But the last thing I feel like doing is laughing out loud.
Pecan: It’s dumb. So dumb. Like high-school bullying dumb
Me: Okay?
When he sends the picture through, I grit my teeth.
How predictable.
God, I hate how unimaginative people can be.
“What is it? Why did you just blanch?”
I also hate that I blanched.
I don’t answer Callan, simply show him the picture.
When he sees it, his brow furrows. “Well, that’s juvenile. Honestly, I came to college for intelligent discourse. Instead, I get to share dining halls with two-bit sex offenders, the Illuminati, and people who have the sense of humor of fourteen-year-olds. My god, it’s not even well done! Have they never heard of Photoshop? They were too lazy to even pass it through the scourge of humanity that is AI! Lazy assholes?—”
“Callan,” I grumble, my stomach twisting at the picture. He might think it looks shitty, but it gets the job done real well in my eyes. “I don’t need a discourse on why college sucks. I’mveryaware it does.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “And you’re right. It is juvenile. Predictable. A dire warning to our educational overlords who don’t care they’re teaching morons to be the future of our country.”
His nose wrinkles. “Sorry, Denny. It’s…” When his shoulders sag, I almost feel sorry for him. “I’m really sick and tired of idiots too.”
“I’m surprised you hang out with me and Pecan then,” I half-joke. It falls flat.
Speaking of predictable? I’m so close to crying I don’t know how the table isn’t flooded with my humiliation.
Oink.
Yeah.
He’s not wrong about it being a shitty Photoshop job or the fact that it’s lame and such a cliché.
Doesn’t make it sting any less.
In fact, fuck that. Sting? Itburns.
This is the kind of shit that follows people through their college career, goddammit.
Callan settles his hand on top of mine. “You’re not dumb, Denny. You’re stuck in classes that don’t gel well with you. But I’m glad you are. Selfishly. Because I got to meet you and make friends with you.” He shoots me a crooked smile. “I can make him pay. Does that help?”
“You don’t know who’s behind this,” I chide with a sniffle. Thatsimple pat of his fingers atop mine is too much for me. The floodgates are opening?—
“Of course we know.” He tuts. “This has Dyers’s low IQ written all over it.”
“How would you make him pay?”
“I could doxx him.” He drums the table. “Yeah, I could do that?—”
“Callan, you don’t need to do anything illegal. It’ll be fine.” My throat tightens. “It’s just a dumb prank.”
“You’re crying, Denny.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” He squeezes my fingers again. “I’m sorry that people suck.”
I swipe at my cheeks with my free hand. “Not your fault.”
