Chapter Text
If you went to Hatchetfield High School and picked out a random sample of 100 kids, all of whom were about to start their senior year, and asked what they wanted to do on the last day of summer, 99 of them will say ‘Attending Stacy Carlson’s party’. If you had one person say they didn’t want to go, then you selected Richie Lipschitz, who is an outlier and shouldn’t be counted. Alas, despite Richie’s protests of not wanting to waste his last day of freedom surrounded by a bunch of sweaty, flirty underage drinkers he hardly knew, they fell on the deaf ears of his twin brother. He was then dragged, moaning and whining, into the old Honda Accord, and driven to what he considered his own personal hell.
Stacy’s house was right in the middle of Pinebrook. Google Maps said they could get there in about 25 minutes. Uncle Paul’s vast knowledge of shortcuts tragically shortened that time to 15. Richie had spent the first 10 minutes of the drive voicing his desire to be back in his bedroom. Right now, he squirmed in his jacket for what felt like the millionth time as he picked at the sleeve.
“You know, if you’re dragging me to a party I never wanted to attend, you could’ve at least picked a nicer outfit for me.” Richie commented. It was true. His look currently consisted of the world’s itchiest (and tightest) denim jacket, matching jeans, enough hair gel to make Richie’s eyes burn, and some silver rings. The latter was the only contribution Richie was allowed to make. The rest was personally hand-picked by Trevor and laid out on Richie’s bed that afternoon. That was also the time Richie discovered he was attending tonight’s party.
Trevor was in the backseat, indiscreetly pregaming with his scratched red tumbler that hadn’t left his side since middle school drama class. He pulled the bottle away and met Richie’s glare in the rearview mirror.
“Well, sorry, Richie, but your closet wasn’t giving me much to work with. Half of your shirts have a faded anime graphic on it, and the other half haven’t been washed.” He sniped. “Besides, it’s not like you’d wear anything from me.”
“Uh, yeah, that’s because your wardrobe consists of drama blacks, plaid shirts, and musical cosplays. Case in point: Your outfit tonight makes you look like the main dude from Hadestown.” Richie said. Trevor humphed as he sat up and readjusted the red handkerchief tied around his neck.
Richie went back to worrying about his jacket, hands fidgeting with the buttoned cuffs. Sure, the sensation of denim drove Richie mad, no matter how hard he would push up his sleeves. However, the less the torturous material touched his body, the better. One or two strands of bright blue hair fell over his eyes during the struggle. This was either Richie’s hair refusing to be dictated by the gel Trevor combed through, or Richie’s stupid sweat glands being a pain before he even got to the party. Regardless, Richie blew the strands out of his face with a grimace. His hands flopped onto the old seats in defeat, and he stared out the window. The car turned down the street as they entered Pinebrook. Based on the Google Maps open on Uncle Paul’s phone, they were about 5 minutes away.
Pinebrook had a reputation for being a neighborhood filled with all the rich kids. It was as if each street here was competing for who had the fancier-looking entrance. Fountains, hedges, and unnecessary electric gates flooded Richie’s vision. It was only a matter of time before that got replaced by neon lights, solo cups, and people. The thought made Richie shudder. The sky continued to darken. The moon wasn’t anywhere to be seen even though the night was clear.
Must be a new moon. Richie thought.
Finally, Paul made one last right turn, driving through onto Juniper Avenue. Thousands of cars were messily parked on the street, all of them angled towards the large mansion at the end. Number 23. The not-so-humble home of the Carlson family, which was now playing party music so loud, Richie could make out every terrible word The Weeknd was singing. Paul parked a few houses away. Based on how he grimaced, Richie could tell Paul was glad he wasn’t being forced to attend this. His uncle turned to face Trevor, currently excitedly texting his theater friends that he had arrived.
“Alright, now, both of you boys have fun. Just remember, don’t accept any drinks from anyone you don’t know, don’t spend the night somewhere else without texting me, and if you’re going to do drugs, please don’t let me smell it on you.” He explained. Trevor gave Paul a salute as he opened the door, already crawling out
“You got it, Uncle Paul! See you tomorrow morning!” He said. Paul sighed and turned to face Richie. Richie rolled his eyes.
