emerged as boys fought to outdo one another, impress their dates, or just show off in front of so many others from school. With one Evans brother to each side, neither could seem to gain a complete, decisive advantage, and by the time it ended a series of walls of hard-packed snow had been built by both groups, giving the yard a look reminiscent of the trenches of World War I.

By then, a lot of gloves, hats and jacket linings were getting more than damp, and only Henry Evans' determination rallied his side to mount a final charge against the opposing snow-trench lines. Mark yielded his primary position on the line to shield his girlfriend, and when that happened the attackers needed little more help to succeed. After attempting to raise an upside-down rake atop the captured snow fort and having it quickly fall over, the boys on the winning side gave up the effort. Members of both sides soon mingled again, and already stories were being told, preserving the snowball fight for memory. Laughing, talking and joking about the day's improvised event, everyone who'd participated headed back inside.

It was nothing less than perfect timing that Ethan McIntyre and a few assistants had just brought twenty-four pizza boxes back from the front door. The warm, delightful aroma of fresh pizzas rapidly filled the air of the dining room and the kitchen as one box after another was opened and its contents eagerly removed. The newly-initiated varsity hockey players, most of whom had stayed inside and just gotten more intoxicated, were in more than one case too drunk or too high to move. Chris Marshal managed to stagger into the kitchen, seize two boxes on behalf of several fellow team members and himself, and staggered back out again- much to the amusement of everyone who saw it.

Brian D'Aramitz further amused everyone by drunkenly attempting to stand up, immediately falling back into his chair, and then loudly holding the following conversation with Andrew Cadiz as he came back inside.

"Andrew. Andrew! Andrew!"

"What?"

"Bathroom!"

"What about it?"

"I gotta go!"

"How is that my problem?"

"I can't get up!"

Sighing in half-amusement, half exasperation, Andrew dutifully came over to Brian at the fold-up table, threw one of the drunk boy's arms around his shoulders, and practically carried him down the hall. The rest of the room watched all this in near-silence; then someone looked at someone else, and they all broke up laughing. Everyone settled down to recuperate after the snowball fight, talking about it over lunch, and the atmosphere was nothing but cheerful. Even the regular party-goers didn't have such a good time often; this was one of the best parties any of them had seen. This was going to be talked about for years.