The Centennial was a liquor store similar in appearance to the gas station convenience store Don pretended to steal beer from less than half an hour ago. The difference was that it sat right across the street from the Emporium and there was no conceivable reason an angry, potentially murderous individual would cross Mitch's path. Unless there was a robbery, but Mitch was praying he wouldn't be so unlucky twice in one night.
When he entered the store, wide-eyed as ever because it was his first time standing in such an establishment, he saw a pregnant woman smoking a cigarette and buying a bottle of wine.
A skinny clerk with gray hair, glasses, and crooked teeth was completing her transaction. "Remember to eat a green thing every day," he said as he slipped her wine into a paper package. "And have lots of calcium, it's very important for young mothers to have lots of calcium." From the clerk's tone of voice, the irony that he was advising a smoking and soon-to-be drinking woman on how to keep her baby healthy was not lost on him. "Here you are. See you tomorrow night."
The woman bid him goodbye, took her bottle and walked out.
Mitch was the only other person in the store. He felt the clerk's eyes on him as he selected a sixer of Schiltz, just like Melvin ordered, and brought it to the counter. He added a beef stick to the transaction, though he didn't know why. One little piece of jerky wasn't going to distract from his youthful appearance.
"How are you this evening?" the clerk asked, ringing up the items.
"Pretty good," Mitch managed. He was caught off-guard. He had readied himself to say he was eighteen years old, but what he had yet to learn was that liquor store clerks liked to ring up items first, in order to lull you into a false sense of comfort, then ask about your age. "How's it going?"
"Be going a lot better when I get off in a couple hours," the clerk said.
"Yeah, I hear that." Mitch placed Melvin's money on the counter.
Finally, the clerk, whose nametag said RICK, leaned forward and studied Mitch over his glasses. "You're eighteen, right?"
"Oh yeah." Mitch was astounded at the casualness in his own voice. "Yeah, just graduated."
Incredibly, the clerk took this proclamation as fact and unfolded a paper bag. "Graduated? Congratulations. You off to college in the fall?"
Mitch cleared his throat. He tried to stand a little taller, talk a little deeper. "Oh, you know, I'm still not sure. Working right now. For the city. Thinking of holding onto the job for a while. You know, it's money in my pocket."
"I hear that. Here's some more money for your pocket." Rick handed over the change and the bag, now with the beer and jerky inside. "You have a nice night."
"Okay, thanks." Mitch nearly cheered for himself as the sixer was returned to his possession. As he walked out, he called, "Take it easy!" Rick the friendly clerk tossed him a salute.
Mitch walked out of the Centennial feeling pretty damn proud of himself. An unconscious smile formed on his face as he pictured what he would do and say in a few minutes when he walked back inside the Emporium.
"Psst!"
Mitch stopped.
"Hey, Mitch!"
He whirled about and saw Carl, Tommy, and Hirschfelder crouching like frightened animals by the far side of the liquor store.
"Hey!" Mitch said, truly delighted to see his friends. It felt like an eternity since the baseball game, and he had mostly forgiven them for ditching him. "There you guys are."
"What's in the bag?" Tommy asked.
"Eh, a sixer." Mitch shrugged like it was no big deal. "You owe me one, man."
"Yeah." Carl chuckled sheepishly. "They busted the hell outta Hirschfelder, too."
"Yeah, I heard."
Hirschfelder nodded toward the pool hall. "You're over at the Emporium?" he asked incredulously.
"Yeah." Mitch wondered how long they had been slinking around here, spying on him and the older guys.
"Is that bastard O'Bannion over there?"
"Yes." O'Bannion had indeed returned to the Emporium with Benny, sometime during Mitch's joyride with Pink, Don, and Pickford. Mitch scowled. "I hate that jerk." He paused. The plan he had begun to form a couple hours ago suddenly took clearer shape in his mind. He could see the inner workings of it now, could see the beginning, middle, and end. He looked at his friends smugly. "Do you guys wanna get him back?"
"Hell, yes," they all said, so Mitch made sure no seniors were so much as looking over in their direction from the Emporium and explained his scheme.
