The camp organizers split us into teams. By some cosmic joke, my mom became Alex’s “language partner.” Within an hour, they’d invented a new handshake. I watched from across the cafeteria, chewing my bland scrambled eggs, as she laughed at one of his terrible puns. Whose side are you on, Mom?
Would I do it again? Maybe. But next time, I’m "forgetting" to tell my friend the dates and "accidentally" losing my mom’s tracksuit. eng camp with mom and my annoying friend who upd
The “UPD” in the title? That’s Alex. He updates everything. Your mood, your sentence, your snack choice. You say, “I’m fine.” He says, “Correction: you’re hangry and in denial.” You sigh. He pulls out his phone and types a status: “[Friend] has entered emotional crisis, part 3.” It’s exhausting. It’s also, as I’d learn, weirdly useful. The camp organizers split us into teams