“I won’t let him do Truth or Dare, Paul, don’t worry.” Richie said, beginning to undo his seatbelt.
“That…wasn’t what I wanted to tell you, Richie.”
Richie gave a small groan under his breath and turned back to Paul, letting his seatbelt slide up and hit the car door with a small thunk. Paul was giving Richie the same look he’s been giving Richie all summer. One of pity, slight remorse, and enough concern to make Richie want to crawl into a hole. Paul sensed Richie’s tension and let his eyes flick back to the front, watching the house.
“Look…I understand that this…isn’t exactly your scene. And I know you had plans for tonight.” Paul started. Richie crossed his arms and nodded. If he had his way, he would be spending his evening eating instant ramen while watching Howl’s Moving Castle and cuddling his cat. Calcifer did not take too kindly to having Ghibli Night being disrupted either. No doubt the ginger tabby was in the middle of taking his frustrations out on Richie’s body pillows.
“But,” Paul placed a hand on Richie’s shoulder, the denim digging into his skin. Richie shivered, but resisted the urge to interrupt Paul while he was giving tonight’s ‘concerned guardian just looking out’ speech. “I want you to…just try to enjoy this. Maybe one of your friends will also be here.”
That was wishful thinking. Pete is only slightly less of a hermit than Richie, Grace would view Stacy’s house as a den of sin, Reese was probably at PJ’s house playing videogames, and Ruth was deliberately left off the guest list. Paul shifted, trying to think of something else.
“Or, maybe there’ll be some games you like? I’m certain most of these kids would have heard of Cards Against Humanity.” Paul suggested. Richie did not have the heart to tell Paul that Cards Against Humanity was not played at house parties. But, for the sake of wanting to give Paul a win, and to also finish this awkward discussion, Richie nodded.
“Yeah…yeah, someone always has at least one deck lying around.” Richie lied. It seemed to do the trick, and Paul smiled at Richie.
Richie now opened the car door and began heading out. Paul quickly leaned across the center console.
“Oh, and Richie, if you run into Marcus tonight-” He started before Richie let out another groan.
“Can we maybe go one night without you bringing him up?” Richie asked.
“I just wanted to tell you-”
“I don’t feel comfortable talking about him, and I really thought I made it clear to leave him in the past.”
“Richie, I just want you to be safe tonight-”
“Can I go now please?!” Richie snapped. Paul’s mouth closed, and he hung his head. Richie felt guilt crawling up his throat, but it was clear that this conversation was officially over. He leaned down to close the door. “I’ll-I’ll call you when I want to go home, okay?”
Paul nodded.
“Okay. Have a nice night, Richie.”
Richie heard the Honda Accord drive away. He didn’t intend to snap at Paul, but Richie was already in a deeply uncomfortable position. When he’s in this state, his mental filter becomes very flimsy. Almost as flimsy as the red solo cups that littered Stacy’s front yard despite his phone’s clock only reading 7:45.
The tall front door was already open, giving Richie a good view of a long, white hallway with a pack of sweaty teenagers pressed against the wall. Some were dancing, some were drinking. As Richie entered, it was as if he had been transported into Hell. The bass pounded into his eardrums, the heat radiated off Richie’s classmates, and the stench of alcohol practically slapped him in the face. He pushed his way through the entry hallway. He barely heard his sneakers pound against the white marble tiles, and couldn’t see any doorways leading out. Eventually, he was spit out of the hallway into the main foyer. A crystal chandelier reflected the neon lights, fracturing across the walls. A tall staircase led up to the second floor, no doubt where more teenagers were making out or trashing the place. Someone wrapped an arm around Richie, and he yelped.
“Yo, Richie! I didn’t think you were coming!” Kyle’s beer breath hit Richie’s nostrils before he could register what was being said to him. He nodded and closed his eyes, asking God if this place was punishment for being agnostic.
“Hey, Kyle. How are you?” He asked, purely for the sake of friendly conversation, and also so he can shrug Kyle’s arm off. Kyle did not seem to get the message and instead grabbed Richie by the forearms. Either he was too drunk to notice Richie’s tense look, or Richie needs to have way more clear facial expressions.