This done, his friends hurried to call Pentico and gather the necessary supplies. Mitch returned to the Emporium. When he walked inside, Foghat's "Slow Ride" was playing and multiple seniors' eyes—plus those of Julie—landed on him. He had never felt cooler in his life.
"They really sold it to you?" Julie asked as he passed her.
"'Course," he said easily.
Wooderson and Melvin were just finishing up a pool game. Melvin had lost, which was a rarity, but seeing Mitch with the paper bag under his arm brightened his mood.
"Oh yeah, he got in!"
Mitch handed him the sixer and dug into his pocket. "And your change…"
"Oh, don't worry about it, man." Melvin handed one beer to Wooderson and gave two more to the other guys they played with. Mitch had never seen such generosity. High school seemed to be some sort of utopia wherein everyone bought each other alcohol and never worried about owing money because there was always next time. Melvin capitalized on this by handing a fourth beer to Mitch, who took it.
Wooderson waved the money Melvin had paid him. "Party at the moon tower."
"Oh, beautiful!" Melvin said.
"You and Benny pick up the first keg, I'm going to collect for the rest. Spread the word." Wooderson pointed at the other two pool players. "Max! Phil! Party at the moon tower!"
Mitch took this opportunity to slither away from Melvin. He had a plan to put into action. The first step on his end was to walk over to Julie and whisper in her ear. He knew now was not the time to be distracted by her, but he figured it was a good sign that she didn't demand to know why he asked her to do what he asked her. She was clearly curious, but happy to go along. Mitch found a place in the corner out of everyone's way. He saw Pink looking at him from across the room but wanted him to stay away until this was done.
Julie and her friend walked past O'Bannion's table. He was winning by a lot and trash-talking the guys he was playing against. "Y'all are an embarrassment to the sport of pool and should be proud that I even let you play at my table. You are the worst pool player I've ever seen in my life, but if you keep watching me, you might learn something."
Right when O'Bannion paused to take a breath between insults, Julie said loudly, "So, did you hear they're busting Carl Burnett out back?"
Her friend pretended to be interested.
O'Bannion instantly turned away from his game and caught Julie's arm. "Whoa, what'd you say?"
"'Bout what?" Julie asked blankly.
The girl's a natural actress, Mitch thought.
"Carl Burnett," O'Bannion said impatiently. "What about him?"
Julie shrugged. "Just heard he's getting busted, I dunno." She and her friend walked away.
O'Bannion hurried across the room to where Benny was in the middle of his own pool game. "They got Burnett out back!"
Benny's brow raised. "Carl Burnett?"
"Yeah, outside. Let's go!"
Benny glanced at his table. He had money riding on this game. "Gimme two, three minutes, lemme finish this. But you hold him for me."
"Okay!" O'Bannion ran out the Emporium's front doors.
Mitch smiled. This couldn't be more perfect. He disliked Benny almost as much as O'Bannion, but if the two of them went out together, there was a greater chance for the plan to go awry. And it was more important to nail O'Bannion than Benny.
"Hey man."
Don had appeared out of nowhere. He looked at Mitch like he knew every secret the young boy kept. "That Julie chick? Loves you." In spite of himself, Mitch giggled. Don nodded. "Oh yeah. You want her?" It was clear Mitch wanted her and Don didn't wait around for him to reply. "Gotta play it cool, ya know. Can't let her know how much you like her, 'cause if she knows, she'll drop you like that." He snapped his fingers to emphasize his point. "Believe me. Like if she asks you to ride out to the moon tower with her, you don't do it. Say something like, 'Nah, I got my own ride. But maybe I'll see ya later.'"
Mitch frowned. Don held up his hands. "Sounds stupid, I know. But it works."
"I'll do that," Mitch said. He really was thankful for the advice, but right now, he had a plan to oversee. He pitched the ball, and now it was up to his friends to make the metaphorical homerun.
Outside, he saw Carl exactly where he was supposed to be: with his hands planted on the wall of a storage facility across the street. Two seniors stood guarding him with paddles, meaning Carl did his job as bait and taunted them until they caught him. So far, everything was going as planned.
O'Bannion raced across the street to intercept the hazing before it could begin. "Whoa, whoa, guys, guys!" he called. The seniors paused as he approached. O'Bannion gestured at Carl. "You wouldn't mind if I went first, would ya? Is that alright?" He phrased this like a question but it was anything but. The other seniors obediently stepped out of his way.
