It was a Friday, in the first week of October 1990, it was a bye week for football, and I was crashing over at Wyatt’s place. He had convinced his dad to let us borrow the boat, and we were going fishing early in the morning. We had gone fishing a bunch of times before, but this was the first time we had the boat all to ourselves.
I lay on the floor tossing a racquetball in the air, as Wyatt folded his uniform shirts in the closet.
“Hey? You think the girls would want to go tubing?” I asked as I caught the ball and squeezed it between my index and thumb fingers.
Wyatt shrugged. I could tell his mind was on something.
“What’s up?” I asked, sitting up, tossing the ball in the air. I felt his mood shift as he hung the last shirt in the closet. He sat down on the edge of his bed and grabbed the racquetball mid-toss and rolled it in his hand.
“It’s Meg…” Wyatt mumbled. “I think she’s been talking to Randy.” His voice shook like he was trying to swallow the words back down.
“Wait. Hoe dog, Baseball Randy?” I asked.
Wyatt only nodded. His eyes were full and red.
Randy wasn’t just some random guy.
Everybody knew him. He’d been a starter on varsity since his freshman year, the kind of kid who jogged out of the dugout like the field belonged to him. Tall, fast, stupidly confident. He had that easy grin coaches loved and parents trusted. The kind that made teachers forget he never turned anything in on time. Half the girls hated him; the other half swore they’d dated him.
He wasn’t mean, exactly. He was just… Randy.
The guy who collected girls and attention without trying, who flirted like breathing, who never seemed to care about the mess he left behind.
And Meg? Megan was steady. The last person who deserved to get caught in Randy’s orbit.
Wyatt wiped his face with the heel of his hand. “I don’t know what she sees in him,” he whispered. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”
I didn’t have an answer. All I could think about was Randy’s stupid, perfect hair and the way he laughed with people like he’d known them forever. The kind of guy who could make you feel replaceable without even noticing.
Wyatt’s voice filled with jealousy as he lay back on the bed, tossing the racquetball higher. “She says it’s nothing. They have a Chemistry lab to work on….or something.”
“What do you want to do?” I huffed as I stood to my feet and looked down at him. He only shrugged. Tossing the ball again. I knew I didn’t have a leg to stand on in this fight.
I grabbed the ball and held it behind my back. “ What. Do. You want. To do?” I asked again as he sat up on the bed.
“I don’t know, I mean, I thought we were exclusive. I don’t want to be that weird, jealous boyfriend.” He muttered as he slid forward. I had never seen Wyatt like this. This vulnerable. I leaned back against his desk and just listened.
“I guess I really like her. I mean, hell, I must love her if I’m….” he got quiet.
“What? Say it, man.”
“ I just said I love her,” Wyatt whispered as he stood up and ground his bare feet into the carpet.
“Do you?”
He just stared at his feet. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” His voice was low.
“Okay,” I replied, standing up from the edge of the desk. “You’re the closest thing I have to a brother if you want to go…. Well, just know I’m with you.”
Wyatt nodded, his face slack, as he grabbed the phone.
Wyatt dialed Megan’s number, pacing a slow line across the carpet. I sat back down on the floor, rolling the racquetball between my palms.
“Hey, Mrs. Griffin… yeah, it’s Wyatt. Is Meg there?”
I watched his shoulders drop a little.
“Oh. Uh….okay. Do you know when she’ll be back?”
He nodded at whatever she said, then hung up and stared at the phone as it had betrayed him.
“She’s not home,” he muttered. “She’s out with Blaire.”
My stomach flipped. Blaire hadn’t said anything about going out. Not that she had to. Not that we were… whatever we were. Still, the thought made my face warm. Guilt bubbling up.
“With Blaire?” I tried to sound casual, but it came out cold.
Wyatt didn’t notice. He was too wrapped up in his own storm. “Yeah. Mrs. Griffin said they left like an hour ago. Didn’t say where.”
I nodded, trying not to overreact. A small, stupid thought slid in sideways. Was she avoiding me? Or was she with Megan… and Randy? Damn it. Randy was a player!! Girls said they hated him, but somehow he still got them.
Wyatt sat on the edge of the bed again, rubbing his face. “Man, I don’t know what to think.”
“Yeah,” I said, though my mind wasn’t on Randy anymore. “Yeah, I get it.”
“Man, what if she’s with Randy? What if she lied?”
I swallowed, the racquetball suddenly slick in my hand. “Yeah. Could be.”
He looked up, surprised I didn’t try to talk him down. I didn’t have it in me. My head was somewhere else. Blaire is laughing in someone’s passenger seat, Blaire not thinking to tell me, Blaire choosing someone else’s Friday night. I didn’t have to worry about the boys at the boat club. I had to worry about the captain of the baseball team.
