Far from dead, loitering in the crowd behind them, Jimmy Hopkins was making a drippy advance.
Rich sons of rich fucking bitches. Why did it always have to be Derby? (And it WAS Derby. Tad had pushed, but Derby had whispered it so.) It felt to Jimmy like this was a lament that would never end. The world had never been a fair place... High School had been brutal, at best, and though these two inbred junior bureaucrats couldn't hold a candle to the kind of pain and misery Gary Smith had caused, they'd more than provided their own fair share. The subsequent few years since school had only served to make things worse. They had gotten richer... gotten fancier clothes, bigger stipends, faster cars. Jimmy had gotten hot oil burns, STD scares, a familial repudiation, and an underwear load full of seaweed.
Fucking rich sons of motherfucking- ugh. whatever.
Launching himself out of the crowd, Jimmy didn't pause to consider if whether what he was doing was classist or not. It didn't matter that he was no longer the petulant, renegade fifteen year old he'd been when they had first met. Nor did it matter that he would probably be sued out of his asshole for battery, assault, and probably water damage.
What he was thinking of, was... if he smashed Derby's face on the sidewalk hard enough, could he snap those sunglasses in half while he was still wearing them?
With a mighty bound, Jimmy sprung up onto Derby's back, sending him stumbling into Tad, in turn flinging the whole gaggle of limbs flying toward the edge of the boardwalk.