CHANCE | ✔

15| Callista/Chance

I wish I could go back to the day I met you and just walk away.  
— Tayyab Lahoria 

Toska 
(n.) a dull ache of the soul, a sick pining a spiritual anguish 

Tuesday — September 5, 2023 

Callista 

Someone give me a gold medal and an Oscar right now because the fact that I've managed to deal with this crowd for longer than half a minute is an achievement in itself that deserves the highest recognition. 

"You're, like, famous, you know?" The girl — Paislynn, I think her name is? — beside Ryder says, face shining with condescending wickedness masked underneath a dazzling smile. 

I'd say there are a solid ten people crowded around this table. I don't know any of them, — save for Drake, Ryder, Hazel, and Destiny — though I do recognize one other guy from yesterday. I think he was with Sabrina for a while? Oh yeah, he was. 

Collarbone-sucking guy and the three others at the other end of the table don't contribute to the conversation. I can see from the harsh lines in their brows that they're probably either hungover or severely running solely on caffeine. 

I force a smile in return, going along with the travesty, because that's the nice-girl thing to do, isn't it? 

"If it's because of last night—" who am I kidding, of course it is, "—then I don't think I'm the only one sharing the spotlight." I say jokingly, glancing at Drake with a telling look. He grins back, though I notice it lacks the vitality I've come to associate it with. 

"Oh, no, trust me you're the only one." Ryder nods in agreement with Peyton, throwing an arm over the back of her chair and leaning back in his own. The red highlights in his brown hair are the strangest combination with the white dress shirt and deep teal trousers. 

"Hey, you could be sporting the headlines for much worse reasons, okay? So no worries. Besides, not like anyone's gonna dare reprimand Ambrose for his devilries. Or even Valentino." Hazel prods my arm with her elbow, sliding over a glass of mint soda to me. "And try this out, this shit's fucking good." 

I gingerly wrap my fingers around the chilled rocks before it hits my tray and upends its contents into my Brazilian fish stew. 

Not like anyone's gonna dare reprimand them? Seriously? It's not like they're aristocrats or senators or something. Even then, the law would keep them in check. 

Looks like BCA's got its own set of rules and rulers. 

"Please, you make it sound like I'm Jesus." Drake snorts and then covers his face with a palm as he yawns widely, blinking a couple of times as if returning to reality. "And Ambrose is fucked up in the head on so many different levels, don't even get me started." 

I stifle my agreement and curl my hands around the glass to keep myself from slamming it onto the table and screaming FUCK YES BITCH at the top of my lungs. 

Drake raises an eyebrow at me — at the lack of any reaction I suppose — and scarfs down a slice of garlic bread while he's at it. 

My eyes had scoured the room when I'd entered for any sign of black hair and grey eyes but had come up empty. The cafeteria is still absent of the male in question. 

I press my lips into a line as I look at Drake, shaking my head with a hint of amusement. He rolls his eyes lightly in response, and the small smile that my lips form at that isn't fake.