Hello, Luna

Chapter 16. Vegas... Lights?

"So, did you like them?" I asked my parents. My mum nods, smiling.

"I'm sorry I ever doubted you." She looked at my dad. "Right, Rob?"

My dad cleared his throat. "Yes, yes they were... um... nice. I'm not sure about that Columbus fellow, though. He seems like harm. Did you see his hair?" He ranted.

"Dad, don't judge someone by their hair." I say, slightly relieved but also slightly annoyed. Vegas couldn't have been more of a gentleman to my dad. I know better than to think he's up to something.

"I'm not!" He insisted. "But I just think that a person with that type of hair can make bad... uh... choices."

I felt like rebelling against my parents like any other teenager, by the roll of the eyes and a sassy walk to my room, followed by a slamming door, but I'm good. I'm good.

I'm not good.

"Dad," I start. "I've known Vegas-uh, Columbus, for a while now. Can you please trust me?"

"Okay." My dad grumbled. "I can trust you."

***

About five minutes later, as I was on Instagram, my phone buzzed. Vegas had messaged me. That's the guy I might like. I thought. I internally scowled at myself. I will not be all tingly.

I opened his message. Just got home.

Safely? I wrote back. He replied five seconds later.

Unfortunately not, a boxing Kangaroo robbed us. They took Angie's shevi and we had to walk home.

I started laughing at the sarcasm. A boxing kangaroo wanted a Shevi Impala?

Yep.

I want to meet it. It would look so amazing there, cruising in a 65 Impala. I wrote.

It really would he replied.

I started giggling. I don't know why. Maybe it's because we're talking at midnight about boxing kangaroos in cars or maybe it's because talking about it feels so normal. Maybe it's just because I might maybe like him, because despite what my dad thinks, his hair is gorgeous and I love how it drops over his eyes and it's always messy and I love how his eyes can be stone cold intimidating, but can also be warm and welcoming. I love his sense of humour and his nicknames and God dammit I like him.

Can I ring you? He texts me.

I reply back that it's fine for him to ring me. Soon I hear the familiar tune of my ringtone, the How I Met Your Mother theme song. I answer it and put it on loud speaker while I get dressed, into my pyjamas, which I just realised I'm not in.

"Hello?" Vegas' voice boomed through the phone. I turn the volume down, hoping not to get any unwanted attention from my family.

"Hey, what's up?" I asked him.

"I have a problem." He said.

"What's wrong? Is it really bad?" I ask. I pull on a pair of black pyjama pants and a grey hoodie.

"Yes." He said. I turn the phone off of speaker and press it to my ear as I sat down in my bed and climbed under the sheets.

"What is it, Vegas?" I ask again.

"I rang my roommate up." He said. "The one in America. He says he's going to stay there, as in forever. I can't afford my house by myself. Luna, I'm homeless."

***

"Have you spoken to anyone other than me?" I asked. It's now 1:45 in the morning, and I'm still trying to figure Vegas' problem out. He is panicking from what I can tell, but he's trying to hide it.