OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

fourteen.

             REAGAN BARELY STOPPED in front of Chris's house to let her out of the car. It was more of a slow roll that she eased the gas pedal into, gliding in front of Chris's driveway as she thought only of getting back to her house as soon as she possibly could.

Chris seemed to understand. She threw open her door and tumbled out, barely landing on her feet as Reagan neglected to use her brakes.

"Call me as soon as you call him back," Chris demanded, shutting her door before Reagan sped off with a stiff nod in her direction.

Reagan was not even sure she'd have a grip on her motor skills by the time she got back to her house. Something about having heard that Dave had most likely been the one to call her house, asking for her by name was mind-boggling.

She'd skipped over the corny phase in high school of having a boyfriend who called the house phone, sending his girlfriend's heart into a dizzying stutter. Reagan didn't have the slightest idea on what the proper word was to describe how she felt as she threw open the front door to her house, her chest heaving.

Maybe later she would find the time to berate herself for caring so much. In the solace of her room, without Kate in there, Reagan would be able to give herself a harsh talking to about the stranger she'd become, all over a phone call. She was acting like one of those girls -- in her own words, the kind of girl who cared too much.

"Hey!" Robbie shouted as the front door slammed close before he could scuttle in after Reagan. He was just as appalled as she was over her behavior. He'd never seen his sister react so strongly to something as mundane as a phone call.

"Sorry," Reagan muttered.

She turned the corner of her kitchen with impressive speed, but came to a halt when she spied Richard at the dining room table, red marker in hand as he scoured the 'help wanted' section of the newspaper.

"Hi sweetheart," Richard said pleasantly.

Reagan practically rocked back onto her heels as she slowed her speed. She had expected to be alone in the kitchen, but of course she'd forgotten once again that Richard spent most of his time at the house those days. Alone time was now a foreign concept to her, drifting far out of her reach.

"Hi," Reagan responded, trying to catch her breath without making the rush she was in obvious. Her eyes flickered to the phone, attached to the kitchen wall. "Any calls for me?"

She lowered her voice, pacing her breathing so that she sounded casual rather than demanding. It wouldn't have been like her to expect an urgent call and if anything, she wanted to avoid the suspicious questions that might follow if either of her parents noted her behavior.

"Calls? None that I've gotten, no," Richard said. He squinted his eyes, looking into the distance as if trying very hard to recount the events of his day and whether or not his daughter had received any messages.

"Did Mom mention me getting a phone call, then? Did she tell you about it?"

"Sorry, honey, no. Your mother hasn't said anything about a phone call for you."

Reagan snagged her front tooth against her bottom lip, resisting the growing urge to curse. Richard was no help, making the situation even more of a suspenseful mystery than it already was. She didn't know if she should have been grateful that he hadn't been roped into her private business, or angry that he wasn't in the know.

"Oh, okay," she said placidly.

Reagan took a few leisure steps, approaching the phone and the small wicker basket that was placed beneath it. With discretion, she began to paw through the slips of paper that had been tossed in the basket by her family members.