I knew my uneasy feeling was not in vain the instant Roger and I pulled up to his friend�s house that Saturday. It was a relatively small house in a suburban neighborhood, so whether it was the girl�s house or her parents� I couldn�t tell, but I could tell that there was no one over the age of 25 anywhere on the premises. By the time we arrived, the foundation of the house was rumbling with the bass of blasted music from the inside. People were everywhere, playing volleyball in the dark in the backyard, drunk and singing on the front steps, and leaning out the windows yelling at their friends. Immediately, I was shaking in my Nikes, but Roger was grinning from sideburn to sideburn, color in his face for the first time all week. Unlike me, this was his element.

�Hey, Roger!� cried a female voice, and a very old-looking blonde girl (and by old I mean, say, 21) ran over and hugged him briefly.

�Heya, Tiff!� Roger answered happily.

�So glad you could come!� She smiled at me. �Who�s your cute friend?�

He put a hand on my shoulder. �This is my man, Arik. Hope you don�t mind me bringing him�he�s cool, I swear.�

�Well, if he�s your friend he must be, right?� Tiffany said. She nodded at me. �Nice to meet you, Arik.�

�So, who�s here?� Roger asked, and the three of us started walking to the house.

My eyes watered as soon as we entered the house, for a fog of cigarette smoke and�marijuana smoke?!�filled the entrance hallway like a curtain. Choking, I groped my way after Tiffany and Roger until we came into a kitchen, where the air was breathable and I could open my eyes without them watering. Tiffany instinctively pulled beers out of the fridge for Roger and me. Roger opened his and took a swig immediately, eying me teasingly because he knew I wasn�t going to drink mine. I rolled my eyes at him and decided to carry it around anyway. I wanted to look cool, after all.

Some guy called Tiffany�s attention away from us, and Roger and I meandered into the living room. Somehow he seemed to know half the place, and he talked to every one of them. He introduced me to everyone, and I smiled and nodded and pretended to have at least one brain cell.

All these people looked so huge, being college kids. They were tall and sophisticated-looking, the guys strong and goateed in baseball caps and flip-flops, the girls womanish and busty in tight sweaters. They were all drinking or smoking, it seemed�but then again, a lot of these people were probably old enough to be doing both legally.

Eee-yup, and I was just a wee little Junior standing around with a beer in my hand which, I realized later, I hadn�t even un-capped (real smooth, Arik). I didn�t even have my license yet.

I was somewhat relieved when we filtered into another room and saw McKellen and some other boys from our soccer team hanging out. I talked to Palo, our goalie, for a few minutes, and when I was through, Roger was gone. The first thing that came to mind was to panic, which I did for all of three seconds. After that I realized that no matter what, he had to be somewhere on the property and wouldn�t leave without me, and I decided to wander aimlessly around the house, but look like I wasn�t wandering aimlessly. You have to look like you�re on a mission; that�s what it�s all about.

I found Roger again in the living room, sprawled on the couch with a girl practically in his lap and several more hanging around him. He seemed to be recalling the woes of his evil ex-girlfriend, and they were all cooing sympathetically. What a ladies� man, I thought with a grin. He was so resilient; in a matter of days he�d have another girlfriend.

Good for him. I left the room and wandered more.

Someone turned up the music, and the whole room around me stood up to dance. I can�t dance, never have been able to dance, and never will be able to dance; therefore I don�t dance. Rather, I stood in front of the speakers with the other wallflowers and had my eardrums blasted out. The music was so loud I could feel my ribcage rattle. It became too much, and I was thirsty, since my beer was no more than a prop, so I journeyed back to the kitchen for a Sprite.

�Hey, cutie,� came a female voice as I bent into the refrigerator, and it took me a few seconds to realize it was referring to me.

�Oh, hello,� I said meekly to the two Cheshire cats who grinned at me from the dark of the kitchen corner: a redhead and an Asian girl, both attractive and very much so post-high-school.

�I don�t think I�ve seen you around before,� the Asian girl said. Her mouth was tiny and painted prettily with bright red lipstick. �Do you commute?�

�Ummm, I�m still in high school,� I murmured.

�Ah,� the girls agreed, nodding. �Senior?�

�Ummm, no, I�m in eleventh grade,� I mumbled, and they giggled.

�Whatcha doing here, then?� they asked, as amused as if I�d said I was in fifth grade.

