Two Wrongs Do Make a Right (Rewriting in Progress)

Chapter 26: A Night of Drunken Debauchery

(Ryan's P.O.V.)

08:27 p.m. The long lines of cars indicate we're close. Sitting inside Martin's old Buick I cross my arms and look at the rows of quaint houses. I hate this. I just effing hate this.

"Ryan, come on; don't be such a hothead."

"Screw you Martin. You could've done this without me, you know."

"Trust me man, this is for you. And besides, your Dad asked me to take you somewhere. He's concerned you've turned to a hermit."

"Screw him, and screw you. I'm not a hermit. I just don't like leaving my room."

"My point exactly."

I tilt my head toward him, frustration boiling in my veins. "You know, if I didn't value our friendship so much I would've taped your mouth to the exhaust pipe."

"You wish. You can't even beat me in arm wrestling, skeleton boy."

"Stop calling me skeleton boy!"

"See, that's the problem with you. You're in denial over everything."

"Why are we even talking about this?"

"Because it worries me to see you like this. You, in the prime of life, wasting away like a jellyfish when everyone else is living the life."

"That life isn't mine. It's not how I live. I don't impress girls. I don't have fistfights. I don't do stupid things people talk about."

"Ryan, it's called life. Camaraderie. Open yourself and stop being so antisocial."

"Antisocial?! How dare you call me antisocial?"

"What do you want me to call you then?"

"Just don't, okay? It seems I'm wasting time arguing with you."

He smirks in victory, just as we arrive at a colonial-style house festooned with lights and paper. The party has already begun, judging by the thumping beats and a couple openly making out on the porch.

"Why am I here again?"

"Because I want you to have a life," Martin answers as he messages someone on the phone. "And because I have to meet someone here."

"Great. My best friend's moving up the food chain," I remark dryly.

"Don't be so bitter. You can be like me if you want to."

"I'd be high and dry if I became like you."

"Just get in there. I'm calling someone, so give me some peace."

His phone drawls in an attempt to reach the other side so I shake my head and leave, but not before banging his heavy black door. He waves his fist at me, peeved at my mistreatment of his beloved 'Bella'. "Douchebag," I shout to him, but he ignores this as he starts talking to the other line.

I must admit, I don't go to parties a lot. Noisy, rambunctious places with rivers of liquor and people who lack musical taste. That said, there's always something interesting to find in them. Sometimes a pool would be in the backyard, or two trees with a hammock instead. Maybe there would be some lightsabers sitting on a corner, or a bust of Poseidon on the living room. There was a party I went to months before that had a basket of apples lying above the chimney, and I kept taking them till there was nothing left. I do feel bad for it, but what can I say? I love apples. Can't get enough of them.