O'Bannion had grabbed his paddle out of his car and now twirled it in premature victory. "So…" He grinned maniacally at Carl. "We meet again." O'Bannion turned to address everyone loitering outside the Emporium, who had begun to watch the goings-on. Even Pink, Don, and Wooderson were now outside, if only because Pink had grown curious what Mitch was up to.
"Y'all hear this little motherfucker's mom pulled a shotgun on me this afternoon?" O'Bannion shouted at them. "Fuckin bitch."
He turned on Carl and leaned in close. Carl tried to hide his face against the wall. "You haven't had any licks yet, have you?" O'Bannion asked. "Hm?"
"No," Carl said through gritted teeth.
O'Bannion whooped. "Another cherry, boys!"
Mitch could tell even from across the street that Carl wanted to look up, wanted to check and make sure everything and everyone was in position. Don't do it, he silently willed his friend. You'll blow the whole damn thing.
Carl managed not to, but he did remove his hands from the wall, readying himself to run a little too soon. O'Bannion noticed, but was too dumb to suspect anything and merely shoved Carl against the storage facility. "Man, get the fuck against the wall!" he barked. "Know something? You have to be the dumbest freshman skinny little cocksucker sonofabitch to be out here tonight. You knew I was gonna find you!"
At last, O'Bannion positioned himself. He raised his paddle with its bold FAH-Q. Like a king about to order an execution, he declared, "I would like to dedicate this first lick to your mother. Fuck her."
Carl was exceptionally nervous, now. He stood on the balls of his feet, ready to move. Mitch was uneasy, too. He unconsciously curled up his fists and chewed at his bottom lip. Pink noticed but figured it was only because Mitch and Carl knew each other, and he didn't plan to stop O'Bannion from hazing Carl just for that. Not when O'Bannion was in as violent a mood as he had been in all day.
O'Bannion took a practice swing just to make Carl flinch. "Not yet. It's getting warmer."
Just as he prepared to strike, something went splat on his left shoulder. O'Bannion lowered his paddle and craned his neck to see. Where before his shirt was yellow, now there was a big white patch on it.
"What the fuck?" he said to himself.
He looked upward just in time to get a face full of thick, smelly white paint.
From their position on top of the storage facility, Tommy and Hirschfelder poured the entire bucket on O'Bannion's head. Carl allowed himself a split second to watch before he took off running.
"Remember me, you pig?" Hirschfelder's voice rang out triumphantly over the entire street corner. "Wee! Wee! Wee!"
Mitch laughed out loud, knowing it could give him away but not caring. Pink gave him a Was this you? look somewhere between incredulous and proud, and Mitch simply tossed his shoulders.
Carl ran around the side of the storage facility, where Pentico's brother's car was parked. Tommy and Hirschfelder slid off the roof at the same spot they had shimmied up earlier and all the freshmen sped away, their vengeance exacted.
Once the initial spell of shock left O'Bannion, he roared and waved his paddle dangerously at the other seniors nearby. "You let that little fuck get away! What is the matter with you? It's fuckin pitiful!"
He stormed across the street, looking down at his ruined shirt and jeans. His hair flopped over his eyes, dripping paint down his face. He looked like some huge white-faced Romero zombie the way he lumbered stupidly in little circles, trying to comprehend how things went so wrong so fast. "Fuck," he groaned to himself. "Freshmen shitheads."
He crossed the street, heading for his car. A guy standing nearby began shuffling away. O'Bannion chased after him for a few steps. "The fuck you looking at, huh? Kick your fuckin ass right now, pussy!" The guy retreated toward the Emporium, which led O'Bannion's gaze to Mitch.
Mitch tried to wipe the smile from his face, but even O'Bannion was smart enough to guess he'd had something to do with this. The big boy marched over to Mitch in a couple long strides and jabbed his shoulder with two fingers. "What're you smiling at, freshman faggot?"
Mitch felt Pink's hand pull him away from O'Bannion. He looked up and saw Pink's jaw tighten. Pink's eyes betrayed a little bit of fear—he still knew damn well this was a fight he would lose if it happened at all—but now more than ever it was a fight he would take, not just for Jodi but because he had taken a liking to Mitch despite his best efforts. Besides, Don and Wooderson stood right behind him to break up the brawl.