�I�m with Roger O�Donnell. He�s my best friend,� I explained. �Do you know him?�

The girls laughed. �Who doesn�t know Roger? Him and his awesome retro car! He goes to all the best parties,� the redhead said.

�Yeah,� I muttered. �I know.�

The girls, for whatever reason, wanted to know all about me. There wasn�t much to tell, in my opinion: Hi, I�m sixteen, I play soccer, I want to be a pilot, and more often than not I hate myself; but they giggled and tittered over everything. They probably just thought I was good-looking. It�s the only reason anyone ever talks to me, after all. But Roger was off who-knows-where, probably flirting with some girl, or dancing maybe�now, he dances�and I didn�t have anything better to do, so I continued my interview with the college girls, thinking, damn, this would be a lot more fun if I was straight. Only in my pathetic, ironic life would I have two gorgeous babes flirting with me and be bored (and much more interested in that blonde hunk over by the table.)

Speaking of which�our conversation was interrupted when a very feminine-looking boy with glasses, spiky black hair, and a tight purple shirt spotted the Asian girl and felt compelled to hug her and squeak briefly about what was up, how she was doing, etc.

When they�d finished their exchange, he chirped, �Well, I�ll see you around, chica!� But as he started to walk off, his eyes met mine, traveled the length of my body south, rolled north back to my face, and he winked.

The girls laughed at my face as I gawked after him. �Oh, don�t mind Emmit,� the redhead laughed. �He�s a known fruit!�

I stared. It was the first time I�d ever seen another real live gay man, flesh and blood, tight jeans and all. Jesus Christ, I thought, they DO exist!

And he obviously thought I was cute, too!

I broke off from the girls, telling them and myself that I was going to look for Roger, but I really wanted to follow Emmit and watch him out of the corner of my eye. I felt strangely giddy: there were, potentially, other guys like me?

I wondered if he had a boyfriend.

I wondered what I would do if I ever got a boyfriend.

I wondered how I could ever possibly get a boyfriend if I couldn�t tell anyone I was gay.

I decided I wouldn�t ever have a boyfriend: I couldn�t afford to tell anyone, and no one would like me anyone, and I�d die lonely and virgin.

Regardless of this conclusion, I sat in a chair and watched Emmit dance. He was such a flamer, the kind of gay I really hoped I wasn�t, but he was terribly pretty. He had a damn cute butt, too.

My true love suddenly appeared in front of me, his cheeks flushed and a goofy grin across his face. �Hey, man! Where ya been?�

I wrinkled my nose at the alcohol on his breath. �Around. How many drinks have you had?�

�Mmmm,� he thought, folding out his fingers one by one as if counting to ten were a challenge. He held up four and shoved his hand in my face like a two-year-old. �This many!�

I scowled. He was obviously half-cocked already. �Look, that�s enough�try to sober up! You�re the designated driver, dumbass. Go puke or have some coffee or something.�

He frowned. �I�ll be fine. I can take at least six and still be fine!�

�It scares me that you know that.� And he was wrong, anyway. �Well, don�t have any more.�

�I�ll be fiiine,� he whined. He grinned. �God, there are some cute girls here tonight! College girls are so much better than high school girls. Much better than that bitch.�

�Mmm,� I murmured. Four drinks and he still had Marisa on his mind. �Just don�t drink anything more, okay?�

�Sure,� he mumbled, and dashed off to tell McKellen something.

�I�m serious, Roger!� I yelled after him, but he ignored me completely. That moron! �Roger!� I barked, but at that moment a new song blared on, and my voice was lost in the roar. The room leapt to their feet and bodies pushed in front of me as I tried to follow Roger. The rush of bodies shoved me back into the eye of the storm. I was knocked roughly into someone, and when I squeaked an apology, I saw that I�d run into Emmit. He smirked flirtatiously, his fingertips brushing my shoulder, and I felt my entire face flush crimson.

I pushed my way out of the makeshift moshpit, but when I�d made it to the hallway, Roger was nowhere in sight. I gritted my teeth. That imbecile! If I didn�t baby-sit him, I�d have no ride home. Probably didn�t already, actually. Damn, damn, damn.

I grudgingly went in search of Roger again. When I finally found him with some help from my redheaded fangirl, he was sprawled on the couch with a girl on his stomach. They were very preoccupied with exploring each other�s mouths. The same familiar twinge prickled at my chest briefly, but I was angry with him at the moment, and bitterness pushed away heartache.

