❝ —- cameron, wake up
and smell the perfume ;
she’s TOTALLY in to you. ❞
❝ hah! whatever you say, PAL. if this is another one
of your stupid ploys to pick up chicks, count me out.
i don’t want ANY part of it. not after what happened
last time. ❞
“Proof? You want proof? I’ve got all the proof right here!” He gestures toward the silver car behind him. “We can go for a ride, see if I’m bad as Ferris then, huh?”
❝ you serious? you’re outta your god damn
mind if you think i’m hopping in that piece
of shit with you in the middle of third block. ❞
upchuckfactor
s n i f f l e …
❝ you know something? i shouldn’t even be here
— i wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for that pain
in the NECK —— … ❞
he glances around warily in search of any devout
Ferris fans. serving DETENTION is enough to
exacerbate his anxiety. the last thing he needs is
to have to defend himself due to an off-handed
remark made at the expense of the ferris bueller,
his best and worst friend — and most importantly,
the very reason he is here in the first place. he
pointedly softens his tone …
❝ FERRIS bueller. i mean, he’s psychotic. he’s out
of his god damn brain. and i’ll tell you somethin’
else — i’m just as much of a RIGHT-BRAINED
JACKASS for listenin’ to a word he says. ❞
iwasateenagetimetraveler
❝ ’course i think you’re bullshitting me. it’s
physically impossible to time travel, &
you don’t have the proof to tell me other-
wise. you’re almost as bad as ferris. ❞
❝ —— sigh. ❞
he cares about cameron. really,
ferris cares about him a lot, more
than he liked to admit. they’ve
been through a lot of shit together,
and that means something in a
friendship.
but fuck, this kid needed to take
a chill pill. a huge one, preferably
the size of his head that’d hit his
system in less than a few seconds,
because damn, did he NEED it.
he’s turned his attention momentarily
to the great gatsby poster secured
above his head on his ceiling, in
hopes that the fading black and white
print would drown out cameron’s
incessant bitching.
not that he blamed him, really. he had
every right to be upset with ferris. he
promised he’d help this time, really help!
unlike all the other times when he’d
leave him with the supplies and swap
saliva in a nice game of tonsil hockey
with sloane. which sounded nice right
about now. it beat this by a million.
❝ cameron. i promised i’d help, didn’t
i? how many times have i broken a
promise? and those times with the
cheerleaders don’t count. that wasn’t
my fault. ❞
did you hear that? what else could it have
been but the jarring sound of cameron’s
waning patience shattering to smithereens.
❝ god…. DAMMIT!! ❞
digits spring forward, claiming a pillow from
the expanse of ferris’ bed, furrowing tautly
around the plush material as he proceeds
to repeatedly clout ferris with the item he
has purloined.
❝ get! whack the hell! whack outta! whack
bed! whack you! whack ASSHOLE! ❞
conceding defeat, cameron huffs at his bangs,
tossing the pillow in the direction from which
it was taken.
❝ the hell’s the matter with you, anyway? i rip
myself open for you on a daily basis. you ask
for somethin’, i give it to you, no questions
asked, like some lost god damn puppy — i
ask for something, i invite myself to put up
with this bullshit. unbelievable. ❞
and he pivots on the precarious heel of his
foot, ambling in pursuit of his backpack.
❝ well, so much for that — not anymore,
pal. sayonara. see you in the hallway
or somethin’ one of these days, but
that’s it. i’m - i’m drawing the line. ❞
…for the third time this week.
❝ cameron, honey. cameron. sweetie. ❞
a yawn tears through the teenager, as he
makes absolutely no move to get out of bed.
brown eyes blink the sleep away, and the
heels of his hands dig idly into them.
❝ calm your tits, will ya’? a nap isn’t going
to FAIL us. hell, you’re cranky enough
to need one yourself. i can make room.
big spoon or little spoon, pal? ❞
set the stage for mortification — with the
grace of a giraffe, not dissimilar to the kind
Cam himself possesses, it usurps the soft,
crimson-hued spotlight of his expression.
brows weave an inseparable bond, digits
raveling toward clammy palms in a meek
effort to control the consequential tremors
of his culminating rage.
an incredulous huff emits him, profuse blinking
accompanying this display. unbelievable —
he’s fallen for the same bullshit trickery as before.
of course they weren’t going to do the god damn
project. not collectively, anyway — if Cam wanted
it done, Cam had to do it himself. and if Cam had
to do it himself, Cam had to put Ferris’ name on it.
it’s the bro code, or something.
❝ christ, ferris, this is my ass we’re talkin’
about! you could at least act like you
give even a shred of a shit about what
my old man’s gonna do t'me if you
screw this up for me. ❞
good. give it to him, cam. really rip him a new one.
he begins to amble from his reposing crony — but
he boomerangs, pursuing the direction from which
he came. it apparently wasn’t enough for the ungainly,
ineloquent mister frye.
❝ you’re a piece a'work, ferris. a real piece
a'work, you know that? i come over here,
i’m ready to go— ❞
—and he emphatically gestures toward his backpack.
❝ —a-a-and ! here you are, countin’ sheep
for god damn sport while i’m sweatin’ like
a god damn armpit with legs under this shit
kind of pressure. i should'a known what i
was gettin’ into — i should'a known you
were gonna pull your stupid crap! should'a
gone with my instinct, because at least i
know it puts out as much as i do, you piece