“Why wouldn’t you want to tell me?” Brendan asked. “Don’t you trust me?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but I had no idea what to say. For someone with major trust issues, I already did trust him. And that just felt unnatural. Fortunately, I didn’t have to answer—Cisco called us over to the sloped glass wall of the Met, where he was standing over a very passed-out Austin.
“I think we need to get him in a cab,” Cisco said, chuckling slightly at the slumbering Austin. Here he was, the student council rep, who had spent every lunch period since we first met trying to convince me to join any club, looking like he was the poster child for our chapter of SADD. Which, ironically, was the club Austin had tried to get me to join at lunch that very afternoon.
“I’ll help you,” Brendan said, lifting up Austin effortlessly. It surprised me, since after the way Austin had talked about Brendan on my first day at school, I was under the impression that they weren’t exactly friends. Brendan and Cisco were about the same height, so they balanced the shorter guy between them easily. Austin woke up, stammering, “What? Ma? Time for school?”
“Yeah, buddy, it’s time for school,” Cisco said, grinning, then added to me, “Emma, we’ll be right back.”
They were gone for merely seconds when Jenn came bounding over again, her bottle almost empty.
“What were you guys… Who left?” She drained the rest of her beverage and looked around, dismayed when she noticed Austin was missing.
“Aw, he left me his drink,” she giggled, waving the now-empty two-liter at me. “So sweet. I’ll give it back to him tomorrow,” she whispered loudly. “We’re going skating at Wollman Rink!” She meant for her voice to be low, her statement confidential, but her drunken confession spilled out all over the lawn.
I put an arm around Jenn to steady her and advised, “You should throw that bottle out, you know. I’m sure he doesn’t need it back. But that’s cool about the skating.” I didn’t expect either one of them to be out of bed before 2:00 p.m.
“Let’s go hang out over by the—oh, no. Wait.” Jenn was gesturing at the cluster of trees where Kristin was holding court, until she realized that Kristin had her usual “Death to Emma” glare trained on me. Closer to us, Anthony and a short guy I recognized from math class were arguing. It looked like the conversation was getting heated.
“I think Anthony’s gonna beat Frank up,” Jenn whispered conspiratorially. “They’ve been fighting all night. Too bad. Frank’s kinda cute.”
I looked around anxiously for Cisco and Brendan, my friends—I could count Brendan as my friend now, right?
“What time do you need to be home, Jenn?” I asked, looking again at my phone. Even though I didn’t have a real curfew, I didn’t want to push my luck.
She shrugged, then ran down the green, yelling, “Cisco!” Jenn jumped on him, knocking him down. At the same time, Anthony shouted something I couldn’t quite make out at the other guy—Frank Carney—and my feet started twitching to run in the other direction. Henry was quick with his hands when he was drinking, and his alcohol-fueled rages had taught me at least one thing—I had an uncanny ability to know when things were about to get physical. Even though it had healed, my scar began to throb.
I jogged over to Cisco and helped him off the ground.
“Hey, you’re meeting Gabe soon, right?” I asked, darting my eyes to where Anthony and Frank were getting more agitated. Anthony menacingly shouted something in Frank’s face. Kristin and her posse had moved away from the guys, but she pulled out her cell phone and started recording them, snickering as she clearly enjoyed watching someone else’s misery.
“Yeah, I’m meeting him downtown. What’s up?”
“I just— I want to get out of here before that—” I gestured to the fight “—becomes something else.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it did. Anthony’s always starting trouble,” Cisco said.
I knew it. There is no way Ashley is allowed near him.
“Where’s Brendan?” I twisted my head around, searching for him.
Cisco smiled. “We couldn’t get a cab. He sent me back here to make sure you were okay.”
I blushed a little, almost forgetting where I was. That was sweet. Really sweet. First he stops drinking, now this…he’s probably just a nice guy. Then a shout broke through my thoughts.
With his lips curled back over his teeth, Anthony snarled several choice swear words at Frank before pushing him into a tree. Frank crumbled on the ground, then pulled himself back to his feet, charging at Anthony to shove him in his chest. Anthony barely budged—Blondo towered over the smaller guy. Anthony threw the first punch, hitting Frank forcefully in the stomach. Frank doubled over, gasping as he clutched his midsection. Anthony took advantage of Frank’s vulnerability, kicking him again in the stomach with his heavy boot and knocking him down on the grass. Once the smaller guy was down, Anthony—stumbling a little in his drunken state—hurled himself on top of Frank, throwing a hard punch in his face. It connected with a sickening thud. I wasn’t sure what to do—call someone? Why wasn’t anyone stopping this? Fortunately, someone did, as a third figure ran past me and jumped in.
I realized it was Brendan, breaking up the fight. In one quick movement, he pulled Anthony off Frank.
“Stop it! What the hell is wrong with you?” Brendan spit out, steadying Anthony by holding a fistful of his collar. Frank sat upright, wiping away the thick smear of blood coming from his nose. His eye already looked red.
“Stay out of it,” Anthony growled, trying to stand upright. He couldn’t quite coordinate all his limbs in his drunken state and fell on his rear.
Brendan leaned forward and helped Frank up, leaving Anthony on the ground. “Get up, dummy,” he said to Anthony, sounding annoyed. He turned to Frank. “You good?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Frank brushed some leaves off his brown jacket, glaring at Anthony. “We’ll continue this later.”
“Oh, shut up, no you won’t,” Brendan snapped, sounding more and more like a ticked-off kindergarten teacher. “Enough of this crap. Stop being such friggin’ babies.”
Frank stalked away, while Anthony scowled at his back. Brendan leaned in and said some hushed things to Anthony, his hands gesturing wildly—it looked like he was reading him the riot act. Loudly, Anthony told Brendan where he could stick his head and walked—or should I say, stumbled—toward a concerned-looking Kristin.
The whole scene made me very, very uneasy. This was the real Anthony, I figured—not the charming sweetheart that my cousin thought he was. I turned to Cisco and said, “I’m out of here. Tell everyone I said bye, okay?”
“Tell everyone? Or tell him?” Cisco replied, with smart-alecky emphasis on the “him.” Before I could answer, Cisco said, “Actually, tell him yourself.” I looked up and saw Brendan walking over, a little faster than I was used to seeing him move.
“Hey, guys—Anthony and Frank had a fight at practice and clearly are taking things home with them. Anthony said something about Frank’s mother. Anthony’s an idiot. He’s not going to start anything else tonight, though,” he explained, looking back and forth between both of us. Brendan then stopped and turned those emerald eyes back on me.
“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeeeah.” I drew it out slowly. “I’m— I’ve got to get home. Curfew, you know,” I lied, hastily draining the rest of my iced tea, then shuddering from the cold drink.
Brendan just nodded. “I’ll walk you to a cab,” he said quietly. He stayed silent, walking toward Fifth Avenue with his