The girl had her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands were completely under his shirt. Deftly, barely lifting her mouth from his for more than a second at a time, she worked his shirt up, over his head, and dropped it on the floor. The crowd of onlookers oohed and hooted, �Get a room, you two!�

And suddenly there were hands pulling the couple up to their feet, pushing and prodding the two bodies across the room. As neither of the two could walk straight, they let the waves of hands and arms wash them forwards as if crowd-surfing vertically. The entire room was hooting and laughing hysterically, and realization smacked me like a brick to the head. Oh God, I thought, desperately trying to push my way to them. But I couldn�t�the door closed like a book slamming shut forever, and Roger and the girl disappeared behind it.

My stomach catapulted. Oh God, he was so drunk he had no idea what on earth he was doing�had no logic or reasoning; nothing but alcohol and hormones�oh, God.

I retrieved his shirt from the floor and held it to my chest, in agony. He�d specifically entrusted me with keeping an eye on him when he got drunk to make sure he didn�t do anything stupid, but what was I supposed to do? Barge into the room when they were�?! He�d hate me forever for embarrassing him! But if I let him do something so reckless, something he�d regret for the rest of his life, then he�d never forgive me for breaking my promise! And surely he wouldn�t be doing this if he weren�t intoxicated, right? Did he even know this girl? And even so, he�d specifically said that he was no shallow horny pimp and didn�t want to be. He would never want to lose his virginity to some random girl�especially if he was too drunk to remember it tomorrow�right? Oh God, oh God, what was I supposed to do? What the hell was I supposed to do?

I was near to vomiting with anxiety when, by some miraculous shine of God�s glory, the door creaked open, and Roger stepped out, yawning. I gawked at him, thinking, Damn, he�s quick! But, no�he was fully dressed, minus his shirt, and no more rumpled than he had been before.

�Wh-what happened?� I gasped.

He shrugged exaggeratedly. �She fell ashleep,� he said, sounding perplexed also. More people surrounded us suddenly, laughing and cracking rude jokes and asking the same question I had. I glanced in the room. The college girl was sprawled on the bed, lifeless but fully dressed. Passed out, apparently.

�Someone should go check on her!� I shrilled, fearing for her safety: she was so vulnerable! This crowd only laughed and continued partying, and they completely ignored me, if they�d even heard me at all. �For God�s sake, are you all completely stoned?!� I shrieked, and no one heard.

Taking Roger by the arm and dragging him after me, I pushed across the room until I found Tiffany, the blonde hostess, and told her to make sure the girl hadn�t died of an alcohol overdose or something. At least Tiffany seemed somewhat there mentally; she nodded and went into the bedroom to see to her friend.

God, I hated all this.

That taken care of, I shoved my way through the house, yanking a completely disoriented Roger after me until I found a door to the outside. I swung it open and stepped out into the blessed, blessed clean air and the cool dark night.

�Arik, man, whash you doing?� Roger asked, his voice high and slurred.

�You need some fresh air.�

�Naw, I feel fine! C�mon, lesh go back in there, man; lesh go party!�

He started to dance around stupidly, but I grabbed his arms and held him steady. �How many beers did you have?� I asked, astounded. Usually Roger could hold his alcohol very well, but he was beyond wasted now.

He held up three fingers, then a fourth, then a thumb on the other hand, and then just two. Apparently he couldn�t remember. �I dunno, maybe two�I also had two of those, those�good thingsh.�

�What?�

�It wash hard stuff. Had a real zing to it, yeah!�

I rubbed my forehead. I�d seen several people drinking cocktails or shots or whatever�hard liquor, like vodka or whiskey. Of course Roger had been into it�it would be silly of me to suspect otherwise!

Squeezing his balled-up shirt to my chin, I paced the landing of the steps. Damn, damn, damn! My ride home�and my best friend�was friggin� wasted. As I paced, I reviewed everything I knew about how to sober up quickly.

I suddenly became aware of a lack of a humming young man behind me. I spun around, but Roger was gone from my side. I spotted him across the yard, approaching a circle of college students who hooted and waved as he came near. From the tone of their raised voices and brainless laughter, I could tell they weren�t particularly sober either. Groaning irately under my breath, I trudged after him.

