Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > The World Is Spinning Out Of Control Again
I Feel So Claustrophobic Here, Watch Out, Now You'd Better Disappear
2 reviewsChloe is bored. Chris is annoyed. Stephanie is flirty.
0Unrated
“GO! GO! GO! GO! I don’t wanna know, I don’t wanna know!” I sang to myself in what I thought was a quiet voice. Hearing a knock on the door, I looked up, pulling my iPod buds out of my ears.
“Hey Irish kid?” the tall, tanned teenage boy who looked to be a year or two older than me was standing in my door frame.
“Yes? And it’s Chloe,” I felt the need to add.
“Whatever,” he waved. “Can you, like, shut up for five seconds?”
“But, Chrissy, I have jet-lag!” I whined.
“Chrissy?” he wrinkled his nose. “Man, I’ve heard some weird nicknames, but ‘Chrissy’…”
“I can’t slee-eep!” I whined like a little kid.
“What do you want me to do about it?” he sat down on my bed.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “How about SOMETHING! I’m suffocating here.”
“Um…well…my friend was having a party tonight,” Chris mused. “He might have wound down by now, but knowing Pete, it’s still going.”
“Yeah!” I yelled. “PAR-TAY!”
“Shut up!” he said in a hushed voice. “My Mom will hear you! So you wanna go?”
“Um, duh!” I laughed. “Can my friend come?”
“You already have friends here?” he questioned. I just gave him a ‘don’t ask’ look. He got the message. “Yeah, she can come…Pete won’t care. He only knows, like, 10% of the people at his parties.” I quickly dialled Stephanie’s number and asked did she want to come. She was crabby that I had woken her, but crabbiness ended abruptly when I mentioned a party.
“…I’ll meet you outside your aunt’s house in ten minutes, kay?” I hung up. “Chris, where’s Rockwell Avenue?” I smiled sheepishly.
“A few minutes that way, why?” he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.
“Stephi’s aunt lives there.”
“Makes sense,” he shrugged. “Well, get changed quick.” He lay back on his bed, obviously not prepared to move.
“Uh, Chris?” I said politely.
“What?” he asked innocently.
“GET OUT!” He ran out, laughing. I quickly pulled on a pair of black skinny jeans, a Bullet For My Valentine t-shirt, a military jacket (complete with Green Day, Ramones and Rolling Stones badges) and a pair of Babycharm Vans.
“Ready?” Chris asked, his voice muffled by the closed door.
“Ready,” I opened the door, causing Chris to fall into my room. “Were you looking through the keyhole?”
“No…” he muttered. He was so obviously lying through his teeth.
“Stupid horny boys,” I muttered.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Nothing, nothing…” I rolled my eyes. “We better hurry up.” We tiptoed down the stairs, careful to make no noise, and we made sure to close the door quietly. “Score!” I whispered.
“What?” Chris whispered, a strange look on his face.
“Nothing, nothing…” I laughed. “What way do we go now?”
“That way,” he pointed, rolling his eyes. We walked there quietly, suddenly very aware of the time and of the darkness that had descended on Chicago. “Is that Stephanie?” he pointed to a figure, perched on a wall in front of a house. I peered over through my contact lenses.
“STEPHI!” I screamed, running over.
“CLO-CLO!” we embraced happily.
“Um, hate to break up the party, but it’s three AM and the whole world and it’s cousins are asleep,” Chris pointed out.
“Oh, come on, not everybody’s asleep!” I argued good-naturedly. “See, that druggie over there? He’s not asleep!”
“And that drunk bum, he’s still awake!” Stephanie agreed.
“And look, all those drunk people outside that house are still awake!”
“Well, girlies, you’re about to become one of those drunk people,” Chris laughed. “That’s Pete’s house.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Stephanie pointed out.
“Point taken,” Chris shrugged and we walked over. Chris pushed the door open and walked in. The place was teeming with drunk teenagers.
“I’m home!” I whispered happily.
“WHERE’S THE KEG!” Stephanie yelled.
“If I know Pete…” Chris mused. “It’s over there, in the utility room.”
“Let’s go!” Stephanie tugged on my sleeve. We pushed our way through the moving bodies, finally reaching the much heralded keg. “I’d dreamt about it, but I never thought it would happen!” she dropped to her knees, serenading the keg.
