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Benito's Beans (When I Say Two More Weeks)

Chapter 16: Chapter Sixteen: Save Rock and Roll

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  It's late when he gets the call.

  He's in his room, trying to decompress after the day he's had. He knows he was the one who caused the chaos, but he's still tired from it all. His laptop is in front of him, as usual, but he has a document pulled up with a few different colleges listed. He's no longer stalking the Amtrak website.

  He looks over at his phone, only mildly interested. He's half expecting it to read "SPAM RISK", and he's a little surprised when he reads Patrick's name instead. With a heavy sigh, he answers.

  "Hey."

  "Hey. Are you on house arrest or did you survive?"

  "I'm good. God knows what my dad will say, but I'm not really worried about it. I used to pull worse shit back in high school."

  "Doubtful. If I had to wager a bet, I'd say you were just as much of a loser in high school as I was."

  Pete's own laugh surprises him. "If by that you mean 'not a loser at all', then yeah." He pauses. "Did you tell your parents about the contest?"

  "Not yet. I'll probably save that conversation for tomorrow or something." The other boy sighs. "'Cause then I gotta ask them about declaring my major in Creative Writing, and then they'll wanna have a family meeting about it, and...ugh. It doesn't matter, I'll be taking those classes either way."

  "Yeah, that's reasonable. I still need to read this award-winning story, by the way. I'm excited to see what's been taking up so much of your time."

  "Ooh, I'd really rather you didn't.'

  "Come onn," Pete presses, not about to let this go. "Hey, if that publisher loved it then I'm sure I'll be blown away."

  Patrick falls silent for a moment, then relents. "Fine. I'll send you the link to the document. Fair warning, though, it is kind of long."

  "I'm a fast reader."

  He waits excitedly for the text to come through. When he finally pulls it up, he gasps. He was expecting a short story. This is about novella length, though - fifty pages worth of writing.

  Patrick seems to hear him and chuckles. "I told you."

  "Didn't you have a word limit on this thing?"

  "Nope!" Patrick chimes. "Have fun, call me back when you're done."

  "Wait-"

  Click. Patrick hangs up on him. Pete stares at the document before him, wondering what he's gotten himself into.

  I guess I'd better start reading. 

 

 


 

 

  It takes Pete almost half an hour to read through the entire story. When he finally finishes, he wastes no time calling Patrick back. The other boy picks up on the second ring.

  "Well?"

  "First of all, amazing, totally first-place worthy. I knew you liked to write but I didn't know you were a modern day Hemingway."

  "You're too kind."

  "But -"

  "Oh no."

  "- I do have a few notes."

  On the other end, Patrick perks up. "That's right, you write too!"

  Pete's brow furrows. "How'd you know? I never -"

  "I saw it in your notebook earlier! Sorry, I wasn't trying to snoop, it was all your mom's idea."

  "Not cool. But I'd rather you read it than her, so I'll count my blessings."

  "No, but - you should totally take a writing class with me!"

  "Mm." Pete clicks his tongue dramatically. "So now you think I need classes."

  "No, I'm just saying, like - you weren't sure what you wanted to do, right?"

  "Yeah, but -

  "You should take a class with me and see how you like it, and maybe see if you want to go to college or whatever else after all."

  "Let me talk! I don't know, dude. I'm happy at the coffee shop."

  "You literally just told me it was too much for you. And anyway, you don't have to quit or anything."

  "We'll see."

  "Pete!"

  "We'll see!"

  Now it's Pete's turn to hang up on Patrick, relishing in the quiet of his room once more. In his mind, though, his thoughts are whirling. Because a writing class does sound kind of fun. And Patrick's right, it would be a good trial run for him. It'd get him into a sense of routine, too, beyond his schizophrenic work schedule.

  He's half asleep by now, but he manages to navigate to his messenger app. He types, "Where?" and sends it before he can think twice about the message. Then he rolls over, not even bothering to turn the lights off before his breathing deepens and he begins to nod off.

  Next to him, his phone flashes with a reply.