The smell hit me before I broke through the circle of inward-facing bodies. It was like cigarette smoke, only more rancid, and as I pushed my way into the circle, I was blasted in the face with a puff of smoke that bit my nostrils and made my eyes tear.

For they were all smoking joints, of course. Marijuana, I think.

And Roger, in the center, had a joint in his mouth, trying idiotically to laugh and puff it at the same time.

I leapt forwards and snatched the joint from his mouth. I slapped him across the cheek, threw it on the ground, and stomped it into the dirt with the heel of my sneaker (The druggies were appalled: �That�s expensive shit, bastard!�)

I grabbed Roger�s arm and wrenched him forwards away from the stoned pot-smokers.

�What are you doing?!� he shrieked, trying to recoil from me, but I had his wrist gripped tightly. When I didn�t answer, he yelled, �You bitch, lemme go!�

I spun around, whipping his arm so that he was face to face with me. �Why should I?! You�ve gotten yourself into enough trouble already tonight! You�re like a friggin� two year old! I can�t leave you alone for a single second!�

�Shut up!� he screamed.

�You�re fucking drunk, you retard! Don�t you get it?! �No, you�re so wasted I bet you don�t! I bet you don�t even have any idea what�s going on!�

�STOP IT!� Roger hollered.

�NO! I�m fucking tired of babysitting you!�

He punched me.

I went down easily, not expecting the sudden blow to the jaw, and he was on me instantly. I was stunned�Roger!�and then testosterone blared, and I slammed his shoulders with my knuckles�he was punching me, his fists like pistons, but he was disoriented, uncoordinated, drunk! and the hits landed off-target�but they still hit, and hard�my vision burst with stars�there was blood in my mouth�I seized his shoulders and thrust him down and rolled on top of him�I hit him and hit him�I couldn�t control myself�there were tears in my eyes and screams all around me and someone seized me!�hands grabbed at my chest and shoulders and I was hauled off Roger and thrust backwards into the grass.

And I sat on my rear end in the wet grass, my head spinning and my body throbbing, with blood on my face and tears in my eyes, and unable to believe that I�d just attacked the person I claimed to love. I wiped my face and pinched my nose to stop the blood, my stomach feeling noxious and my cheeks on fire.

Roger had sat up, but was recovering slowly, looking woozy�and of course he did, after all those drinks and drugs. He was bleeding heavily from the nose, but his face was red besides from alcohol and exertion, and he looked as sick as I felt.

There were people around us, the druggies and others, and they were all shouting and questioning, but I didn�t hear a bloody word of it. I don�t think Roger did either. He held his forehead in his palm for a while, moaning, and eventually all the strange people went away.

I stood up and approached him slowly. Gingerly, I helped him to his feet, and he leaned heavily on me, apparently too woozy to recall our recent hostilities.

�Roger�are you alright?� I asked, holding his shoulders to keep him steady, my anger fading as well. I looked him in the face, but his eyes wouldn�t focus, and his head wobbled as if his neck were too small to support its weight. �Roger!�

And suddenly his body went limp and he collapsed into my arms, his body folding like wet paper against me.

�Roger!� I shrieked, but he was unconscious�he�d passed out. His flaccid form hung heavily on me, and I bent my knees and lowered him to the ground gently. �Hey!� I yelled, casting about around me for help. �Someone, please, he�s passed out!�

But no one heard/listened/cared.

Damn you all, I thought furiously, panic bubbling in my gut. I cradled Roger�s head and shoulders in my arms, because no one in this godforsaken place cared about him but me.

I pulled my handkerchief from my pocket�for airship pilots, handkerchiefs are as essential and habitual as underwear�and finding it clean, wiped his face. Red blood drenched red fabric; it stained my fingertips red, and I felt queasy. Especially since I�d put it there with my fists. In time the bleeding slowed and stopped. I�d punched him in the nose, but also in the mouth, and his lip was cut. His handsome face would probably be black, blue, and yellow in the morning. I wondered how I looked.

Roger is much stronger than I am, and I�m no fighter. I only pick on six-year-olds; I can count all the fistfights I�d been in on one hand. Had Roger not been drunk, he could have killed me.

I supported his head and shoulders, keeping him slightly elevated�what if he started bleeding again and choked on his own blood? Was that possible? I shook him gently, pinched his cheeks, and slapped him lightly, trying desperately to wake him up. How the hell did you wake up someone who�d passed out? Was it the same as when someone blacked out from a blow to the head?�I�d seen that a few times in soccer or when working on the ship. Damn, what if I�d hit him in the head, and he�d been knocked out, not passed out from alcohol?

