The night hangs heavy over the neighborhood, and the abandoned warehouse pulses with beats you can feel in your chest. Graffiti covers the walls, and a bonfire in a rusty barrel casts flickering shadows on the ragtag crew. This is the spot for many things. To chill, to relax, to shout, to fight, to smoke - you name it. There aren't many places in town to go, especially if you have no money, but here is different.

As we start blending into the crowd, Tanner greets the girls and guys with a cocky grin. I nod, moving through the crowd toward my favorite place by the broken window. It's not the best choice in December's weather, but from there I can see everything around and be part of it, yet not too involved. Tanner, however, heads to the center where everyone is passing around a bottle and smoking pot. Liam and Rory are here too, as well as Garry, Datch, Fred, and Blake. Other guys who don't go to our school but are part of the circle. Tanner joins in whatever conversation they're having, grinning and sipping from the bottle. At some point, he turns and waves at me. Reluctantly, I leave my post and move closer.

"I'd say we should teach them a lesson," Blake concludes, furrowing his brows. "They come to the field almost every night. We can meet them there."

"You up?" Tanner asks me.

"For what?" I say, not fully following the plot, though it's pretty easy to guess - someone crossed someone else and needs a beating. Same old shit.

"Don't you wanna make Wiggins pay for what he did to you, Scarface?" Tanner smiles, and the other guys grin.

I rub my chin reflexively as if my body wants to gauge the harm and calculate the countermeasure. It's funny because the thought of revenge never crossed my mind. I mean, if I see the guy, it would probably end in a fight, but to lie in wait for him in a dark corner for revenge - this thought is too long, boring, and complicated. A fight itself is already a waste of energy, So, I'd rather have a spontaneous showdown than get tangled in some confusing scheme.

"I don't really care," I say, taking a drag from the joint offered to me by Fred. "But if you need me, I'm in."

"That's the spirit!" Blake claps me on the back with his massive hand, and I cough. This guy could break me in two if he wanted. The only advantage I have over him is speed and maneuverability, and it's unlikely he'll be able to climb a wall as I can. I'm glad I've never had to fight Blake, like Fred, Datch, or Garry. Or Tanner himself. There's no other way I know to become part of the circle. Oh, wait... My eyes drift to Max on the couch in front of the bonfire. He's making out with Jill. He bought his way into the spot, and now he has to provide for the group. I don't know where he gets the money, but most of the bottles here are on his tab.

While Tanner's telling the guys about our last job at the factory, more guys arrive with bottles and snacks. I manage to snatch a bag of chips for myself and return to my place near the window.

A couple of new guys have shown up. The one who brought them leads them to Tanner.

"Welcome to our humble abode!" Tanner jests, drawing laughs from all sides. "You know the rules?" he asks the newcomers. "You want to stick around, you must follow the rules."

The crowd goes quiet; we all know there are no rules. Tanner just makes things up on the fly for kicks. I take a swig from the bottle; the liquid is bitter and burns down my throat.

"What are the rules?" asks one of the new guys, eyeing Tanner as if trying to solve a puzzle.

Tanner smirks, playing along. "Rule number one: No snitches. What happens in the spot stays here. Got it?"

The guys nod.

"Rule number two," Tanner declares, pointing dramatically, "you've got to prove you can handle the heat. This party isn't for the faint-hearted. You in or out?"

The new guys exchange uncertain glances, and I can tell they're questioning their life choices right about now.

"In," they answer in a discordant chorus.

Tanner grins. "Good! Very good! Bring me a barrel!"

The crowd bursts into action and moves closer to the entrance, fetching a worn-out barrel that's seen better days. Tanner directs the newcomers to stand by the barrel and steps up, a wicked glint in his eye. "Alright, you newbies ready for the Tanner Special? First things first - chug!"

He hands each of them a bottle of questionable alcohol. The new guys eye the bottles warily, but under the weight of Tanner's stare, they tip them back and start chugging. The crowd cheers as Tanner eggs them on.

"Now, hop in the barrel, lovebirds!" Tanner commands. The new guys, slightly wobbly from the alcohol, get into the barrel. "Are you ready?" Tanner asks, and the crowd cheers even louder. "Roll 'em!" he orders, and with a swift shove, the barrel starts hurtling down the slope.

Laughter erupts as the barrels careen and bounce, gaining speed. When the barrel reaches the bottom, everybody cheers in approval. The newcomers start crawling out, disheveled and dazed. But one of the guys, unable to hold back the booze, starts retching right on his friend who can't get away. The crowd's cheers turn into a mix of laughter and groans, and even Tanner can't help but crack a grin.

"Well, well, looks like we've got a bleeder!" he mocks. The crowd supports him with laughter and booing, pointing fingers and sharing amused glances. "You guys had one job - to keep it together. Looks like you failed." Tanner's voice drips with dramatic disappointment. "Guess this party's not for you."

With that, he leaves them standing outside, dirty, embarrassed, and abandoned. The laughter continues inside, the party goes on. And nobody cares. Nobody ever cares.