The Gay Gatsby

Chapter 16: Aly Cries and Callaway's Chill Dies

So I understood why he would be opposed to my interest, but that didn't refrain me from trying.

A long while later, I had emptied my plate, now sipping at the milk. I watched my dad as he sat opposite of me with his herbal tea and newspaper in hand. I only glared at him childishly, frowning profusely every time his eyes caught my gaze. My glaring was interrupted by the loud melody of my ringtone blaring from my pocket.

I stepped away from the table, not even giving my father an excuse or apology. I made my way into my bedroom, closing the door, ensuring privacy as I answered my phone.

"Hello?" I spoke into it uneasily, unsure as to who was on the other side.

"Chance, I am in dire need of assistance. Come to my place of residence immediately."

I gaped at my phone in shock.

"Callaway? Are you okay? Are you hurt? What's wrong?" I couldn't help but ramble, as worries overtook me. "What do you want me for?"

"Pest control."

A high-pitched whining could be discerned from the background of the call, though its origins were unknown to me.

"What does that even mean? What's that sound? Are you -" before I could complete my sentence, Callaway hung up.

I cursed at my phone, jamming it back into the pocket of my jeans. I scrambled out of my room, passing the kitchen in which held my confused father. I clambered towards the front entrance, gripping at my coat and scarf in a flurry. I snatched the car keys from a small hook by the door, while simultaneously attempting to tie my shoes.

I yanked the door open while bellowing back to my dad, "Going out with the car!"

I felt the arctic night air hit against my face.

As I stepped out the door, I heard a distant "Where are you going?"

Though I slammed the door, drowning out the inquiring voice of my dad. I raced down the steps of our apartment, almost slipping on a spot of ice. I tried my best to maintain my balance and elegance as I scuttled towards my dad's car. I grasped idly at the black door handle, jerking it open before sliding in.

I let my worries engulf me as the view of my apartment disappeared behind me.

__________

I rapped at Callaway's door with unyielding force, stuffing my fingers into my pockets to keep warm.

I waited impatiently, tapping my foot against the pavement of the steps that Callaway and I had fallen on less than a week ago. I recalled the seemingly distant memory with discomfort (due to Callaway's injury), remembering the passive reaction he had had to having shards of glass ingrained into his palm. His stoicism in that situation made me worry as to what Callaway was dealing with now; he had sounded nonchalant on the phone call, but the meaning of his words made distress rise in my chest.

My anxious thoughts were interrupted by light flooding my vision, the door opening in front of me.

I stared at the doorway in concern, eyes being met with a woman. She was smaller than Callaway, but had the same dark brown curly hair that he adorned, though her hair was notably more taken care of. She also possessed the selfsame button nose as the short boy.

"Mrs. Lawson, how are you?" I greeted at Callaway's mother.

"Fine, thanks." She smiled thinly. "And who are you?"

"Chance Andrews," I spoke coolly, despite my panicking interior.

I felt a twinge of disappointment at her lack of recognition, but shrugged it off. I wasn't surprised by that fact that Callaway hadn't mentioned me to his parents; I was but a measly friend he had acquired at school.