Sitting beside him in the Inventors Club, you watch as he uses some kind of fancy device to open a can of food.

He aimed the device, facing the watermelon propped against the whiteboard, carved with the face of Mr. Murtaugh on the front, haunting grin smiling at them.

He released it upon when you spoke, firing it off course and into the chalkboard behind the melon. He calmed his heartbeat down and ran his black gloves through his ginger hair. He wasn’t expecting you to speak so suddenly.

“Sorry…!”