Some Place Better Than Here

Chapter 7: The Blitzkrieg Bop

7 
The Blitzkrieg Bop

============MARY============

He grabbed my hand and smiled back. It then took about two seconds for Danny to get hormonal as hell and start blushing like crazy. He tried fighting it back by clamping down his mouth. But that only lent to strengthening the corners of his jaw, sending his pressed lips into a diagonal smile, emphasizing his high cheekbones. Despite the commotion of the now stirred, rummaging crowd, as the tight mass of bodies tried inching their way out of the bar, all I could find myself paying attention to was the boldness and unexpected manliness in his eyes. It should have left the impression that he was nothing but confident, yet they still quavered nervously as they searched mine. And I'll admit, the sharpness of his brows was piercing; stunning, really. He was stupid to his own ability to seduce. But I wouldn't give in. I would never give in. Danny's eyes then abruptly left mine. Something above my head caught his attention.

"Max!" Squeegee Boy (Danny) shouted.

A boy, who weirdly looked a lot like Danny, just shorter and a little rougher, popped up through the rushing crowd. Danny dropped his mouth and began rambling as Max (with red, glazed-over eyes) halted right in front of him.

"Where were you, bro?"

Danny froze. It was only a second that they stared at each other without saying anything; Danny, dumbfounded; Max, disinterested (but there was an air of something unsettling in that second).

Max then broke his straight-faced skit and laughed. He smelled of pot and I immediately wanted to befriend him. Max looked at me, gurgled, and his eyes lit up.

"Grocery Store Girl?"

I looked at Danny. "Grocery Store Girl?"

"Grocery Store Girl," Danny confirmed.

"I'm sorry," Max said. "You're not wearing a nametag. I'll need an introduction."

"Mary."

"Max, Danny's best friend. Charmed to meet ya, Mary," he said, swiping for my hand.

Max and I spoke the same gang sign-language and did a Gilmore Park Ghetto shake. Swipe. Swipe. Bump. Bump. Up. Down. Pound; explode: "BITCH!"

Max, if maybe he exfoliated his face once in a while, was actually kinda hot.

Our squad stood by the stage and talked until the populace of the bar had filed out. We all agreed that it was not worth struggling with the crowd, and even worse, according to Danny, the parking lot.

"Dude," Max exclaimed once we were all finally walking up to Danny's Porsche. "Not a scratch, aye?"

The hood glimmered under the streetlight, showing off the sparkling metallic texture.

I then yelled, "SHOTTY!" And raced to the passenger side to grab the front seat.

"So where'd you guys go?" Max asked, getting into the back. "You missed, like, the illest show." And flicked his wrist against Danny's shoulder.

My torso snapped, twisting in my seat to face Danny. "Wait. Danny. Did you just leave your friend here?"

"Max," Danny said, ignoring my question, as we were all clicking in our seatbelts. "Check under my seat."

Max shuffled around behind us. "Dude. A Roman Candle? That's the nicest thing you could have done for me—after leaving me for two hours, dickface." Max had a snarky kinda laugh. "You owe me some serious McDick's munchies, bro."