very slow fist fighting. Besides, Travis is a Taekwondo expert.”
“Expert?” Travis says, the color of his already pale face draining as they approach. “Not really an expert, per se.”
“Emmy,” Eli says, an enormous smile on his face as he reaches us. His eyes are swollen and squinty, and I don’t think it’s allergies, so I’m guessing we’ll be okay. If any trouble starts, Travis can just flip these assholes on their backs and they’ll lay there like suffocating fish, right? Eli wipes his brow with his jersey and I try not to notice the ripped, tan six-pack he just flashed me. “You never called me, sexy.”
“Yeah, right . . . well, um, I didn’t have your number,” I say.
“I thought maybe you and your skinny punk-ass vampire boyfriend here ran off to Vegas.”
“I told you he’s not my boyfriend,” I say. Like maybe he is a skinny punk-ass vampire, though.
“Thanks,” Travis says to me. “A whole lot.”
“Well, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you,” Eli says.
“What?” I ask.
“Time to settle up, motherfucker!” Eli laughs and cracks his knuckles as the soccer team surrounds us. Joey and Cole flank Travis and ask us what the hell is going on here, when Eli announces that Travis cock-blocked him and Taekwondo’d his ass at his own party.
“We don’t want any trouble here, kids,” Montana says, and he gives his leather vest a suggestive pat to let the soccer team know he’s packing, but nobody here even knows what the hell that means.
“Easy, Montana,” I say. “We’ve got this under control.”
“Can you hold this for a sec?” Travis asks, all nonchalant, and then hands me his gyro and lemonade. Then he ducks and runs all Benny Hill–style across the field, and the entire soccer team tears off after him. Joey and Cole hulk out and go scorching across the field, but they’re musicians, built for carrying big awkward things up and down narrow flights of stairs, not chasing soccer players in broad daylight, and they’re still carrying their lunches. Carefully. Travis is so fucked.
“Run, Bean, run!” I yell after him. We’ve got a show to play and he knows another big rule of bandom: save all fighting for after the gig, and for God’s sake, don’t throw any punches before the show. Why? You might hurt your hand and then you can’t play your instrument. “No fighting before the show!” I call out to him. Just in case he needs a reminder.
I excuse myself to Montana and run after them myself, trying desperately not to slosh lemonade all over my Sonic Youth T-shirt. I don’t look back, but I assume Montana is still standing there, happily eating a Fat Elvis.
Now, there are plenty of other Hub City band types around, including Aaron and Mickey, who just watch the entire freak parade as it rolls by the sound booth. As Joey and Cole catch up to the soccer players, who have now grabbed hold of Travis by each appendage like they’re about to draw and quarter him, they’re joined by George, Ron and Dom, Bailey, all of Fester, and the entire women’s rugby team. But before anyone can intervene, the soccer team swings Travis and tosses him right into the middle of Passion Puddle. When he comes out, soaked in brown, putrid water, Eli sucker punches Travis right in the eye. What a dick!
“Fuck,” Travis yells, reeling backward, holding his face.
I run to Travis, and he’s not bleeding but his eye is all red and beginning to swell.
“What the fuck, Eli?” I yell at him. “I thought you were a stoner, not a fighter.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been drinking beer since ten a.m.,” he says and lets out a loud, disgusting burp. I guess he does have allergies.
A sunstroked melee now breaks out at the side of Passion Puddle, and then all these assholes are actually in the pond, sloshing it out, slinging mud at each other like a bunch of angry sows. Nick runs over and stands next to me, throws the devil horns high, and yells, “Fuck yeah, Scarlet Knights!” just as Montana, my mother, and my grandmother all arrive on the scene. The women’s rugby team and the soccer team throw the fuck down in the pond—I’m talking an epic wrestling match ensues, and the girls are riding the soccer players like they’re green horses being broke. The music scene people are so impressed they just stand back and clap.
“Your boyfriend looks nice in a wet T-shirt,” Granny says, as Travis attempts