Calmly, I announce, “You need to be the one makin’ this ‘cause it’ll mean more comin’ from you.”
“Aw,” my girlfriend sweetly coos, “that’s true…” She waits until my eyes swing over to hers. “At your age.”
Bronny loudly laughs in my face. “Ha!”
“I can cancel your debit card,” is attached to me pointing a sharpie at him.
His instant surrender occurs in the form of both palms being lifted.
“You need to be the one making this because it’s a good experience for you,” our art host informs.
“Yeah, but I’m bad at it.”
“And the only way you get betterat anythingis pracky, little bro,” I kindly remind with a firm pat to the back. “Some shit takes a lot more pracky than others.”
He shoots me with a proud smirk. “Like catchin’ a biscuit behind your back after it enters in the top corner?”
“Exactly.”
“Such a effin’ save in the last game. The dudes were so hype about it.”
“Spilled energy drinks all over the floor that werenotfun to clean up,” Gilly quietly inserts.
“I’ll admit. That shit had my heart skip a beat or two.” We share a laugh prior to me pushing a black ribbon closer to him on a chin tip downward. “Now, let’s beef up thosehot glueskills, the same way I’ve stacked my save ones, aye?”
Bronny picks up the dark object, the gun, and repositions the piece he needs to add while I simply monitor closely from beside him.
“What do you think, Gillybean?” Our gazes momentarily meet. “Should he write her name is sharpie or glitter?”
“Check the bucket for aglittersharpie.”
“Gold,” the young one mutters, tongue hanging out to the side as he tries to properly align the ribbon. “Our school colors.”
“Alright then.” Abandoning the previous marker I had is followed by me making a suggestion. “Slayer, you wanna sort through the cut outs to give him some options to add?”
“Can do,” she singingly agrees.
Silence passes between us for only a minute courtesy of me not wanting to hear anymore of some punk band called Amyl and the Sniffers. “Did you go to homecomin’ when you were in high school, Gillybean?”
“The game or the dance?”
“Oh!” Bronny interjects, carelessly letting go of the glue gun. “I gotta text Denz. See what we’re supposed to wear to that thing.”
Rather than scold his disregard of the tool, I merely do what a tendy does best.
Catch the object before it can cause damage to the situation.
“I know what we’re eatin’ ‘cause his ‘rent works for BE so he has unlimited acc’ to the drool emojs.”
“Would it physically harm you to speak English?”
“Probably,” Gillian answers on his behalf when it’s clear he wasn’t listening.
“Did you ever go toboth,” I toss in her direction while securing the hot portionawayfrom my little brother before he can complain about being burned again. “Did you ever have to make the bud version of these?”
“Garters,” she informs as our eyes find one another’s once more. “And no. I went to the games, but neverwithsomeone. And never to the dance.”
“Why not?”