“I am going great! I’m crushing everybody in beer pong right now. Oh, you should try! I think you’d be really great at it!” Kyle said, eyes wide like an excited golden retriever. Richie politely pushed Kyle’s hands off him.
“I think I’ll have to pass. I don’t know the rules.” Richie excused, hoping that the backyard was significantly less crowded. Kyle then let out a gasp so loud that Richie froze.
“You don’t know how to play beer pong?” Kyle turned in the direction of another hallway that looked identical to the one Richie entered through. “GUYS, LIPSCHITZ DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO PLAY BEER PONG!”
To Richie’s horror, he was now being carried in Kyle’s arms down the hallway, past all the partying teenagers, and into what looked to be Stacy’s dining room. The large bay windows on one wall gave an excellent view to a backyard with a large pool filled with kids doing cannonballs, or smoking cannabis. In the next room, Richie could hear the music was much louder, with numerous people singing off-key. That was probably where the DJ was located. However, the main centrepiece of the dining room was the long oak table that had hundreds of beer cases stacked up on one end, and solo cups and ping pong balls set up at the other.
Kyle set Richie down before he headed to the end that had all the beer cases. Most of the football team was there. Richie barely recognized most of them since they were out of their stupid, bulky uniform. If Ruth were here, she’d be insisting that Richie get photos. Kyle was in the middle of enthusiastically explaining something to a few of the guys. Richie scanned their faces, and silently thanked the universe when he saw that neither Marcus nor Max Jägerman were there. However, when Kyle started pointing to Richie, Richie’s stomach sank. And now, suddenly, Richie was being dragged to the end with all the cups and ping pong balls.
A new pair of hands settled on Richie’s shoulders, and Richie recognised Jason’s voice yelling the rules of beer pong in his ear.
“Okay, so, basically, you grab a ping pong ball-” the bright orange ball was shoved into Richie’s hand, and Jason then proceeded to move Richie’s arm as if it were a toy. “You throw it into another person’s cup, and then they have to drink. Got it?”
“Yep.” Richie said. He half-heartedly threw the ball, and it landed perfectly in one of the cups on Kyle’s end. The rest of the team cheered, and Richie covered his ears as Kyle drank. Kyle then prepared to aim, and Richie knew he needed to get out of here. He turned to Jason.
“Uhm, Jace? Do you mind covering for me? I need to go to the bathroom.” Jason giggled.
“Oh, c’mon Richie, you can take one drink!” He said. Richie rolled his eyes and decided to pull out his best excuse.
“I’m on my period, I don’t think I can.”
Richie will never get used to the look of awkwardness and confusion that grows on a person’s face whenever he says it. However, he will use it to his advantage when he needs to. Jason stepped to the side, and Richie pushed his way into the next room. This was a big mistake, as this was the DJ room. The music was at its loudest, the bass practically drilling into his eardrums. Richie wasn’t sure if there was any actual music being played here, but either way, he wasn’t happy about it.
He spotted Trevor in the crowd, red handkerchief now abandoned, and partying like his life depended on it. Richie decided to not make any comments. He did however take a photo to use for blackmail purposes.
It took considerably less effort to escape the DJ room than Richie had expected, except now he found himself in what seemed to be the world’s most dimly lit hallway. Richie could hear sounds he did not want to describe, and did his best to walk in a straight line, praying not to bump into anybody. He made it to the end, feeling for a door, and rushed inside. It was, thank God, an empty bathroom. The door was promptly locked, and Richie sat on the toilet seat as he grabbed his phone.
Instagram was currently flooded with hundreds of different photos of different rooms inside Stacy’s house. Or, maybe they were all in the same room? Richie is starting to think that Stacy’s mom has horrible interior design tastes, since every single room looks identical. He kept scrolling, waiting to find one post that wasn’t dedicated to this party that, in all honesty, was not that great. Richie will take Howl’s Moving Castle and a demanding cat over terrible music and grabby football players.
