The previous night:
"Larry? What's up?" Rick asked over the phone.
"Man, where are you? I thought we agreed to meet," Larry said.
"Oh, yeah. Well, I kind of changed my mind. I'm not gonna go out tonight. In fact, I'm thinking of not going out any night."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Sorry, Larry. I have to cut this conversation short. I still have some more homework to finish. See you Monday at school."
"Wait, Rick ..." Larry started, but Rick hung up. "Fuck, he hung up on me. What the hell is wrong with him?"
He tried calling two more times, but there was no answer. Then he tried a couple more times after that and he was forced to leave a message on voice mail. "He turned his fucking phone off?" he muttered, staring down at his own phone. "What kind of shit is he pulling here?"
The next morning, Larry woke up just as tired as he usually was, even after he slept in. He grabbed his phone to see if Rick called him. He hoped that maybe he had come back to his senses. But Rick hadn't called. "What the fuck is wrong with that guy?" he muttered, as he pulled himself out of bed, grabbing his head. As usual, he had a hangover.
He looked down at his phone and decided to call Rick's house. Maybe then he could get through to him.
He dialed and someone answered the phone. "Hello?" a voice said on the other end.
