My phone went off at exactly eight-fifteen the next morning, blaring the chorus to Young Volcanoes. I glanced at the screen, saw that it wasn't a number registered in my contacts, and said, “Hello, this is Dewey Hartbringer.”
“Dewey?” a voice that definitely was not in the late-twenty-to-mid-thirty range asked. “Hey!”
“You're not Fall Out Boy” was all I could think to say.
“Well, no, I'm not. It's me! Morgan!”
“Morgan, who moved away in third grade?”
“Yeah! That's me!”
“How on Earth did you get this number?”
“That's for me to know and you to find out. Dude, I'm moving back to Chicago!”
“You are?” I asked. A weird feeling bubbled up in my stomach.
“Yeah!” Someone shouted in the background, and he said, “Dude, I've gotta start packing, but I'll text you, all right?”
“Y-yeah, sure.”
“All right! Bye!”
I had only just tossed my phone onto my pillow and begun my pensive brooding-slash-staring-at-the-wall-in-shock when it went off again. Once again, it was an unregistered number. “Hello, Dewey Hartbringer.”
“I TOLD YOU IT WAS A SEVEN, PETE!” a voice shouted.
“WELL, IT LOOKED LIKE A TWO.”
“Jesus Christ. You're Pete.”
“That's that the name tag says, but I'm not so sure. I don't remember having blond hair.”
“Y-you dyed your hair blond?”
“No. Well, I'm going to. Soon. Hang on, can I make this a video call? I can!”
I yanked the phone away from my ear just as it switched over to video. Pete was grinning at me, and Patrick was peering over his shoulder. “Hey, kid! You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“You called.”
“I promised, didn't I? A Wentz always keeps his promises. So what's up?”
“N-nothing, really,” I said as Harvey jumped onto the bed beside me and squinted at the phone.
“You look like you just got out of bed,” Pete observed as Patrick gasped, “That is one BIG dog.”
“I did,” I confessed.
“ANDY! JOE! YOU HAVE GOT TO SEE THIS DOG!”
“Hey, kid, I'm off to work,” Dad called in through the door. “Oh, you're on the phone. Who is it?”
“Is that your dad?” Pete asked.
I nodded.
“Who is that? I've heard that voice.”
“My name is Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz. The third.”
“He's Pete,” Patrick said, still eyeing the dog. “Pete Wentz. I'm Patrick Stump.”
“Jeezum crow, you're talking to Fall Out Boy?” Dad gasped. “How did THAT happen?”
“I-I'm not sure,” I admitted.
Andy and Joe appeared behind them. “That is one big dog,” Joe agreed. “Oh my God.”
“You have the poster!” Andy laughed. “Behind you! You have the poster that makes Patrick look like a Pokemon trainer!”
YOU ARE READING
Young Blood
Fanfiction“He wears a mask, and his face grows to fit it.” --George Orwell