However, he landed on one post and froze. He recognized the user: K!NG_DELANEY69. It was a photo of Richie at beer pong, Jason drunkenly directing his arm. Richie looked particularly unflattering in that photo, his face sweaty and his mouth stuck in his signature grimace. The caption underneath said: lol, downgrade of the century. #Iwonthebreakup #DodgedABullet #Nicehaircut #ForYou. Marcus was classy enough to tag Richie in it. Richie turned his phone off. Sure this wasn’t the worst thing his ex-boyfriend has posted, but…God, Richie wanted to end summer on a good note. He sighed and moved to the mirror. Marcus’ photo…wasn’t exactly exaggerating things.
Richie was a mess. His hair had managed to completely become ungelled and was now back in its signature cowlick. Sweat coated his red face and his pimples were now more prominent. Was-was he always this lanky? Richie looked down at himself, noticing how he somehow became even thinner over the break despite his diet exclusively being takeout. His face felt so hot. His entire body felt hot, like this place was a boiler room. Oh, why did Trevor give him a denim jacket? He knows Richie’s sweat glands don’t mesh well with it.
Someone pounded on the bathroom door.
“Uh, can you open up, please?! Other people need to pee too, idiot!” A girl’s voice drunkenly called.
“I’m on my period!” Richie yelled back, voice high and cracked in the middle. Okay, this settles it. He needs to get outside. He needs to get the heck out of here.
Richie flushed the empty toilet and barged out into the makeout hallway, storming through with more determination he’s ever possessed in his life. He shoved his way past the partiers in the DJ room, deliberately avoided going back to beer pong, and instead went through a couple more hallways. If he could find the kitchen, then there’ll be a backdoor, or at the very least a window to crawl out of.
Oh god, Richie was right about Mrs. Carlson’s interior designing abilities. Regardless what door Richie opened, it seemed that there were only three possible options:
1) Hallway full of couples with no shame in expressing PDA
2) A room repurposed to host some new insane party game
3) A bathroom not being used in the way it’s supposed to be used.
With each person Richie pushed past and avoided, it was as if there were three more people who yelled out ‘Hi’ to him. Honestly, what was the point of everyone being nice to him if they’ll go back to ignoring or punching him at school? His temperature was rising rapidly, to the point Richie believed this stupid, stupid jacket was going to slide right off. Nope. If anything, it soaked all the sweat up, and made Richie feel like he was wearing a sponge. A very uncomfortable, incredibly itchy sponge.
His ears rang. It was getting to the point where Richie was considering just lying down and staying there if the next room was another hallway. However, he opened the door- and cold air hit him in the face. Quickly followed with the smell of weed. Richie gasped in relief and slammed the backdoor shut. He staggered through the backyard.
Fairy lights were strung about the place, most of them lying on the floor. In the distance sat the pool, still preoccupied by the same group of teenagers splashing and getting high. A tall metal fence guarding the house from the woods that could easily be knocked over by a bear sat the furthest away from the house. Richie panted, walking bow-legged until he reached the fence and leaned against it. He pulled off the jacket and left himself in his plain black t-shirt, exposed to the September air. His fingers automatically went down to the bottom, fidgeting with the hem as he willed his heart to beat normally.
Richie didn’t know when he sat down, back pressed to the metal fence. The stars seemed even duller now. Or maybe it was because Richie’s eyes were adjusting to having strobe lights blasted in his face for 45 minutes. He checked the time. Just over an hour has passed since he got here. He got out Paul’s contact details and sent him a text:
You
Hey. I’m sorry I snapped. I don’t like it here. Do you mind picking me up?
The message failed to be delivered, and the lack of Wi-Fi bars made Richie realize he most likely had to traverse back through the house in order to get through to Paul. He let out a frustrated sigh and tilted his head back.
“FUCK MY LIFE!” Richie screamed, not expecting anybody to respond or care.
“Sheesh, I’ll take up that offer.”
Richie’s head snapped down, and his fists clenched. Cherry on top of an already perfect party. Standing there, so smug, hair softly flowing in the wind, was none other than Max Jägerman himself. Truly never a better ending to Richie’s shitty evening than this.