“C’mon, Steph, maybe in Brazil they worship kegs, but they definitely don’t here,” I laughed. I helped myself to a cup of whatever was in the keg and gulped it down appreciatively. “Ew! What is this? You’d have to drink the whole keg to get drunk!”
“Yeah, it tastes like a keg of water mixed with one can!” Stephanie complained.
“You two mustn't be from here,” a boy who was too tanned for his hair and style of clothes. “Only people who aren't from the States think that’s weak. That’s why we have Guinness for the few foreign kids.”
“Real Irish?” my eyes widened, my mouth watering.
“Real Irish,” he nodded. “My friend got it straight from the storehouse in Dublin.”
“WHERE IS IT?!” Stephanie yelled.
“Ha, just ask Patrick over there,” he pointed to a young looking teenager, who was sitting on a couch, a bored looking expression on his face, a glass of dark looking liquid in his hand. Stephanie and I bounded over, practically salivating, and sat next to him.
“Are you Patrick?” I asked urgently.
“Yeah,” he smirked. “Guinness?”
“Please,” Stephanie nodded. “You have no idea how diluted that shit is.”
“Believe me, I do,” he laughed, pouring the Guinness into two glasses. “It’s like something that’s bred into us Irish people; we have an inability to stomach weak booze.”
“You’re Irish?” I asked, sipping the drink appreciatively.
“Well, my Mom is,” Patrick shrugged.
“Cool, cool...” I muttered, really not caring very much.
“Hey, Patrick?” asked Stephanie.
“Yeah?”
“Do you know that guy over there?” she pointer to the guy at the keg.
“Yes indeedy!” he smiled. “That's Pete.”
“Pete as in...'Pete's party' Pete?” I garbled, the drink already going to my young head. “Wow, that was a lot of 'Pete's...hey! I said Pete again!”
“Pete as in 'Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III' Pete,” smiled Patrick.
“Oh...” a worried look passed over Stephanie's face. “That sounds pretty upmarket...maybe I shouldn't try to flirt with him.”
“I wouldn’t worry about his wealth,” Patrick warned. “I’d worry that he’s twenty-one and you’re...?”
“Eighteen!” she said proudly.
“Twenty one!” I gasped. “Stephanie, he’s way too old!”
“Maybe for you,” she stuck out her tongue, before standing up, adjusting her skirt, and striding over to Pete.
“Why, what age are you?” Patrick asked.
“Sixteen…nearly seventeen, I must point out!”
“I’m sixteen too,” he shrugged.
“She’ll have him in bed in ten minutes, just watch,” I stared at Pete and Stephanie jealously, ignoring Patrick.
“Do you like Pete or something?” Patrick asked.
“No, he’s not my type at all…” I shook my head. “I’m just worried. He’s way to old for Steph.”
“I hate to say this about my best friend, but Pete is pretty fickle with girls.”
“Typical Stephanie!” I sighed. “Stephanie’s Brazilian, which gets boys into bed so fast…um, you don’t like her, do you?”
“No, no, no…I like someone else.”
“Oh, yeah?” I poked him on the shoulder. “Anyone here?”
“Yeah,” he smiled dreamily. “She’s over there.” He pointed to a tall girl who was sitting with a group of boys in the corner. She wasn’t spectacularly pretty…but she was a hell of a lot more gorgeous than me. She had straight blonde hair, which was layered to perfection and one of the most skinny frames I had ever seen. I hated her on sight, and I had no idea why.
“Oh my God, she did not!” I changed the subject abruptly.
“What?” Patrick snapped out of whatever sordid dream had been playing in his head.
“Stephanie and Pete have gone upstairs!”
“No way!” Patrick gasped. “Pete’s a manwhore, but I’ve never seen him give in that fast!”
“This is not going to end good, I know it,” I moaned.
“Look, Pete’s a manwhore, but he’s not a jackass,” he pointed out. “If he really likes her, he’ll stick with her.”
“And if he doesn’t? If it’s just the booze talking?”
“Um…well, he’ll string her along for a while, then dump her,” Patrick shrugged.
“Shit, shit, shit…” I groaned, resting my head on Patrick’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry, I think he likes her. He has a little face he makes when he really likes someone, it’s kinda like this,” Patrick gave a massive grin, showing his straight, white teeth and making his strawberry blonde hair shine in the bright lights. “And I definitely saw Pete make his face.”