Fortunately, it didn't come to that. O'Bannion assessed Pink's protective stance and molested Mitch no longer. "Fuck you!" he growled, returning to his car. He aimed his finger at the seniors who had caught Carl, still keeping their distance across the street. "Fuck all of you! Fuck you!" Then, O'Bannion lifted his paddle over his head with both hands and smashed it against the concrete, splitting it into several small pieces.
He jumped inside his Plymouth and drove away, defeated and humiliated. Mitch almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
"Oh, man!" Wooderson chuckled.
Pink patted Mitch on the back. "O'Bannion finally got his paint job."
"And now he's gonna need a blowjob if we ever want him cheered up again," Don said.
"Good luck with that."
Tony, Mike, and Cynthia were still in the latter's car. They must have driven every street in town twice by now, Tony thought. "Fairly uneventful, huh?" he said. The others agreed without saying so.
Cynthia looked toward her right to Tony, then to the rearview mirror at Mike. "Which one of you had the theory about how President Ford's old football head injury is affecting the economy?"
"Did you know Ford was on the Warren Commission?" Tony asked.
Mike leaned up from the backseat. "Who cares? He's outta there this fall. Look, we need some alcohol."
"That's a thought." Tony chuckled to himself at the idea of the three of them getting drunk. They would occasionally drink beer if Pink or Goodwin brought a sixer to one of their poker games, but never otherwise.
"Actually, my next-door neighbor has a refrigerator full of beer, and his garage is always open," Cynthia said. Mike made a noise of passing interest. "I've always wanted to steal some. I just have never been a big drinker. I don't know, it's the taste. Call me weird."
"Weird," Tony said. Cynthia rolled her eyes at him.
"Well, the true Dionysian way would be to steal the beer and spend the rest of the evening drinking it," Mike said. "I think that's what everyone in this car needs, is some good ol' worthwhile visceral experience."
"Like what?" Cynthia asked.
Mike shrugged. "Getting so drunk you throw up… A little sexual activity…" He shrugged again, clearly not having thought too deep on the subject. "I'm just saying, if we're gonna go out and drive around, we should just do something."
It didn't occur to any of them to stop by the Emporium. They knew in the backs of their heads that's where everyone else was, but they spent so many years actively avoiding spending leisure time with their classmates that even now, on a night when they had intended to go to a house party, simple habit kept them from trying to mingle.
Cynthia pouted her bottom lip and deepened her voice, a trick she would turn into a spot-on Rocky Balboa impersonation once she saw that film in the theater several months later. "Yeah, you know, you're right, man. I'm just gonna, you know, get drunk. Maybe get laid, get in a fight."
Tony laughed.
"No, I'm serious!" Mike whined. "Man, we should be up for anything."
Cynthia's voice returned to normal. "I know. We are. But what? I mean, God, don't you ever feel like everything we do and everything we've been taught is just to service the future?"
"Yeah, I know," Tony agreed. "It's like it's all…preparation."
"Right, but what are we preparing ourselves for?"
"Death," Mike groaned.
"Life of the party," Tony muttered.
"It's true."
Cynthia held up her pointer finger from its place on the steering wheel. "See, but that's valid. If we're all gonna die anyway, shouldn't we be enjoying ourselves now? You know, I'd like to quit thinking of the present as some minor, insignificant preamble to something else."
"Exactly, man!" Mike said. "I'll tell ya again: that's why everyone in this car needs some good ol' worthwhile visceral experience."
Visceral experience be damned, all three decided they would rather have food first. They cruised into the local Top Notch, a drive-in always hopping with teenagers looking to grab a quick bite in between parties or whatever they got up to. Tony secretly thought of it as a little like his town's real-life version of Arnold's from Happy Days.
Cynthia ordered for them and they waited with the car's engine off to conserve gas. A waitress roller-skated a tray of food to them a few minutes later. Cynthia began handing drinks and bags to Tony to sort out while she paid.
