hømetøwn

• : / eight / : •

I'm not an impulsive person.

I take a ridiculously long amount of time to pick an ice cream flavor. When I eat out, I almost always order the same thing as the person next to me because it takes too long for me to pick something out myself. I agonize over multiple question tests. It's impossible for me to make a snap decision and stick with it.

But there was something different about this time.

Maybe it was the way my stomach disappeared whenever Brendon's eyes passed over me. Or the burn of my cell phone in my pocket. Or the thought of Connor waiting for me in Chemistry class. There was a tense electricity sizzling in the air. I breathed in its smoky taste with every breath and knew that I wasn't going to back out of this one. Because no matter what way I flipped the situation around in my mind, I couldn't bear the idea of staying in this town, with these people, this culture, this music, this small-mindedness. And maybe it was crazy. Maybe I didn't know Brendon well enough. Maybe it was a terrible idea. But it was the only option available, and even if there was another one, every time I looked at Brendon, I felt sure I wouldn't take it.

He paid for the food. I wanted to protest, but what was the point? Now that I was running away, I needed all the money I could get.

As he walked me out the restaurant, he said, "Do you want to leave now?"

"I have to stop by home first," I said. "Grab some stuff to bring. Should I...should I tell her?"

"She'll try to stop you."

"I know. But I'm eighteen. She can't force -"

"Didn't you say she grounded you the other day?"

My lip twitched downwards.

"I don't think you should tell her 'til we're halfway there," he said. "Just call her. She can't stop you once you're gone."

I didn't respond. He opened the car door for me and I slid inside.

Once we were both in the car, he turned up the radio and backed out of the parking lot.

"Hey I know this song," I said. "I'd probably recognize the opening guitar sequence if I were - HOLY SHIT THIS IS YOU!"

He slammed on the breaks.

Heat erupted through my body. "I - I never realized - I'm so stupid, oh my God, or, I knew but I never made the connection - Panic! at the Disco! I Write Sins, Not Tragedies! THIS IS YOU!"

His smile was so wide it looked like it could snap. His voice was strangled with the effort of not sounding too excited. "We're...we're on the..." He licked his lips. "Give me my phone."

I picked it up and handed it to him. He dialed a number and pushed it his ears. His hands were shaking.

"Ryan! It's me. Get Spencer and Jon and turn your radio to 97. NOW." There was a pause, a brief silence loaded with excitement, then he let out a triumphant yell. "I KNOW!" His eyes shot to me. "It's one of the first times we've heard it on the radio -"

I couldn't stop smiling. "That's amazing."

"Yes, yes, yes! Okay, I've got to go. Hey, by the way, I'm bringing us a new room mate." He flinched. "No, you perv. It's not a big deal. Her name's - uh - Chloe. Chloe Lake Burnside."

I punched him in the shoulder.

"We call her Lake, though. She's great. No, she's not like that, she's cool, okay? Calm your tits. Don't worry about it. We can help her out 'til she's up on her feet, right? Yeah. No...No, don't worry, she'll be gone by then. I...I don't think so." He glanced at me, and there was something like fear in his eyes. "I don't think so. We'll be back soonish, I think. Yeah. Yeah, okay. Talk soon. Bye."