Bright Eyes

14.1. What We Talk About When We Talk About Last Night

"You told Jack?" Sander stepped out of the door, quickly sliding his arms into the sleeves of his long-sleeved flannel shirt.

Damien shut the door behind them, raised his iPhone up for Sander to see. "He said he'll meet us there," he said, pocketing his phone. "Max'll be there, too. He got your message."

Sander nodded, taking his steps down the corridor alongside Damien. Something vibrated in his jeans pocket, then, and he slid a hand in, pulled out his phone. "Lyn said she'll be there," said Sander, looking up from his phone. His phone buzzed again, in his hand. He glanced back down at the screen, looked up at Damien to say, "She still has to talk to you about your English presentation on Monday."

Damien grimaced. "We're in some freak situation, and all she could think about is that—"

Footsteps beat down the hallway. And in a second of a heartbeat, someone grabbed Damien by the shirt, shoved him against the wall. A warm kind of pain pierced his shoulder blades and ran down his back, the bang from the impact ringing in his ears.

"Why?" yelled Brendan, his brown hair more of a mess than it ever was. "Why'd you do it? Just because you and your new friends made it out doesn't mean you have the freakin' right to call the freakin' cops. Or did you forget that we were still in there, huh? Huh?" he said, pushing Damien harder against the wall.

People were starting to gather around, an audience curious and thrilled to witness a fight. Doors opened, boys stepping out doorways to watch. Others halted in their tracks, anticipating the next move.

"What are you talking about?" asked Sander, behind Rian who was holding him back. "He didn't call the police."

"Really?" asked Brendan, his eyes burning with anger, intent on Damien pinned motionless to the wall. "Really? So you mind to explain why the cops barged in some time after you left and arrested all of us there? Why they knew about the lookouts at the Front Gate and got in through the West Gate and blocked out the Back Gate, so we couldn't get through? No one else would've known but the party peeps. And word got out you reported it. Said one of the cops spilled your little secret. Said you had the freakin' guts to say your name loud and proud when you called them up."

"You got us kicked out of here, D," said Rian, still holding Sander back. "You remember what Mister Grisham said, don't you? Or did you forget about that just like how you forgot us back there?"

"I didn't call the police," Damien spoke out in defense, shoving Brendan's hands away from him. He stepped forward, causing Brendan to take a few steps back. "I'm telling you, I didn't call them. And I don't know who did."

"What's going on?" a voice boomed through the corridor. All eyes turned to a short, bespectacled man striding over to their direction. The man, Mr. Brunner, pushed Damien and Brendan apart, stood between them with his arms raised up. He turned to Brendan, and said, "Mister Lacy, didn't I tell you to simply gather your things and pack your bags, not to start a fight?"

Brendan kept his eyes on Damien, nonetheless. He clenched his hand into a fist, and the look he gave Damien was enough to say, If only I could beat you to a pulp here and now, I would, gladly and without hesitation.

"And, Mister O'Connell, will you please let go of Mister Alexander, and go gather your things as well? We all know that poor boy can't even hurt a fly. And all of you," said Mr. Brunner, addressing the audience, "disperse. Stop taking pictures. Put away those despicable mobile phones. The show is over. Move on, move on, all of you," he said, his hands sweeping through the air.

And with that, the crowd dissipated. Doors thudded closed around them; boys returned to their dorm rooms. Others walked on down the corridor, making their way downstairs for breakfast or whatever plans they had that morning. Then it was only them—Damien, Sander, Brendan, Rian, and Mr. Brunner.