They always rang the doorbell and knocked on the door at the same time. They always rang twice and knocked twice. Much like me, they were creatures of habit.

I stopped typing on the computer and turned the musical opus known as “Love Will Tear Us Apart” by Joy Division. It sounded murky and mellow and generally beautiful. The front man hung himself, and that usually made for better music. Tortured artists always write the best. Despite their ill-fitting and rather stupid beginnings wherein they had some sort of fascist image, I still loved them.

They knocked while ringing a third time. It was an act that was grossly rare. Surely their need to be inside of my house was great.I turned the music all the way down, swiveled in my computer chair, and stood up. Without any real sense of urgency, I walked to the door and stopped, looking through the line of glass on the side of the door.

My grinning face did little to cheer them up, as evidenced by Cory attempting to hit me through the glass. Peter growled, calling me some sort of unoriginal and unprintable insult. Doolan grinned wide and threatened to jump me.

It always went the same way.

I let them in. Cory hit me. Peter announced that I still owed him from some previously unheard of favor he did for me. Doolan smirked and sauntered in, flopping down on my couch.

“We’re going somewhere?” I asked without really caring. It was around nine, and outside, it was darker than Egypt during the ninth plague.

Peter was already in my garage, yelling that I did not have Pepsi. He tended to get angry when my family did not cater to his every whim and desire. It was almost cute in a way that disgusted me in every imaginable way.

Doolan threw me my house phone and took my computer. He searched my music library and, upon finding nothing to his liking, began to download music through various methods of questionable legality. Cory sat the armchair in my living room and stared at the television without blinking.

“Call Erica. We’re going over.”

I knew what Erica it was. We knew three Ericas—four, if you counted a friend of another friend, Hord’s, and I did not. I liked one of the three, and we no longer spoke with that one. One was a friend who had completely changed after eighth grade. The one that I liked was an ex-girlfriend of Peter’s, whom we no longer spoke to due to measure of bitterness.

I loathed the third, hated her with all of my soul. However, she was completely okay in nearly every respect, and some of the time, I was very nice to her. She had emo glasses, and she was short and thin. Really, she was a nice girl, despite being very, very annoying and very, very unintelligent in every respect.

I called her. Her voice was high and nasally and impossibly annoying. With me acting as the great Doolan’s mouthpiece, I informed her that we were coming over to hang out and that she should be outside to see us. This was mainly because Erica’s mother did not allow Doolan inside of their house.

Erica’s mother seemed to believe that Doolan was some legendary drug-dealer, one that worked mostly out of a boring suburb in Ohio. Because, as we all know, that is where all the real money is.

Erica agreed and asked if it was okay if a male friend was there. I asked Doolan, and he seemed to think it was okay. She did her usual routine, which consisted of her whining at me and telling me that I was being mean. This time, however, she ended it up by telling me not to do that in front of the friend.

He had a temper, apparently. I hung up on her without so much as a goodbye and shook my head.

Really, I hated her so much.

We walked out of my house and into the cold and dark streets of Fairview. Conversation was always the same. We made fun of each other’s nationalities in excruciating detail and talked about how much we hated certain people. As usual, Doolan informed me that at some point in my life, I was going to get beaten up horribly for the way I talk and act around people.

After what seemed like an hour but was more like fifteen minutes, we reached Erica’s house. She stood in front of it, arms crossed in front of her chest and dressed in some ugly black hoodie.

Her friend was tall, probably scary to someone who cared about the strength of other people. His eyes were like black holes, and his hair was fashioned into a crew-cut. He wore a colorfully pink hipster shirt that let everyone know that all of his black shirts were dirty.

I proceeded to point out the stupidity of the shirt. He glared at me. Doolan and Cory stood behind me, snickering. Peter was closer, and he was staring at the tall trendy kid, sizing him up.

I then proceeded to make fun of Erica for her every verbal stumble. We had started walking to some park to hang out or something. Unlike most teenagers, our little group never did anything that was fun.

The large friend bristled and told me not to insult a girl.

I continued, unabated. Doolan poked me a little, but I continued.

I must have said something that hit a nerve, because he turned to me, black eyes filled with rage. He pointed a meaty finger at me and told me to say what I said again, to just say it.

So I repeated it.

Despite the fact that he clearly asked me to repeat what I had just said, he was very angry with me, He told me to make fun of him again, to see what he would do. Just to see and all.

So, I fulfilled his request.

And for some reason, that further enraged him. He held his fist back and yelled. I admit to being a bit frightened and backed away.

The fist flew towards me.

However, it stopped about midair. I opened one eye, and Doolan stood there, grinning from ear-to-ear. His leather jacket always made him look a bit tougher, and currently, he looked as though he could stop a freight train just by staring at it.

Cory told the kid to back off. Peter just stood and sort of looked intimidating, since he was so tall.

The large trendy kid sort of stared blankly, let his hand fall to his sides, and said he had to go home. Erica glared at me and followed him.

They were quiet for a second, staring ahead.

I grinned.

“I took that wussy, didn’t I?”

Peter called me another unprintable insult, Cory called me another, and Doolan smiled.

I began to walk, and it was cold. But it was dark, so I was happy.