"It's really cute, how well you know him!" I giggled. “Who's the band?” I gestured to the band playing on the stage.
“They're the Blank Theory.”
“They're good,” I bobbed my head along in time to the music.
“Yeah, they are pretty good...but don't tell Pete that,” Patrick laughed slightly.
“Why not?” I asked, confused. “It is Pete's party, he's gotta like the band.”
“Not in this case. See the bassist and the singer guitarist dude?”
“They look the same!” I said, in one of my blonder moments.
“Yeah...that's 'cos they're twins,” Patrick looked at me strangely.
“Oh. Yeah. That makes sense...” I thought about it.
“Anyway, they hate Pete's guts and Pete feels the same. They both play soccar, and Nate and Matt are the best on their team, and Pete's the best on his. So they made this bet that whoever gets beaten in the finals have to play a gig at the others party. Pete's team didn't even get to the finals, so he didn't have to play a gig.”
“Pete has a band?” I continued bobbing my head. “What does he play?”
“He plays bass. I'm in the band too.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said, interested.
“I sing*,” he grinned.
“No way,” I shook my head, astonished. “I'd love to see you guys play sometime.”
“Here, let's swap numbers,” he handed me his cellphone. I quickly tapped my number in.
“Okay, here's my phone...” I was about to hand Patrick my phone for him to put his number in, before Chris and Steph ran over, panting.
“Chloe!” Chris panted. “Some neighbours called the cops! We gotta go...like now!”
“Shit...this was fun, Patrick, I'll ring you soon!” I followed Steph and Chris out of the house. Stephanie went into her aunts house, and Chris and I snuck into our house. We didn't get caught. Lucky for us.
“Shit!” I yelled, as I lay in my bed late that night/early that morning. I had forgotten to get Patrick's number. But why did I care so much?
*Okay, just so some 'oMyGoSh PeEt Iz LiEk So HoTt' person doesn't attempt to correct me on this one, there was an extra guitarist and a different drummer in the start...brush up on your history, girls, I have nothing against you, just don't correct me on that one. Kay?
Title is from 'Break Away' by Tokio Hotel. Woo! January the 7th in Munich, Germany! I GET TO TOUCH BILL KAULTIZ' HAIR!
“Hey Irish kid?” the tall, tanned teenage boy who looked to be a year or two older than me was standing in my door frame.
“Yes? And it’s Chloe,” I felt the need to add.
“Whatever,” he waved. “Can you, like, shut up for five seconds?”
“But, Chrissy, I have jet-lag!” I whined.
“Chrissy?” he wrinkled his nose. “Man, I’ve heard some weird nicknames, but ‘Chrissy’…”
“I can’t slee-eep!” I whined like a little kid.
“What do you want me to do about it?” he sat down on my bed.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “How about SOMETHING! I’m suffocating here.”
“Um…well…my friend was having a party tonight,” Chris mused. “He might have wound down by now, but knowing Pete, it’s still going.”
“Yeah!” I yelled. “PAR-TAY!”
“Shut up!” he said in a hushed voice. “My Mom will hear you! So you wanna go?”
“Um, duh!” I laughed. “Can my friend come?”
“You already have friends here?” he questioned. I just gave him a ‘don’t ask’ look. He got the message. “Yeah, she can come…Pete won’t care. He only knows, like, 10% of the people at his parties.” I quickly dialled Stephanie’s number and asked did she want to come. She was crabby that I had woken her, but crabbiness ended abruptly when I mentioned a party.
“…I’ll meet you outside your aunt’s house in ten minutes, kay?” I hung up. “Chris, where’s Rockwell Avenue?” I smiled sheepishly.
“A few minutes that way, why?” he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.
“Stephi’s aunt lives there.”
“Makes sense,” he shrugged. “Well, get changed quick.” He lay back on his bed, obviously not prepared to move.
“Uh, Chris?” I said politely.
“What?” he asked innocently.
“GET OUT!” He ran out, laughing. I quickly pulled on a pair of black skinny jeans, a Bullet For My Valentine t-shirt, a military jacket (complete with Green Day, Ramones and Rolling Stones badges) and a pair of Babycharm Vans.
