Page 55 of The New Year's Party
The group stood in stunned silence. Had Jenn just shot—
“Fuuuuuck!” said the body, raising both forearms and then slamming them down.
“Doug?” said Hellie, sprinting forward.
“Doug!” everyone exploded.
Bennett ran forward.
“Who the fuck shot me in the ass?Twice?” Doug’s voice was high-pitched, hysterical.
“The cornfield!” Jenn sounded a little hysterical too. “It moved! We all thought it was a wild animal!”
“I said I had to take a piss!” roared Doug as Bennett crouched and hooked an arm under Doug’s armpit on one side. Phelps was already on the other. “I literally said, hey guys, I’m going over there—aaaaaah—”
Bennett and Phelps heaved Doug upright. His front was muddy from his tie to his trousers.
“I’m calling 9–1–1,” said Allie.
“No!” said Doug.
“Don’t call an ambulance,” said Hellie. “We don’t have insurance.”
“We can cover the cost,” said Will. His cheeks were pink in the cold, his expression troubled. “If it was our fault—”
“Fault? It was an accident!” Jenn shouted. “We were all scared! I didn’t mean to—”
“Stop,” said Hellie viciously. Bennett had always thought of Hellie as a delicate, small person who deserved to be protected. But right now, she looked scary. “Just stop talking.”
Jenn backed away. Olivia slipped her arm around Hellie.
“He needs medical attention,” insisted Allie, her phone still in her palm. “The cost is secondary—”
“Secondary?” Ted let out a cool chuckle. “Can we talk about the elitism inherent in—”
“What I need is for someone to pick the BBs out of my goddamn ass so I can fucking sit down again,” said Doug.
“I’ll do it,” said Hellie.
“Bennett and I will do it,” announced Phelps. “There’s a first-aid kit in the Dog House. We’ll set Dougie-boy straight and then return him to the party.”
“Sold,” said Doug, sagging against Bennett, who staggered a little under his friend’s weight. “Then I’m going to need a fresh pair of fucking pants.”
“You can wear my pajama pants,” said Bennett.
“I have my own, man, okay? I have my own,” said Doug.
“Yeah, sure, I didn’t mean to—” said Bennett.
“Let’s get you inside,” said Phelps as he and Bennett moved toward the Dog House, which sat about three hundred feet behind the picnic table, which was now surrounded by broken ceramic. It occurred to Bennett that picking ceramic shards out of Phelps’s mud pit of a yard wasn’t going to be an easy job. “The rest of you, go get warm! There’s darts in the basement and enough alcohol to kill Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson. Go!”
“Shouldn’t we pick up all the broken plates?” Bennett heard Hellie saying as Phelps muscled open the door to the shed.
Bennett and Phelps lugged Doug up the small wooden step and over the threshold. It smelled like weed, beer, and burnt popcorn. Phelps flicked on the lights.
Bennett had been in here a couple times before. The shed was small, but not as small as it looked from the outside. It was a simple setup: a saggy plaid sofa against the back wall, a coffee table covered in beverage rings, and a huge flat screen mounted on the wall. A small fridge was tucked in beside the sofa, with a microwave on top. Blinds covered the windows, and twinkle lights hung in big swoops along the walls.
Phelps kicked the door closed behind them. “Just cleaned the place too, don’t thank me.”