The nerd groaned, not in the mood to cower in front of Max right now. If today is the day he dies, he might as well end it standing up to the quarterback.
“Go away, Max. I don’t want to deal with your bullshit right now.” Richie said. Max, frustratingly, stayed rooted to the spot.
“Eh, I would, but this seems more entertaining.”
Max settled himself down next to Richie, who was greatly considering running into the woods now. The coyotes there would give him a kinder fate.
“Now, you mind telling me what’s up? Jason told me you didn’t come back from the bathroom. Said you were on your period or something?” Max asked, deciding that Richie will suffer from invasive small talk before going in for the kill.
“Whatever I am going through is none of your business, Max. Unless you decide to post it like Marcus has been doing all summer.” Richie blurted out. He had no idea why he said that last part. Once again, overstimulated mental state equals lack of mental filter. Max paused with fidgeting the blades of grass in his hands and turned to Richie.
“Wait, what has Marcus been doing?” Max asked. Richie huffed, doing his best to not notice the obviously fake concern in Max’s voice.
“Like I said, it’s none of your business! Now, can you just leave me here? I’m waiting for my uncle to get here…or to get eaten by the local wildlife. Either option gets me away from this party.” Richie said, crossing his arms. He began to shiver, but his pride refused to let him put the jacket back on.
“Are you okay?” Max asked. Right, there was still the idiot quarterback to deal with, and it didn’t look like he was going to be leaving anytime soon.
“What do you think, Jägerman?” Richie rhetorically asked. Goosebumps began crawling up his arms. Fall hasn’t even begun, and Richie is already aiming to be the first person dying of hypothermia.
Warm cotton suddenly closed itself around Richie’s shoulders. He froze, startled, and looked at Max, who smoothed down the sleeves and stood up. The letterman jacket, something Richie was convinced had fused to Max’s body since freshman year, was now firmly settled on top of Richie. He couldn’t help but gawk at the sight of Max’s exposed biceps. He willed himself to focus on anything else. Max, meanwhile, pointed back to the house.
“Do you want me to drive you home?” Richie met him with silence. Max shrugged, deciding to avoid eye contact and instead scanned past the fence. “It’s just- You’re out here, shivering and all that crap, and…it’s super pathetic. The only person allowed to make you feel that way is me.” Max then pulled car keys out of his jeans, a small football helmet keyring clinking against it. “Plus, the alternative is getting eaten by bears.”
Max finally looked back down at Richie, who was beginning to wonder if all that weed in the air was starting to mess with his head. He stared back up at Max, the quarterback’s blue eyes looking so…bright. Not menacing. Not deceitful. Not too concerned or pitiful like Richie expects to get from someone when he starts getting overwhelmed. Just…bright. Like he had all the time in the world and wasn’t going to rush Richie into spending it. Richie, naturally, was suspicious that this supposed kindness was coming from Max Jägerman, the same guy who didn’t even know what autism was until junior year. He raised an eyebrow.
“What’s the catch?” He asked. Max shook his head.
“No catch.” Richie was becoming more wary by the second.
“Oh, don’t play dumb with me, Maxwell. There’s no way you are doing this without something else being involved. Where’s Brad? Is he recording this in the bushes?” Richie could think of at least five different ways this could go wrong. Getting pranked was the best case scenario. Max groaned, and Richie was now certain the real Jägerman was coming out.
“Look, I’m just trying to do this to be nice, okay! There's nobody waiting in bushes, or filming this, or anything that could embarrass you! I swear! Scout’s honor!” Max made the boy’s scout salute, and it was clear he wanted an answer from Richie. At this point, Richie felt like going because he was certain another ride wouldn’t be coming for another few hours. And there was always the back-up option of jumping out of the car if Max tried anything. So, Richie shrugged and stood up.
“Fine.” He said as they began walking back to the front of the house. “But, if you kill me, my ghost is ruining any possible chance you have at getting a girlfriend.”
“Fair.” Max replied.
