situation, I want to scream at her to call the cops because even with them, we’re still outnumbered. I picture the scar on Arlo’s side. The story of his fights. What might happen? What happens if they have a weapon? What if they know how to fight?
“We’ve got our rides,” one of the guys still standing by the girls says as he reaches for her breast.
“Last chance,” Arlo warns. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“Or what?” The skinny one who had stopped mere feet from Arlo asks as he closes the rest of the gap.
“Do you guys feel threatened?” Arlo asks, looking at the girls.
“Yes!” They yell out at the same time.
“They’ve followed us for three blocks. We’ve told them to go away, and they won’t,” the shorter of the two says, looking rattled and ready to cry.
Then the guy with brown hair pulls his fist back, and I’m about to scream when he hits Arlo. Arlo shakes his head and pulls back, his fist connecting with the guy’s jaw with so much force the guy sways backward and then falls.
The girl who looked terrified before starts to cry as a guy with blond hair who hasn’t spoken yet moves closer to Arlo, his jaw locked as he takes a swing. Arlo slides, but from my angle, I can’t tell if he was hit.
“Call the police,” I yell at the girls or anyone who might be close enough to hear.
One of the guys heckles Arlo, teasing him that I’m worried for him. They have no idea. The blond has taken a step back like he’s trying to get Arlo to move forward, to get him off-balance. At least, I think that’s what he’s trying to do. My knowledge of fighting and tactics are so minimal that I look like a football expert by comparison.
“Hear your girl? She’s going to be calling my name tonight,” the blond taunts him.
Arlo remains still, though the tall skinny guy is still lying down. I wonder if he’s passed out or if he might be seriously hurt? Can you get seriously hurt from a single punch?
“Let’s kick his ass!” Another one of the guys drops back, it’s the first vulgar one, and he moves toward Arlo while the blonde moves closer. I try to think of everything I’ve ever been told about self-defense: keys between knuckles and broken noses and gouging eyes and kneeing them in the groin. I’m trying to imagine how I can help when Arlo shifts, moving surprisingly fast and gripping the neck of the guy's shirt with one hand and punching him behind the ear before shoving him at his friend. Before I can blink, they’re moving again, one falls and the other swings, and Arlo grunts before shifting and hitting him. The blond falls, and then Arlo hits the guy with dirty blond hair in the chin, and he too falls to the sidewalk.
“Okay.” The guy with dark hair shakes his head as he looks at his buddy. “Our bad. We fucked up. They’re just drunk and being stupid. We didn’t mean to…” he says, looking at his friends still lying on the pavement.
“Shut the fuck up,” Arlo says, his voice loud and stern with authority, punctuated by a lack of patience. “You guys are douchebags.” He looks beyond the two guys who go to check on their friends.
Arlo twists his entire body as he glances back toward me. “You okay?”
How were we just dancing in the middle of the sidewalk? How did we get from there to here?
Arlo reaches his hand out for me, our fingers tangling—his warm and steady as he securely tugs me forward, keeping his attention on me and the guys on the ground. “Let’s go,” he says.
“Are they hurt?”
He shakes his head. “Not badly enough.”
We pass by the guys, meeting the girls on the sidewalk. “Where are you guys headed?” Arlo asks.
The one that’s crying hugs Arlo and cries even harder. “Oh my God,” she sniffs. “I was so scared. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
I glance back at the guys, noting how one is starting to move. “We should go.”
Arlo tips his head. “Come on. We’ll give you a ride.”
“We just need to get to the bus station.” The girl who videotaped the scene explains.
“Is it close?” I ask.
She points in the same direction we’re headed, thankfully.
I take one final look back as we cross the street, my fingers still gripping Arlo’s. Each time I blink, I see the fight play out