“Ready?” Chris asked, his voice muffled by the closed door.
“Ready,” I opened the door, causing Chris to fall into my room. “Were you looking through the keyhole?”
“No…” he muttered. He was so obviously lying through his teeth.
“Stupid horny boys,” I muttered.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Nothing, nothing…” I rolled my eyes. “We better hurry up.” We tiptoed down the stairs, careful to make no noise, and we made sure to close the door quietly. “Score!” I whispered.
“What?” Chris whispered, a strange look on his face.
“Nothing, nothing…” I laughed. “What way do we go now?”
“That way,” he pointed, rolling his eyes. We walked there quietly, suddenly very aware of the time and of the darkness that had descended on Chicago. “Is that Stephanie?” he pointed to a figure, perched on a wall in front of a house. I peered over through my contact lenses.
“STEPHI!” I screamed, running over.
“CLO-CLO!” we embraced happily.
“Um, hate to break up the party, but it’s three AM and the whole world and it’s cousins are asleep,” Chris pointed out.
“Oh, come on, not everybody’s asleep!” I argued good-naturedly. “See, that druggie over there? He’s not asleep!”
“And that drunk bum, he’s still awake!” Stephanie agreed.
“And look, all those drunk people outside that house are still awake!”
“Well, girlies, you’re about to become one of those drunk people,” Chris laughed. “That’s Pete’s house.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Stephanie pointed out.
“Point taken,” Chris shrugged and we walked over. Chris pushed the door open and walked in. The place was teeming with drunk teenagers.
“I’m home!” I whispered happily.
“WHERE’S THE KEG!” Stephanie yelled.
“If I know Pete…” Chris mused. “It’s over there, in the utility room.”
“Let’s go!” Stephanie tugged on my sleeve. We pushed our way through the moving bodies, finally reaching the much heralded keg. “I’d dreamt about it, but I never thought it would happen!” she dropped to her knees, serenading the keg.
“C’mon, Steph, maybe in Brazil they worship kegs, but they definitely don’t here,” I laughed. I helped myself to a cup of whatever was in the keg and gulped it down appreciatively. “Ew! What is this? You’d have to drink the whole keg to get drunk!”
“Yeah, it tastes like a keg of water mixed with one can!” Stephanie complained.
“You two mustn't be from here,” a boy who was too tanned for his hair and style of clothes. “Only people who aren't from the States think that’s weak. That’s why we have Guinness for the few foreign kids.”
“Real Irish?” my eyes widened, my mouth watering.
“Real Irish,” he nodded. “My friend got it straight from the storehouse in Dublin.”
“WHERE IS IT?!” Stephanie yelled.
“Ha, just ask Patrick over there,” he pointed to a young looking teenager, who was sitting on a couch, a bored looking expression on his face, a glass of dark looking liquid in his hand. Stephanie and I bounded over, practically salivating, and sat next to him.
“Are you Patrick?” I asked urgently.
“Yeah,” he smirked. “Guinness?”
“Please,” Stephanie nodded. “You have no idea how diluted that shit is.”
“Believe me, I do,” he laughed, pouring the Guinness into two glasses. “It’s like something that’s bred into us Irish people; we have an inability to stomach weak booze.”
“You’re Irish?” I asked, sipping the drink appreciatively.
“Well, my Mom is,” Patrick shrugged.
“Cool, cool...” I muttered, really not caring very much.
“Hey, Patrick?” asked Stephanie.
“Yeah?”
“Do you know that guy over there?” she pointer to the guy at the keg.
“Yes indeedy!” he smiled. “That's Pete.”
“Pete as in...'Pete's party' Pete?” I garbled, the drink already going to my young head. “Wow, that was a lot of 'Pete's...hey! I said Pete again!”
“Pete as in 'Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III' Pete,” smiled Patrick.
“Oh...” a worried look passed over Stephanie's face. “That sounds pretty upmarket...maybe I shouldn't try to flirt with him.”
“I wouldn’t worry about his wealth,” Patrick warned. “I’d worry that he’s twenty-one and you’re...?”
“Eighteen!” she said proudly.
“Twenty one!” I gasped. “Stephanie, he’s way too old!”
“Maybe for you,” she stuck out her tongue, before standing up, adjusting her skirt, and striding over to Pete.
