Haze.
Ryder’s hand leaves my body and he crashes to the ground. Haze is on top of him, pummeling his face with hooks that are so strong it’s a wonder that Ryder’s still conscious. He can’t fight back, all of his attempts unsuccessful.
“Haze, stop!” I scream, but he doesn’t hear me, his sight and common sense destroyed by pure rage. It’s like he becomes this entirely different person when he fights. He’s on autopilot, empty, no feelings, no second thoughts, just instincts.
All I can do is hope that my despair will stop him from beating Kendrick’s fighter to a pulp. Yes, Ryder has issues. Yes, what he did was wrong, but I don’t think he’s a bad guy. I think what just happened has nothing to do with me and everything to do with him. I think he’s miserable. And you wouldn’t believe the toll misery can take on someone’s life…
I realize that the commotion has attracted the attention of the mass when I see a thick crowd of teenagers gathering around us.
“Fight, fight, fight!” a wasted jock from school shouts through the air, and the varsity team joins in his chanting. The same guy pulls his phone out of his pocket to record the scene.
This is why I hate social events.
No, this is why I hate people, period.
Students start to spill out of the house, curious to see what was important enough for the jocks to stop drinking. This is getting completely out of control. Ryder manages to get a few punches in, but his face still makes the saying “you should see the other guy” look like it was invented for him.
“Haze, stop, you’re going to kill him!” My begging only increases the crowd’s chanting.
It can’t possibly get any worse than this.
Then, because the guy up there likes to prove me wrong, the definition of worse stumbles out of the house.
Kendrick, Will, and Alex.
I might not always listen to my cousin when he gives me lessons on the street fighting rules—or ever, really—but I remember this one: In the main fighters’ close circle, one’s problem is everyone’s problem.
One’s fight… is everyone’s fight.
“Haze! Please. I’m begging you,” I belt out, blinded by the tears.
That finally seems to be enough to grab his attention.
He hears me and looks up.
Our eyes lock.
Still on top of Ryder, he stops, his white-knuckled fist hanging in the air. The same way I did during the fight at the Downside, I recognize him… He sees the tears in my eyes, and his arm drops to his side. He’s going to stop. He’s going to let Ryder go.
But the guys intervene before he can do so.
Kendrick and Will both pounce on Haze while Alex helps Ryder off the ground. I know they technically don’t have a choice. Haze attacked one of their own, but if they’d seen how Ryder acted, they’d be attacking him, too.
“Guys! Stop it,” I cry again. Haze might be a solid fighter, but it’s four against one. This is inhuman. The very unfair fight quickly turns around as Haze takes Ryder’s place on the ground and the guys kick the hell out of him. It starts with a cut on his eyebrow. Then it’s a cut on his lip. The wounds multiply along with my fears. Haze eventually stops fighting back, grunting in pain as he holds on to his stomach. He can’t take them all.
God, I love that idiot.
I have to do something. Anything. It all happens too fast for the crowd to catch up. Will pulls Haze up by the grasp he has of his collar and aims for the final punch. Haze can barely stand. What I do next will probably not go down as one of my finest moments.
I step right into the chaos.
“Stop!” I’ve never screamed louder.
“Winter, get out of the way!” I hear Kendrick’s voice.
I don’t know how it happens. Who pushes me or how quickly my body hits the ground. All I know is the pain and the panic spreading in my chest when my head hits something.
“What the fuck did you do?” a familiar voice barks.