ExtraOrdinary

27 | chance

27 | chance

As soon as I enter the house through the garage, I'm met with, "Chance Scott Olson!" and my good mood morphs into caution.

"Hey, Dad. What's up?" I ask, setting my backpack on the barstool by the kitchen island.

He places a piece of paper in front of me on the counter. His mouth bows in a frown, eyebrows furrowed, wrinkles on his forehead. "What is this?"

I glance down. "A bill?"

"Chance, you remember the reason for your transfer, don't you?" Dad asks, rubbing his eyes.

I say slowly, softly, "We couldn't afford Bankington's tuition."

He nods slowly, softly. His eyes flash open. "Oh, good, you do remember. So then tell me why you're spending so much money when you know we can't afford the things we used to? I mean, look at this!" He jabs a finger at the bill. "Bowling games every week. New clothes every weekend. Not to mention that gas-guzzler of a car you have."

My posture worsens as I try to make myself smaller, letting my head hang. "I'm sorry."

"Chance, we can't—" he takes a deep breath. "We can't afford this kind of luxury anymore. Now, I don't want to take away from the time you spend with your friends. But you're going to have to do – cheaper things. Or not as often."

He steps around the counter and squeezes my arm. "We're all trying to get used to this new lifestyle. But your mother and I want to keep this house and our cars. I know you want to keep the Lambo." He smiles at me. "So things are going to have to change, especially with the expenses. So just promise me you'll be more aware of your spending?"

I nod. "Yeah, I promise. Sorry, Dad."

He hugs me to his side. "It's okay. I love you."

"Love you, too."

Grabbing my backpack, I start down the hall toward the stairs. Dad says after me, "And son? Thank you for doing your share. It's great that you're able to balance work and school. So thanks."

I smile. "Yeah. You're welcome, Dad."

When Florian texts me about a party that night, I jump at the opportunity to get out of the house. He picks me up (I'm unwilling to drive after I calculated in my head how much I pay in gas) and takes me to the house party where we meet with Sasha.

Dad hadn't meant to guilt me about spending so much money. He and Mom take a no-yelling, no-blaming approach to parenting. But that approach almost makes things worse in situations like this. Because while they don't blame me (we're all getting used to Dad's smaller salary and Mom's bad work hours), I still blame myself—I've disappointed them.

And that feeling pulls me to the keg in the living room. I attempt a handstand over the keg, Sasha holding my legs up. Everyone screams when my shirt gathers under my chin, revealing my abdomen and chest. They cheer as I chug. When I'm back on my feet on the floor, I feel dizzy. But it feels better than the guilt churning in my stomach.

I notice the way Florian and Sasha glance at each other with each drink I drown. I'm sure they think that Bridget and I got in another argument.

But I tell them, "It's not Bridget. We're cool. We're cooler than cool. We're cold."

Sasha wraps her arm about me. "Alright. But what did we tell you about coping with your problems with alcohol?"

I snake my arm around her and poke her nose. "N'aww, c'mon, Sash. It's senior year of high school! Live a little."

She scoffs. "Do you know who you're talking to? I live way more than you two losers. I've probably made out everyone in this room. Except you, Chance. What's with that?"

Florian stands beside me, also flinging his arm about my waist. "Because he actually has taste."

"You guys are the best," I say loudly. I lean down and kiss both of them on the mouth and then shoot them a goofy grin.

Half an hour later, I slap the back of the person next to me—I don't recognize them. Gasping, I say, "Oh my god, man. I've just got the best idea. I'm gonna—" I belch "—I'm gonna call 'er. No, no, even better idea! I'm gonna go to her house. She'll love that."

I don't wait for him to respond. I just pull out my phone and dial Uber. The driver listens graciously to my slurring as he drives.

"Know what I'm gon' do? Betcha ya don't. I'm gonna tell 'er. Tell 'er I love 'er."

"Good luck, man."

I stumble out of the car, laughing. I hear it echo over the empty yards between the houses. I hoot just to hear the reverberation, laughing to myself. I jog up the steps, almost faceplanting, and knock on the door.

After knocking for a million years, the door lunges open and I lose my balance. I laugh again.

"What the frug are you doing?"

She stands before me, wearing the T-shirt and shorts from before. Her hair is mussed from sleep, bags under her eyes. And she's gorgeous.

"Damn, you're gorgeous."

"It's one in the morning, Chance."

"And you're gorgeous."

"I'm going to call the cops."

"You're gorgeous, and I have a huge, giant crush on you. Like, huge. Biggest there ever was."

Her honey eyes grow big and wide and beautiful, and all I can think is how badly I want to kiss her, right here on her porch, under the light of the moon. 

☾　　☽

a/n: i know this chapter is short comparatively, but i mean, it's kinda a big thing 

CHANCE CONFESSED TO BRIDGET :O 

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