“You think you can do whatever you want,” Dave says, his voice and face—what I can see of it—wild. “You think that because you’ve had some bad luck that gives you the right to treat everyone else like crap.”
That makes me laugh. Or at least I’m laughing in my head. I’m not sure what my face is doing. Bad luck. It’s a bit more than that, buddy.
“You don’t show up to things,” he continues, “you’re late to practice, you only put in an effort during games when it’s convenient for you, you don’t call anyone anymore, and you almost have sex with my fucking girlfriend!”
“Good job,” I say, egging him on. “You said a grown-up word.” Hit me again, Dave. Do it.
“You were my best friend once, Ryden.”
“Yeah, well. Shit happens. Not like you ever called me either, you know.”
He ducks and charges at me, ramming his shoulder into my stomach, tackling me to the ground. He backs off pretty quickly when he realizes I’m not fighting back, but his last few blows are enough. I’m shattered in every possible way.
I keel over and puke into a pile of leaves. And then I just stay there, curled in the fetal position, waiting for my breath and my sanity to return. My eyes are closed—one swollen shut and the other just trying to shut out the light—but I can tell by the drifting noise that most people are filtering back into the house. Dave must be gone. Good riddance.
Someone kneels beside me. “Are you okay?” It’s Shoshanna.
“Go away,” I mumble into the grass.
After a few more seconds, I feel her leave.
Finally, I’m alone.
So, so alone.
The tears start before I know what’s happening. I don’t know if it’s because of the physical pain or because everything that’s happened today—and over the last year—is finally catching up with me, but I’m officially in breakdown mode.
I should hide or leave before I embarrass myself any more, but I’m sobbing and dry heaving and tearing up clumps of the earth with my stupid, useless drunk hands, and I need to get it out. I can’t hold on any longer.
I force air into my lungs and scream into the dirt like it’s a sponge that will soak up all my misery and carry it far, far away.
I scream until my voice is shot, and then I cry and cry and cry like I never have before. Not even when Meg died.
A few minutes or hours or seconds later, I feel the ground pulsing as someone runs toward me. Unless it’s Meg, back from the dead to tell me “Ha! Just kidding!” I don’t want them here.
“Ryden!”
“Go away,” I force out, my voice hoarse.
“Ryden, it’s me. It’s Alan. We just got here—what happened?”
“Everything happened.”
“Did you get into a fight? Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
“Dave. Shoshanna.”
“No, it’s Alan. Alan and Aimee. Ryden, open your eyes.”
“No. Shoshanna took my shirt. Dave hit me. I wanted him to.”
“Why the hell would you want him to hit you?”
“Because. Hurt is good.” The fragments inside me ache. “She did it on purpose. She blamed me and she wanted to punish me and said she loved me but she really hated me. And I hate her too. I hate her. She ruined everything.”
Alan hesitates for a minute. “I’m calling your mom.”
“No.” I force my good eye open. “No. Don’t.” I try to sit up, to show him I’m fine, that he doesn’t need to call my mother, but the whole world tilts and the ground meets my face with a crash.
“Ryden, it’s Aimee,” Aimee says. “Let us help you.”
“Aimee Nam. Did you know Alan here was in looove with Meg Reynolds? She made everyone love her.”
I hear the sound of someone pushing buttons on a phone. “Deanna? It’s Alan Kang…I’m fine, how are you? Listen, I’m calling because of Ryden. I just got to this party at Shoshanna Harvey’s and he’s here and got in a fight with Dave, and he’s really upset and I don’t really know what to do…yeah, I think so…yeah…I can try to get him in my car, or maybe you can come—”
“No!” I shout, stopping him.
“What?”
“No way.” I shake my head. It hurts like hell. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here.”
“Ryden, you can’t stay here. You’re hurt. And you’re going to freeze to death.”
“Tell my mother she is abslo…I mean absolutely not allowed to come here.” I turn my face into the ground. Smells like dirt. “Hope can’t see this. And she better not leave her with that Deckland guy.”
“Did you hear that?” Alan says into the phone. “Yeah, so…oh. No, I think he’ll be fine. He’s conscious, obviously… What? Who…? Okay…okay, I will. I’ll call you back.”
Alan grabs my phone from my pocket. This time he walks away to make his call. He’s probably calling an ambulance and doesn’t want me to hear. Or the mental institution people to have them take me away and lock me up.
“Aimee?” I ask. “You still here?”
“Yeah,” she says.
“Can you go away please?” Everyone, just go away.
There’s a pause. “Sure, Ryden.” She walks away. “I’m going to wait in the car, Alan.”
“I’ll meet you there,” he calls back.