𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 .ᐟ

( her jaw drops. arms cross. ) florida!? so unfair! papa would flip his lid. what’d you do, huh? get arrested? get a tramp stamp? ( teasing ) well. . . i convinced papa to let me have a pink strip in my hair. that’s about it. ( pulling the piece from beneath her hair. )

( grinning. big and unapologetic like her mama. hopping off of him. ) what’cha been up to? summer’s borin’ without you.

don’t be such a wimp. i missed ya.

( JUMPING ON HIS BACK!!!! )

just got 80 somethin’ more years to go, little me

she doesn’t have her license yet— it doesn’t stop her from sneaking behind the wheel anyway.

i’m not playin’ therapist! i’m just sayin’ why waste ya time? photography, huh? ya any good or do ya just put a filter and think of yaself as some creative genius?

sneaking a cigarette— she hasn’t perfected the art of getting the smell out afterwards

i guess ya aren’t wrong about it. but, it doesn’t make it right. . . . you should try doin’ things that fulfill you instead’a checkin’ boxes. that’s just what i think.

fair enough. . . . my brother’s on the football team at his school, and i swear that they worship the ground that he walks on. *and he’s annoying and dumb as rocks. i guess i just don’t *get it. i’m not sure if i have the want to look good on paper, even my parents wanted it.

if daddy gets ya so much pull— then why try to look good on paper?

aren’t you a ray’a sunshine? did ya get brain damage or somethin’? why play football if ya hate it?

what’s the matter with you? failed tryouts?