Wyatt dragged his hands through his hair. “I feel sick.”
“Yeah,” I said again, but it wasn’t about Randy anymore. “I get it.”
Wyatt reached for the phone again, and I squeezed the racquetball until my fingers shook. He shook his head, threw the phone down, and grabbed his keys off the dresser like they’d been burning a hole there all night.
“I’m going,” he said, voice tight.
“Where?” I asked, even though I already knew.
“Out. I don’t know. Somewhere. McDonald’s, the mall, the damn bowling alley.”
I hesitated for half a second, then stood. “I’m coming.”
We didn’t talk on the way to the car. Wyatt’s jaw was locked, and my stomach was doing this slow churn I couldn’t shake. Blaire being out with Megan shouldn’t have bothered me. But it did.
Wyatt backed out of the driveway too fast, gravel spitting under the tires. The radio was off. The windows were cracked. The night felt colder than it should have.
We hit the main road and passed the gas station, the movie rental place, and the strip mall with the old Winn-Dixie. Every set of headlights made Wyatt tense.
“McDonald’s first,” he muttered.
Wyatt swung the station wagon into the parking lot too fast, the tires crunching over gravel. The headlights swept across the outdoor tables, catching flashes of red trays, paper cups, and a cluster of kids laughing like the world wasn’t falling apart.
He killed the engine but didn’t move. His hands stayed locked on the steering wheel, knuckles white.
My stomach dropped before I even saw what he was staring at.
Megan. Blaire. And Randy.
They were at one of the metal tables under the yellow lights, fries spread out between them. Blaire had her feet tucked up on the bench, laughing at something Randy said. Megan nudged him with her shoulder like they’d known each other forever.
Wyatt’s breath caught. “She said she was doing the lab,” he whispered, voice cracking.
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Blaire’s hair caught the light when she tossed it back, and something sharp twisted in my chest. She hadn’t told me she was going anywhere. She hadn’t even looked for me before leaving school.
Wyatt slammed his palm against the steering wheel. “I knew it. I freaking knew it.”
I swallowed hard. “Maybe it’s nothing.”
He shot me a look. “Does that look like nothing?”
I didn’t know what to say. Because Blaire is leaning in like that, smiling like that. It felt like a punch I hadn’t braced for.
Wyatt leaned forward, forehead almost touching the wheel. “Why didn’t she call me? Why didn’t she say anything?”
I stared at Blaire, at the way she nudged Megan, at the way Randy grinned as if he belonged there. “Yeah,” I muttered. “Why didn’t she?”
Wyatt finally tore his eyes away long enough to look at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lied, too fast.
He didn’t push. He was too far gone in his own mess.
We sat there, both of us breathing hard, both of us watching the same scene for completely different reasons. Two boys in a parked car, headlights off, hearts pounding, jealousy twisting everything sideways.
Wyatt reached for the door handle.
“Wyatt,” I said reluctantly. “Think for a second.”
He didn’t. He shoved the door open and stepped out.
“Damn it,” I muttered, following him.
We crossed the parking lot as Randy noticed us. He leaned back in his seat like he’d been waiting for a show. Megan’s smile dropped. Blaire’s eyes widened.
Wyatt stopped at the edge of the table. “Meg. Can we talk?”
Megan opened her mouth, but Randy cut in first.
“Dude, relax. We’re eating fries, not making out on the table.”
Wyatt’s jaw clenched so hard I heard it. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
Randy smirked, stretching his arms across the back of the bench like he owned the place. “Well, you’re standing in front of me, so….kinda feels like you are.”
Megan shot him a look. “Randy, stop.”
But he didn’t. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on Wyatt with that stupid baseball‑captain confidence.
“ Man, chill out. We were doing homework.”
Wyatt’s voice cracked. “Then why didn’t you call me, Meg?”
Megan stood, flustered. “Wyatt, I should’ve. I know. It wasn’t…”
Randy laughed under his breath. “You’re acting like her dad.”
Wyatt snapped. “Shut the fuck up, Randy.”
Randy stood now, too, stepping closer, puffing himself up like he wanted the whole parking lot to see. “Or what? You gonna cry? You gonna swing? Come on, man. We’re eating freaking McNuggets.”
Blaire stood quickly, putting a hand on Randy’s arm. “Randy, knock it off.”
He shrugged her off. “What? I’m not doing anything.”
But he was. He was doing exactly what guys like him do. He was poking, prodding, and pushing the bruise until someone broke.
Wyatt took a step forward.
I grabbed his arm. “Wyatt. Don’t.”
He shook me off, eyes glassy, voice shaking. “He thinks this is funny.”
Randy smirked again. “Kinda is.”
And that’s when Blaire finally looked at me and frowned. Like she realized I wasn’t here for Wyatt alone. Like she suddenly understood the mess she’d walked into.
