The Predictive Dreams

“How long do we have to stay,” Grant asked impatiently.

“Would you relax,” Caleb shouted back looking over his shoulder to the basement’s mini bar. “It’s a night out. You don’t have work. You did well on your midterms.” 

“Every time I hang out with you, it ends with a disaster,” Grant said, shrinking into the corner of the crowded basement filled with teenagers. Grant waved his hand to wave the strange smelling smoke from his face.

“We never hang out,” Caleb screamed over the music thumping in the tiny space. “Honestly, it’s like you’re like a charity case,” he mumbled underneath his breath.

“What,” Grant exclaimed with his eyes bulging.

“Nothing,” Caleb said loudly. He couldn’t help, but fidget and rub his neck, waiting for something to happen. “It’s nothing. You’re exaggerating. Like always.”

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