Free Party by Tom Leveen

bit and I was itching to get on my board, but it woulda been hard to hear each other. Since I’d just asked the guy a question, it seemed dickheadish to start skating.
    “Worst-case scenario is, I tell her I’d like to go out with her sometime and she shoots me down,” Max said, trying to sound all calm about the idea. “Best-case scenario is … who knows, man? Maybe we get married someday.”
    “Bro, you are eighteen years old.”
    “I don’t mean tomorrow, dude.”
    “Just checking. Hey, you ready to skate?”
    “Yeah, let’s go.”
    We dropped our boards to the pavement and got ready to roll. Finally!
    And right then, I swear to god, who did we see walking down State under the 101 bridge?
    Beckett f’ing Montgomery.
    God
dammit
.
    Max sucked in this big breath and damn near spilled his coffee. He grabbed my arm all melodramatic ’n’ shit.
    “Brent!”
    “Yeah man, I see her,” I said, and shook my head. I also pulled my arm away from him. It was too gay. Max was standing there, eyes all wide.
    “See where she’s goin’?” Max said, sounding all excited again.
    “The beach,” I said. Like, duh. The wharf was another couple blocks or so from the 101 underpass where Beckett’s funky hat was starting to disappear downhill.
    “Naw, toward the party!”
    “Max, man, we’re miles away from the party, she could be going anywhere,” I said. “Plus,” I added, and checked my cell for the time, “it’s like nine o’clock and no one’s gonna get there till like ten.”
    “It started at seven.”
    “What douche is gonna show up at seven? The drama fags?” The party was at this guy’s house near Shoreline, some hot-shit from the drama department. Not my crowd, but I heard the chicks put out and the guys scored excellent pot.
    “She’s goin’ to that party,” Max said. “I’m tellin’ you.”
    He started walking real quick. I had to jog to catch up with him.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Growin’ a pair!”
    “What, now?” I yelled as we kept jogging.
    “It’s what you said to do!”
    I grabbed him. We skidded to a halt. I turned him around to face me.
    “You can’t just walk up to her on the street,” I said. “She’ll freak out.”
    “Well, whaddya want me to do, huh? You just said she
wouldn’t
freak out!”
    Okay. I had to help a brother out. “Look, let’s say you’re right, that she’s going to the party. Cool. You want to talk to her there because it’s your lucky night, cool. At least it’s not outside the realm of, like,
expectation
. You jump on her on the street, she’s just gonna get flipped out. Know what I’m saying? Then you
will
look like a stalker. At the party, it’s like an organized event. You’re
expected to
talk to a lot of people. Don’t go picking up on her on
State Street.”
    Max chewed on his lip for a second as he watched Beckett disappear under the overpass. Max and me called it Michelle’s Hill, after this chick we used to hang out with freshman year who Rollerbladed down it once and totally jacked herself up when a rock lodged in her wheels. I mean, it was an epic bail, bad enough to get the hill named after her. Michelle moved to Phoenix a couple months later, still in two casts. Funny shit.
    Max’s board twitched in his hand, like he was itching to jump on it and cruise down Michelle’s Hill to cut Beckett off.
    “If you want to go, go,” I said, all like exasperated. “But I’m going to the party.”
    But I didn’t take off, and I’m sure he knew I wouldn’t, because he still stood there, staring at the overpass.
    “All right,” Max said. “You’re right. I’ll wait.”
    “You sure?” I said, mostly to be a dick.
    “Yeah,” Max said, missing the joke. “Let’s just head out.”
    “Cool,” I said. We dropped our boards and I let Max lead us down State, as if we weren’t really going to follow Beckett. It didn’t matter, because by the time we got to the 101 and Michelle’s Hill, Beckett Montgomery was