But Randy didn’t notice any of it. He was too busy running his mouth.
“Seriously, man. If you’re this jealous over a group trip to McDonald’s, you shouldn’t have a girlfriend.”
Wyatt stepped closer to the table, chest heaving. Randy smirked like he’d been waiting for this all night.
“Back up,” Megan said, reaching for Wyatt’s arm.
Randy pushed his tray aside with his hip. “Nah, let him talk. Big man drove all the way down here.”
Wyatt’s voice cracked. “You don’t get to….”
Randy swung.
It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t practiced. It was a wild, stupid teenage punch thrown by a kid who thought he was invincible. It caught Wyatt on the cheek and sent him stumbling sideways into the metal table.
Megan screamed, and Blaire gasped as the whole parking lot seemed to freeze.
I didn’t. I moved before I even knew I was moving. One step. Two. Randy turned toward me with that same smug look. And I hit him.
Not a wind‑up. Not a dramatic movie punch. Just a sharp, fast shot that connected with his jaw and snapped his head sideways. He dropped to one knee, stunned, more shocked than hurt.
The table rattled. Fries scattered.
Someone inside pressed their face to the window.
Randy blinked up at me, dazed. “What the hell…” he put his hands up when he made eye contact with me.
“Don’t touch him again,” I said, breathing hard.
Wyatt was holding his cheek, eyes wide. Not scared but surprised. Like he’d never seen me like that.
Blaire stared at me, too, something unreadable in her face.
Megan knelt beside Randy, torn between helping him and looking back at Wyatt.
Then the door swung open.
A manager in a faded red polo stormed out, mid‑forties, mustache, the look of a man who’d seen enough teenagers for one lifetime.
“HEY!” he barked, marching toward the tables. “Absolutely not. Not in my parking lot. All of you….out. Now.”
Randy was still blinking, hand on his jaw. “He hit me….”
“I don’t care who hit who,” the manager snapped. “You’re done. Get off the property.”
Wyatt wiped his cheek, still shaking. “Sir, he swung first…”
“Don’t care,” the manager repeated, pointing toward the cars like he was directing traffic. “You’re all leaving. You, you, you…” He pointed at each of us in turn, “and you two girls, too. Let’s go.”
Megan looked mortified. Blaire looked like she wanted to disappear. Randy muttered something under his breath, but even he didn’t push it. The manager had that energy adults get when they’re one bad moment away from calling someone’s parents.
“Come on,” Megan whispered, tugging Randy’s arm.
He jerked away. “I can walk.”
Blaire stepped toward me, eyes flicking to my knuckles, then to my face. She didn’t say anything, but the look was enough to make me feel guilty.
The manager clapped his hands once. “Let’s move. I’m not asking again.”
Wyatt and I backed toward the station wagon. Randy staggered toward his truck, still rubbing his jaw. Megan hovered beside him, torn between checking on him and glancing back at Wyatt. Blaire lingered a second longer, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
Then the manager shouted again, and everyone scattered.
“Dude. Let’s go, this is bullshit,” I begged, but Wyatt wasn’t listening.
Randy was yelling, arms flailing, Megan backing away from him like she’d touched something hot. Wyatt took off before I even processed it, door open, feet pounding across the lot.
“Shit,” I muttered, jogging after him.
Randy smirked and shut the door to his truck.
“Big man, want another?” he snapped.
Wyatt didn’t hesitate. He leaned in and drove Randy back against the truck. The sound of bodies hitting metal cracked through the lot. Fists flew, sloppy, sixteen‑year‑old punches. Someone yelled. Someone else cursed. A siren wailed somewhere far off, getting closer.
Wyatt finally staggered back, chest heaving, fists raw and shaking.
The girls were gone. Just like that. No goodbye. No last look. Just gone. It was only the three of us now under the buzzing yellow lights like idiots who’d ruined their own night.
Randy slid down the side of his truck, propping himself against the tire. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand and spat.
“Ain’t this a bitch,” he muttered with that crooked half‑smile. “You gonna beat me up?”
I stepped forward, behind Wyatt, casting a shadow over him in the parking lot light. Randy flinched when I reached out, but I only shook my hand once. He hesitated, then grabbed it. His palm was gritty with gravel and dirt.
“Dude. Get up,” I said.
He did. The three of us stood there, breathing hard, the parking lot suddenly too quiet.
“So what now?” Randy asked, rubbing the dent in his fender like it was the real injury.
“Let’s go. Cops are on the way,” Wyatt said, voice rough.
Randy and I both nodded.
Randy climbed into his truck, engine coughing to life. He leaned out the window. “Hey, go to the Mobil. So we can talk. I swear.”
He peeled out of the lot, taillights disappearing into the dark.
Wyatt and I stood there for a beat, the night settling heavy around us.