The air smelled so fresh and sweet. Bright green leaves were uncurling on the old trees in my backyard. And rows of red and yellow tulips swayed gently in the flower bed beside the garage. The whole backyard shimmered under the bright afternoon sunlight. Brian, Howie and I dropped our backpacks on the grass and sat on them, stretching our legs, raising our faces to the sun.
Brian lifted up his bib strap that kept falling down and put it back onto his shoulder. His crystal blue eyes glittered in the sunlight. He shut them and tilted his face to the sun.
"AJ, have you ever sunbathed nude?" he asked me.
The question made Howie and I laugh. Brian was always trying to shock us.
"You mean in the backyard?" I asked.
"No, on a beach," Brian replied sharply. He had no patience for my dumb questions. Brian was a new friend. Sometimes I had the feeling he didn't really like me that much.
"One winter, my parents took me to an island in the Caribbean called St. Croix, and we went to a nude beach there," Brian said, eyes still shut, smiling at the memory.
"And did you take off your trunks?" Howie asked.
Brian snickered. "I was only seven."
All three of us laughed. Howie climbed to his feet.
"AJ, could we go inside?" he asked me. "I think I already have enough of a tan!"
Brian and I laughed again. Howie is Puerto Rican and is already the color of an African-American. I raised my hand so Howie could help pull me up.
"Can't you ever stay in one place for more than five minutes?" I scolded him.
Howie and I have been friends since junior high. So I'm used to him. But I think other people are suprised by how tense he is. How fast he talks. How his eyes are always darting back and forth.
He is intense. That's the only word for Howie. He is smart and nice and funny and ... intense. He reminds me of one of those wind-up toys that's been wound up too tightly and goes off--too fast--in all directions at once. But there's absolutely no possible way you could tell just by looking at him. He looks calm.
Anyway, he tugged me to my feet. And the three of us dragged our backpacks into the house. We settled around the round, yellow kitchen table, with cans of Mountain Dew and a bowl of tortilla chips. And naturally we started talking about girls. Brandie and Tyra, mostly. Brandie Ferose is one of our best friends. She's funny, beautiful, she has a sense of humor, and she's just a great person to be around with. I have to confess that recently I've wished she were more than a friend. I really think Brandie and I could be a great couple. Or something. But that's another story. I don't think Brandie has the tiniest little clue that I have a thing for her. Not a clue.
Tyra Mondoza, another good friend, has been going out with Brian for about a month. That's how Brian got to be one of our friends. Poor Tyra. She's been dazed and confused ever since Brian got interested in her. No lie. She's so shy and quiet, and not exactly considered a major babe at Miami High. I think she's in shock that a guy so handsome--so hot -- seems to think she's Cindy Crawford!
Lucky girl, huh? Well, to tell you the truth, Howie and I are just as suprised by Brian's choice as Tyra is.
But that's another story, too.
So we sat around the kitchen table, talking about girls and laughing a lot. And then we started talking about the party. The party.
A party at Ryan Mitchell's house is a big deal. Ryan is the richest guy at Miami High. His father owns at least a hundred department stores. And they live in an enormous stone mansion in Rocky Hills with guard dogs and tall hedges all around.
Ryan invited the whole senior class. And he's hired two bands to play in the backyard--a garage band called Garage Band that plays at the local dance club, Shake It, all the time. And a rap group called 2Ruff4U that's flying all the way in from LA just for the party--at least that's what Ryan tells everyone.
Ryan isn't the nicest person we know. I mean, no one would vote him Mr. Congeniality at our school. But who cares? We're all dying--dying--to go to his party!
So we were talking about the party. And Howie was fretting about what to wear.
"The party is outside, right?" he was saying. "And it still gets pretty cool at night. But I don't wanna wear anything too heavy. I mean, I plan to dance a lot. So if I wear long sleeves or a sweater..."
I tuned out at that point. It was typical Howie, worrying himself to a frenzy, talking so fast it was impossible to get a word in.
>He was still talking when we heard a bumping noise at the kitchen door.
I jumped up as someone pulled the storm door open without knocking. A tall figure barged into the kitchen.
All three of us cried out.
And that's when all the trouble began.
Chapter 2
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