“What’ve you been up to?” David Grobart asked. He was with Amanda on the parlor floor, where all was relatively calm. He’d taken his hood off. Someone had put on some old Air and though nobody was dancing, the vibe in the room was good. David still had his seat on the couch and Amanda was next to him, but they hadn’t been touching.
“Nothing,” Amanda said. “What about you?”
“Well, first I couldn’t find you, and so I hung out with Jonathan’s cousin Kelli. Then she left and I couldn’t find anybody.”
“Me neither, I couldn’t find anybody.”
David sidled up closer to Amanda. He tried to work his arm around her back, but she wasn’t having it.
“Don’t cuddle me,” Amanda said.
“I’m a cuddler,” David said. He was using a voice that made him sound like Elmer Fudd.
“I know, but we’re at a party.”
“Shut up!” She wriggled away from him.
Two years earlier, she’d been his fantasy. A short girl with long hair, Amanda had the distinction of being an even hotter version of Jessica Simpson, with the same blow-the-doors-down voice and a southern, take-no-crap attitude that she got from her mom, who had been a spokesmodel for NASCAR before marrying her rich dad.
“What’s the matter?” David asked. “Seriously.”
“David,” Amanda said. She kept fooling around with the hem of her shirt, which was still damp from the upstairs bathroom floor.
“I—”
“What?”
“We need a stretcher!” It was Jonathan, running down the stairs with a red face. He grabbed David by the sweatshirt and pulled him away from Amanda, who was looking at the stairway, clearly waiting for someone else to appear.
“Mickey fell off the roof. Let’s go,” Jonathan said. He stared around. “Maybe only guys should come. This could be ugly.”
Of course everyone ignored him. So with Jonathan, Arno, and David in the lead, they all ran down to the garden floor and streamed out the back, yelling Mickey Pardo’s name.
When they got there, they couldn’t find him. Finally, David looked up and there he was, cradled in the Floods’ patio awning.
“You okay?” David called up to him.
Mickey made a flat, pained noise that basically signified that no, he wasn’t okay, because he’d just fallen off a building.
“Anything broken?” Jonathan called.
“My arm. The rest of me bounced. Where’s Philippa?”
“She called my cell just now,” Liza said. “Her dad saw Mickey in flight and he pulled her back inside.”
Then almost everyone began to wander back into the house.
“Let’s get you down,” David said. David and Jonathan got a ladder and pulled Mickey off the awning.
“That was one good fall,” Mickey said. “I saw everything spinning—”
“Ow,” David said. “Look at his arm.”
They stared at Mickey’s arm, which looked as if someone had stuck a softball where his elbow was supposed to be.
“We need to go to Saint Vincent’s,” Jonathan said. “David, you should come with me.”
“But,” David said. He made a gulping sound and looked around for Amanda.
“Come on,” Jonathan said. “Mickey’s destroyed himself.”
So David hung his head and got on one side of Mickey, and Jonathan got on the other.
“I broke my arm,” Mickey said.
“Let’s hope that’s all you did,” Jonathan said.
“Ow,” Mickey said. “Don’t yank me.”
Kelli came up quickly and poured beer into Mickey’s mouth. When he dribbled, she patted his lips with her fingertips.
“Mmm,” Mickey said. “You’re dreamy.”
“Arno, you’re coming with us, too,” Jonathan said. He opened the door to the Flood house and the four boys stepped outside.
“What’s up?” Arno asked. “You want me to come with you?”
They helped Mickey down the Flood steps and then stood in a circle on the street.
“I guess you don’t need to,” Jonathan said. “Stay here. Um, watch out for my cousin.”
“Oh, I will,” Arno said, and smiled. “Anything else?”
“Call us if Patch comes home,” David said.
“Yeah, right.” Arno said. “I haven’t seen that dude all week. We should probably look for him, actually …” His voice trailed off and he looked back up at the dimly lit house. “Have a good time at Saint Vincent’s. Buy some porn mags or something while you wait,” and Arno bounded up the stairs and back inside.
The three of them looked up at the now-closed door.
“What’s up with him?” David asked Jonathan. Jonathan just shrugged.
“I always feel like the moment I don’t know what Arno’s up to, that’s not good,” David said. “Like he’s, like he’s like the devil!”
Mickey started laughing and said, “We’re friends with the devil!” Then he cried out in pain.
“Oh, stop it,” Jonathan said as he hailed a cab. “If Arno’s the devil, then I’m an angel.”
“You’re a fairy is what you are,” Mickey said, and hung even harder off Jonathan’s neck.
“Then get off me,” Jonathan said.
“No way,” Mickey said. “You’re Glenda the good fairy.”
“Screw you, Picasso,” Jonathan said. “Ask the devil for help. I can see I’m not appreciated.”
Jonathan let David take Mickey’s weight, and the two of them fell against a parked Explorer and staggered, like a pair of old drunks.
“Okay, okay,” Mickey said. “I take it back.”
“You need to retire that jumpsuit,” Jonathan said as he helped Mickey and David stand up straight.
“Believe me,” Mickey said. “The moment I’m ready to go clothes shopping, you’ll be the first to know.”
When the cab came, it was Jonathan who talked the driver into letting them get in.