I needed someone�s help.

I hooked my arms under Roger�s armpits and dragged him across the wet lawn to where his car was parked. He was much heavier than I could have ever imagined, and I had to keep stopping to renew my grip. I managed to lug him around to the side of the car facing away from the house: I didn�t want him to be in view of everyone. I didn�t trust anyone in that hell-house, especially not with my Roger. I propped him up against the side of his car and sprinted back into the house.

Like a madman, I lumbered my way through the house, shoving people aside and frantically looking for anyone I knew. Like McKellen�where on earth was he? I found Tiffany and asked if she knew him, and if she had seen him.

�Oh, he left a while ago,� she reported.

I cursed. �What about Palo?�

�Oh, is he that Mexican kid? I think they left together. What�s the problem?�

I told her that Roger had passed out, and she just chuckled. �Ah, just lie him down somewhere, he�ll come to eventually. Drive him home if you want,� she said, waving it off, and before I could explain that I didn�t even have my permit�and couldn�t drive his strange car even if I did�she turned her attention back to her friends.

I ran my hand through my hair and clenched it. No one was going to help me, apparently. My only allies had left, and I was alone.

I was completely alone, in a strange place among strange people, and Roger wouldn�t save me; I had to protect him.

I chanced a look at my watch, and my heart stopped for a moment. It was approaching midnight�and I�d promised my parents I�d be home at eleven-thirty.

Oh, this night just gets better and better, I thought desperately.

Oh, we were in deep shit�no, I, me, all alone! was in deep shit.

But I knew what I had to do.

I dug into my pocket and produced my dad�s phone�that blessed, blessed cell phone�which he�d leant to me entirely for this purpose. Worshipping its clunky black loveliness, I made my way back through the melee of partiers towards Roger. On the porch I encountered a large assembly of people.

�Excuse me!� I yelled, addressing anyone who could hear me. �Does anyone know the address of this place? What town is this?�

Some girl answered, and I thanked her graciously. I began fiddling with the phone, and realized it had been off the whole time.

�Aw, who ya calling, yer mommy?� some drunk leered, and though it was unfunny, all his stoned cronies guffawed like baboons.

Normally I never respond to taunts and teases, but I was having such an unbelievable catastrophe of a night and was in such a pissy mood that I couldn�t help myself. I snapped back, equally stupid, �No, I�m calling the fucking cops to come lock up your fat ass!�

And I knew I shouldn�t have said that the instant I closed my mouth, for these people were too far gone to recognize the sarcasm.

�You bastard!� the drunk yelled, and he lunged for me, but I hopped over the rail of the porch and fell into the grass, my phone bouncing from my hand.

�N-no, I-I�m really not!� I screeched, roving crazily on my hands and knees for my phone.

Something beaned me in the temple with a crink!�An aluminum beer can. And then�smash! A glass bottle shattered on my shoulder, and I yelped. They were throwing things at me! I found my phone and snatched it, but another bottle slammed into my back, and rancid liquid exploded all over me. I tried to yell, �Please! Stop!� but another bottle smashed into my skull, and I collapsed, my vision spinning black and my ears screaming. I curled on the ground and covered my head, and I screamed as more and more objects smashed and shattered on my body�they were going to kill me!

�then there was a lull, and I jumped to my feet and ran, disoriented, across the lawn. I was screaming and screaming�I thought they were chasing me�accidentally I collided with some dark, faceless bodies who barked and shoved me out of their way, and I screamed more. �I dove behind Roger�s car and crawled to his side. He was still unconscious, lying motionless against the driver�s side door, and he looked like he was dead.

I burst into tears.

I cried violently for several minutes, rocking and biting the back of my hand, so angry, so alone, so scared, until I choked on my own sobs and forced myself to stop. I bit my tongue and wiped my eyes until they�d stopped leaking. I took out the phone again.

My bloodstained and numb fingers shook as I dialed, so much that I misdialed twice before I took a few deep breaths, steadied myself, and tried again.

When the familiar, expected voice said, �Hello?� I nearly bawled again.

�D-dad,� I whispered, my voice as shaky as my fingers. �I need you to please pick me up.�

Chapter Seventeen...