“Why, what age are you?” Patrick asked.
“Sixteen…nearly seventeen, I must point out!”
“I’m sixteen too,” he shrugged.
“She’ll have him in bed in ten minutes, just watch,” I stared at Pete and Stephanie jealously, ignoring Patrick.
“Do you like Pete or something?” Patrick asked.
“No, he’s not my type at all…” I shook my head. “I’m just worried. He’s way to old for Steph.”
“I hate to say this about my best friend, but Pete is pretty fickle with girls.”
“Typical Stephanie!” I sighed. “Stephanie’s Brazilian, which gets boys into bed so fast…um, you don’t like her, do you?”
“No, no, no…I like someone else.”
“Oh, yeah?” I poked him on the shoulder. “Anyone here?”
“Yeah,” he smiled dreamily. “She’s over there.” He pointed to a tall girl who was sitting with a group of boys in the corner. She wasn’t spectacularly pretty…but she was a hell of a lot more gorgeous than me. She had straight blonde hair, which was layered to perfection and one of the most skinny frames I had ever seen. I hated her on sight, and I had no idea why.
“Oh my God, she did not!” I changed the subject abruptly.
“What?” Patrick snapped out of whatever sordid dream had been playing in his head.
“Stephanie and Pete have gone upstairs!”
“No way!” Patrick gasped. “Pete’s a manwhore, but I’ve never seen him give in that fast!”
“This is not going to end good, I know it,” I moaned.
“Look, Pete’s a manwhore, but he’s not a jackass,” he pointed out. “If he really likes her, he’ll stick with her.”
“And if he doesn’t? If it’s just the booze talking?”
“Um…well, he’ll string her along for a while, then dump her,” Patrick shrugged.
“Shit, shit, shit…” I groaned, resting my head on Patrick’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry, I think he likes her. He has a little face he makes when he really likes someone, it’s kinda like this,” Patrick gave a massive grin, showing his straight, white teeth and making his strawberry blonde hair shine in the bright lights. “And I definitely saw Pete make his face.”
"It's really cute, how well you know him!" I giggled. “Who's the band?” I gestured to the band playing on the stage.
“They're the Blank Theory.”
“They're good,” I bobbed my head along in time to the music.
“Yeah, they are pretty good...but don't tell Pete that,” Patrick laughed slightly.
“Why not?” I asked, confused. “It is Pete's party, he's gotta like the band.”
“Not in this case. See the bassist and the singer guitarist dude?”
“They look the same!” I said, in one of my blonder moments.
“Yeah...that's 'cos they're twins,” Patrick looked at me strangely.
“Oh. Yeah. That makes sense...” I thought about it.
“Anyway, they hate Pete's guts and Pete feels the same. They both play soccar, and Nate and Matt are the best on their team, and Pete's the best on his. So they made this bet that whoever gets beaten in the finals have to play a gig at the others party. Pete's team didn't even get to the finals, so he didn't have to play a gig.”
“Pete has a band?” I continued bobbing my head. “What does he play?”
“He plays bass. I'm in the band too.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said, interested.
“I sing*,” he grinned.
“No way,” I shook my head, astonished. “I'd love to see you guys play sometime.”
“Here, let's swap numbers,” he handed me his cellphone. I quickly tapped my number in.
“Okay, here's my phone...” I was about to hand Patrick my phone for him to put his number in, before Chris and Steph ran over, panting.
“Chloe!” Chris panted. “Some neighbours called the cops! We gotta go...like now!”
“Shit...this was fun, Patrick, I'll ring you soon!” I followed Steph and Chris out of the house. Stephanie went into her aunts house, and Chris and I snuck into our house. We didn't get caught. Lucky for us.
“Shit!” I yelled, as I lay in my bed late that night/early that morning. I had forgotten to get Patrick's number. But why did I care so much?
*Okay, just so some 'oMyGoSh PeEt Iz LiEk So HoTt' person doesn't attempt to correct me on this one, there was an extra guitarist and a different drummer in the start...brush up on your history, girls, I have nothing against you, just don't correct me on that one. Kay?
Title is from 'Break Away' by Tokio Hotel. Woo! January the 7th in Munich, Germany! I GET TO TOUCH BILL KAULTIZ' HAIR!
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