Richie had seen Max’s car in the school parking lot once or twice. It was a solid, well-built black SUV. The minute Max got his license on his 16th birthday, he basically bragged to the entire school about it. Max loved his car. Girls loved making out with Max in his car. Richie loved Max’s car being clean, save for the Burger King wrapper on the floor. Richie climbed in, letterman still hanging on his shoulders, and Max started the engine. Since this car was more advanced than Paul’s, the GPS was built-in.
“Okay, what’s your address?” Max asked, eyes squinting against the screen’s harsh light.
“18 Spruce Street.” Richie said, voice quiet.
Max pulled out his phone while the route loaded up.
“You want any music? I have this whole playlist that’s just nice sounding piano songs.” Max said, plugging into the sound system. Richie gave a thumbs up, leaning his head against the window as the tension in his muscles finally eased. Max put his foot on the gas, and they pulled away from the Carlson house.
The drive was, surprisingly, pretty nice. Max, despite how loud he was at school, didn’t say a word. The only sounds were tyres against gravel, the occasional GPS direction, and Debussy’s piano work. Richie decided not to comment on Debussy being on Max’s calming playlist, unless he wanted to hear Max’s stupid laugh over the name ‘Debussy’. Once the familiar streetlights of downtown Hatchetfield started passing by the windows, Max decided to start talking.
“So…what did you mean by Marcus posting stuff on social media?” He quietly asked. Richie sighed, the peace now shattered.
“Oh, what? You haven’t seen all the stuff he’s posted on Instagram?” Richie sarcastically asked. Max shook his head, eyes staying on the road.
“Not really. I stopped following him last year. He wouldn’t stop sending me random reels at 3 AM.”
Richie turned to face Max now, surprised. Huh…Max didn’t know what was going on. He’d inadvertently avoided the mess that was tormenting Richie all summer.
“Uhm, well, it’s just…we broke up at the end of junior year. It’s a long story. I decided to end things.” Richie explained, sparing Max the full story. Max’s grip on the wheel tightened by a fraction as he made a sharp left. “Ever since then, Marcus has been posting a bunch of stuff about me that…totally isn’t true.” Richie lied. He didn’t know if it was a mercy that Max hadn’t learnt any of Richie’s secrets Marcus shamelessly revealed to the rest of the world.
“Jesus, that’s…pretty shitty.” Max said after a moment of silence. “You know, I never liked Marcus.”
Richie blinked in surprise. “Really? But, you guys are both on the football team.” Max’s eyes shifted down to the map before flicking his indicator.
“So? Tackling each other at practice doesn’t mean I owe the guy my life.” Max explained. “Plus, you have to admit, the dude’s breath was the worst.”
That finally got a laugh out of Richie. Max smiled in success as he pulled up to the curb. Richie’s house sat right across from the car. Paul’s bedroom light was still on, undoubtedly checking through the windows for when Richie and Trevor would return home.
Richie unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. He quickly turned to Max.
“Uhm, thanks for not letting me die of hypothermia, I guess. Thanks for the jacket too.” Richie said as he took off the letterman, awkwardly draping it on the passenger seat. Max smiled and casually shrugged.
“Hey, it’s no big deal.” Max paused as Richie gathered his things off the floor. “You know, for what’s worth, you made the smart choice in ending things with Marcus.”
Richie paused in closing the door, and looked up at Max. He was staring at Richie with the same bright-eyed look he gave him back at the Carlson house. No pity, no menace. Just genuine care. Richie was certain he was probably still high. The spell was broken when Max leaned over to playfully punch Richie’s arm.
“Maybe you’re not as stupid as I thought.” He said, and Richie finally relaxed. There’s the Max Jägerman he knew and hated.
Richie entered the comfort of his home and went straight upstairs to his room. Calcifer gave a small mew while sitting atop the now decimated body pillow on the floor. Richie didn’t notice that Max’s car stayed parked in front well after Richie climbed into bed. He didn’t notice the soft rustling coming from the poorly kept hedges sitting in their front yard. He didn’t notice the furious crimson eyes glowing inside the car, glaring into the night.
Richie did, however, notice the sound of a wolf howling before he faded into sleep. But he was too tired to notice how close it was to his window.