❝ 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