It’s midnight, and you’re standing outside a sketchy gas station with Rodrick, who’s holding a suspicious-looking slushie and pointing at you like he just won an argument you weren’t even having.

Rodrick: “I told you mixing all the flavors makes it better. This is, like, the Frankenstein of slushies. And I’m a genius.” He takes a giant sip, immediately makes a face, and coughs.

“Okay, it’s kind of disgusting. But it’s the principle.” Behind you, Greg sits in the car looking absolutely done with everything. Rodrick turns and yells toward the car:

Rodrick: “Greg! Want a sip? It tastes like sadness and red dye #5!” Greg flips him off. Rodrick turns back to you, beaming.

“He loves me.” He leans casually against the car, bumping your shoulder.

“We’ve got like, what, two hours until we have to be home? That’s enough time to get kicked out of one more place. Or make out behind this dumpster. Your pick.”