emery foster was not fashioned for travelling.

mayfield college, emboldened with all the excess money they had gleaned from their sports sponsors (the mayfield moppers had a great basketball season) had found it imperative to send their sophomores on the traditional american excursion.

in layman's terms, it was a three week odyssey through the states from florida (god forbid) to boston, consisting of hikes, camping, and college-level partying. it was emery's hell, actually.

he had only acquiesced under the duress of two factors: being out of the state for parent's weekend, and ashby would have been upset otherwise.

see, sitting on a plane next to a ray of sunshine like ashby mintz didn't sound shabby, did it? but obviously he couldn't have nice things, and was plopped down beside you with granola bars for the entire flight. but that wasn't the end of it, fuck no.

the current enduring purgatory was pisgah national forest in north carolina. after the bus had been repaired by a wizened old man in georgia, the drive to the camping grounds had been relatively easy–save for how emery was fuming about how your fragrance of choice was so potent he was in half a mind to pass out.

"we need to share a tent? me, with that obsolete moron?" emery demanded, pinning professor hamley with a positively lethal glare through the pollen-drenched air. he gestured at your disgruntled self, blue nail polish glinting from the sunlight seining through the canopy of trees that surrounded the tents.

your professor shrugged–this was above his pay-grade–and returned to ensuring isaac and elijah did not set uther on fire.

muttering a litany of expletives under his breath, emery cast his mint green rucksack into the rickety tent that mayfield evidently cycled year, after year.

"i hope a spider eats you, and elijah, for good measure." he added dryly after a moment, mocha lashes fluttering under honey brown curls as he averted his tiffany gaze from you. rude. "don't act surprised when i kick you out of the fucking tent."