BooksBarbecue
Back The House Party
Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. April 2008
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. Author’s Note
  55. Acknowledgments
  56. About the Author
  57. About the Publisher

“I’m going outside . . . for a cigarette,” Trip announced. He pushed through the doors as the band started playing. He knew his friends were just kidding, but he wasn’t in the mood. He’d come to the bar tonight precisely because he didn’t want to talk about the house party. Since he and Will had been charged, it was the only thing his parents talked about at home. They’d hired a lawyer but it wasn’t looking good. If he’d been thinking straight, he would have left that party and gone to the bar as soon as they started playing Katy Perry. He hadn’t even been having that good of a time. It was just inertia, he guessed, that had kept him at the beer pong table until he’d run out of opponents.

Outside, he pulled out a paper and started rolling a cigarette. He heard the door open again behind him. “I’m not bumming you another cigarette,” he called over his shoulder, thinking it was Andy.

“I’ve got my own,” said an unfamiliar voice behind him, and Trip turned around. One of the guys who’d been playing pool was standing uncomfortably close to him, and Trip took a step forward as he turned around. The guy behind him was wearing paint-stained khakis and a Carhartt hoodie. “I thought I recognized you,” he said. “Trip O’Connor, right?”

“We know each other?” Trip asked.

“Well, I know who you are,” the guy said. His voice wasn’t friendly. “You’re the asshole who trashed the house.”

“What’s it to you?” Trip asked.

“What’s it to me? Oh, nothing. Just a job. Just putting food in my kid’s mouth. Or not, thanks to you and your friends.”

“Hold up,” Trip said. “I don’t have anything to do with your job.” He looked at the guy again. He had a faded amateur tattoo on his hand and small silver earrings in both ears. He looked familiar, and suddenly Trip remembered him. He’d been a few years ahead of Trip in high school. Trip remembered that he’d been in a band. Now it looked like he was working construction.

“I heard you were at that party,” the guy was saying. “But I guess I had to see you to believe it. What the fuck, man? You guys destroyed that house. The house I spent the better part of the last year building.”

“So? What do you care?” Trip asked, looking him up and down. “It wasn’t your house.”