Drastic measures are a last ditch effort to save yourself after twenty-one heartbreaks and thirteen failed relationships, or at least this is the logic behind Wyatt Carter's decision to open his podcast: The Bottom Club.
When it goes viral, however...
"ARE YOU ON something right now?" Tobi asked Wyatt on their way to Spanish. He was smiling, and he never smiled before Spanish. Nobody smiled before Spanish.
"I don't know." He shrugged with a blissful smile and began to flutter his lashes. "It's Friday, and life is beautiful."
"Should I be worried?"
Wyatt's expression turned deadpan. "Fuck you, and fuck off."
Tobi laughed, flashing a set of straight whites at him before slinging an arm over his shoulders.
"Just be careful, okay?"
Wyatt shrugged him off, murmuring a defensive I know without having to ask what he was supposed to be careful of, and both boys continued on in silence.
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The rest of the day flew past and Wyatt managed to keep his mind from dwelling too much on Rashad, melancholy momentarily forgotten in wake of the budding excitement he could feel unfurl inside him.
By the end of the school day however, he found that there were questions he hadn't let himself consider, like how he would sneak out without alerting his father; or how long he would have to spend at the party before returning back. Other minor ones followed too: What would he wear, how much he'd let himself drink, etc.
These thoughts flittered through his mind when he got home to found that it was empty. His father was still at work. It always surprised him, how Regan could get as drunk as possible and still wake up the next morning fully functioning, hangover be damned.
He got to his room, stripping as he went over his options, and felt a twinge of regret go through him as he remembered his phone. A video call with Viv could've sped up the process, or made it more bearable at least.
Ordering Chinese with the outdated Nokia his father kept in their hallway drawer for emergencies, Wyatt rummaged through his closet―only taking a break to eat when his order came in and finish up the last part of his Biology assignment, which he'd started in school because there was no chance in hell he'd spend his weekends on homework and it was due Monday―until finally, he settled on an extra-large band tee, which he tucked into a pair of baggy chain-link blue jeans he thrifted over the previous summer, finishing up his ensemble with his long trusted Doc Martens.
He considered faux earrings and bracelets but shook his head after settling on a simple chain choker, deciding that he didn't want his early 2000s inspired look to come off as if he'd been trying too hard, especially when he thought of how he was a plus-one and not on the original guest list.
As he admired himself in the full-length mirror, Wyatt heard the front door open and cursed, stripping quickly and stuffing the clothes into a Ziploc bag which he deposited under his bed. He glanced at the clock to find that it was a few minutes past seven p.m. and marveled at how he'd been so caught up in his own little world he didn't notice how dark outside it had become.
