Protest Party

         
The bell rings and a flyer is too close to my face to read before I am completely out the door.
"Protest party this weekend," someone says behind the paper and I can't tell if it's a male or female voice.
I take the paper and go around the figure without looking at them and I hear them say, "Protest party this weekend. Protest party this weekend. Protest party this weekend."

Flyers are taped to locker doors and teachers are walking the hallways snatching them off. They already got the one on mine. Inside my locker is a folded note with purple ink and girly writing on the outside. Unfolded, it's another flyer.
"Protest party this weekend."
On the back is a note from Sonia. She wants me to go and I don't know if it is because it's a protest, or a party. Hopefully party.
Mark slaps my back and looks at the flyer in my hand.
"You going? I'm going. Let's go."
I tell him I don't know and close the locker, forgetting to grab my geometry book, so I start spinning the lock again.
"What were you reading?"
"Sonia wants me to go."
"So then we're definitely going, right? Liquor, pussy, and probably some chaos. You're in, right?"

Mark picks me up and we park in the woods and get out. Soul-patch woods is named after something I don't know about, and neither does anyone else, but every student knows where it is. Driving through a path of trees separated enough to get most vehicles through leads to a semi-open spot of tamped grass. Headlights beam across each other and shadows are everywhere. A clamoring of bass and treble and vocals and rapping are the audible flags of supposed personas being raised.

"Look at all these girls, dude!"

A lot of them were already drunk or high, or both. A fat black girl in camo shorts, boots, and a black shirt with some glittery font was dancing on the hood of a car where a fat black guy with pants below his ass and a polo shirt lifted up to show it was smoking a blunt and passing it to a circle of kids around him. Most of the kids in the circle wore their pants like it was a problem to wear pants.

Mark lights a cigarette and asks if I want a beer. My phone buzzes in my pocket and it's a text from Sonia. People are dancing but it's hard to determine what music they're moving to. An ant bites my ankle. I sit on Mark's trunk. My phone buzzes in my pocket and it's a text from Mark with a picture of some girl's tits while doing a keg stand. My phone buzzes in my hand and it's a text from Sonia again.

Everyone has a phone in their hands. Kids are taking group selfies with joints and blunts and beers in the shots. As soon as the picture is taken, they all take a few steps, stop smiling, and zone in on their phone for a minute. A row of blue-white chins and necks. My phone buzzes in my pocket and it's a text from Sonia. I think Mark forgot about me. My ankle itches.

Some skinny surfer kid with a bleach blonde stab haircut asks me for a cigarette by starting with, "Dude." I shake my head and say nothing. He starts talking to me about the protest and I look around to try to find the protestors. He says things are, "like...all out of control and shit, ya know?" And I don't say anything. He smells of alcohol. Strong. Like he had been drinking for the better part of the day. He pulls a lightly crushed Marlboro box from his front pocket and pulls out a cigarette and lights it and blows in my face. I itch my ankle. My phone buzzes in my pocket and it's Mark sending a picture of Sonia's tits while doing a keg stand. The surfer asks if I have a cigarette and takes a drag. I don't say anything and itch my ankle, then check my phone. No texts. The surfer is saying something about protesting and rioting and how cool all that shit is because it's all like...out of control and shit. I ask what protest and he laughs, but I think it's fake.

"Are you serious, bro?" He drags out the long O and fake laughs some more.

I stand up from Mark's car. Two steps and I'm close to the surfer and I look in his eyes. They're glassy and dilated and he can't focus on one spot for long. He's smirking and confused and I look in his eyes. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

"What're you doing, bro?"

The snap is practically drowned out by all of the loud music. His half a cigarette is glowing on his shirt as he lays on on his side holding his jaw and I itch my ankle.

"What the fuck are you doing, bro!"

"Protesting," I say.

Everyone is around the keg and girls are half naked doing keg stands. Mark is making out with Sonia and his hand is down the front of her jeans.