"Let's see…" Tony said. "Tater tots with cheese, onion rings, tater tots with no cheese, a cherry Coke…" He stopped and grimaced at a particularly slimy-looking cheeseburger with too much mustard. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I swore to God I'd never come to a Top Notch and here I am sorting through jalapeño burgers and soggy fries." He reached the hand holding said soggy fries toward the backseat. "Here, take 'em."
Mike did not.
"Mike. Take 'em."
Tony craned his neck around to see what the holdup was. Mike stared out the back window with both hands grasping his car seat's head, like a toddler awed by every light on the road. "Look!" he cried. "You guys see that?"
"Where? What?" Tony and Cynthia both tried to balance all the food in their laps while following Mike's gaze. He moved from the back windshield to looking out his window. He pointed at a car speeding away into the night.
"A woman in that car flashed me."
"No sir!" Tony said, trying to get a glance to no avail.
"Yes sir," Mike said. He pointed out two other cars speeding after the first. "See, those guys are chasing her."
"Wow."
Cynthia selected a tater tot and popped it into her mouth. "I wish I was one of those people who could do something like that. You know, be spontaneous."
Tony raised his brow. His eyes went ever-so-briefly to her chest. "Don't let us discourage you." Sure, they were longtime friends, but he was still a guy and she still a girl.
"See, now that's visceral activity." Mike finally returned to his normal sitting position and took the soggy fries from Tony.
The trio began to dig into their late-night snack when a certain Chevy Chevelle SS cruised up alongside them, its driver's side facing Cynthia.
"Alright, alright, alright," the driver said. It took the geeks a moment to recognize Wooderson, as they never spent time with him like so many of their peers. Riding shotgun was Slater. Wooderson didn't so much as glance at Tony or Mike but focused suavely on Cynthia. "How you doing?"
"Pretty good," she said.
"Cool." Wooderson took a drag of his cigarette. "You heard about the party being busted, right?"
"Oh, yeah," Cynthia said.
"Not to worry. There's a new fiesta in the making as we speak. It's out at the moon tower." Wooderson grinned. "Full kegs, everybody's gonna be there. You oughta go."
Cynthia glanced at her companions, then back at Wooderson. "Okay." She shrugged.
"Okay, we'll be there!" Mike called from the backseat, a little annoyed by Wooderson's alpha-male attitude.
Wooderson continued to ignore the boys. "Say, you need a ride?"
Cynthia looked pointedly down at the steering wheel in front of her. "Uh, no. I got my own car. Thanks."
"Yeah, well listen, you oughta ditch the two geeks you're in the car with now and get in with us, but that's alright, we'll worry about that later." Wooderson pointed the two fingers holding his cigarette at her. "I will see you there."
In spite of herself, Cynthia smiled. "Okay. Bye."
Wooderson turned to Slater. Loud enough for Cynthia to her, he said, "I love those redheads, man." In fact, this was a kink he only just developed upon spotting Cynthia a moment ago. But in Wooderson's eyes, it was about time he took a shot at the quiet, intellectual type. He already knew the dumb blonde and the quirky brunette backwards and forwards.
Slater, clearly high enough to touch the clouds, squinted at Cynthia with a goofy smile. "I know you," he said, sounding insistent, like she might try to argue the fact. "We had geography together, remember?"
Wooderson pulled away before Slater could say anything stupider. Cynthia watched them go in her driver's side mirror.
"Oh, great," Mike muttered.
Tony cringed. "Oh, God. That was so creepy."
Cynthia checked her hair in the rearview mirror, still smiling. When Mike asked her why, she thought about lying, but the truth was a girl of her social standing rarely got hit on and she kind of liked it.
"I thought he was cute," she admitted.
"Oh, that's disgusting!" Tony groaned. "What're you thinking? Ugh!"
"You thought he was cute?" Mike repeated. "Do you realize when he graduated, we were like three years old?"
"We were not," Cynthia said. She sighed. "Are we gonna still go?"
Despite everything, both Tony and Mike still carried a bit of desire for a new experience. Tony was still thinking about the freshman from earlier that day, and Mike was just antsy and anxious to find an outlet. They had started this night with the goal of showing up to a party, after all, and now the opportunity had rediscovered them when they least expected it.
Tony said, "Yeah, what the hell?" And they were off.
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