“And why exactly are you hand juicing a lemon when we could just buy a carton of lemonade at the store with little or no effort exerted?” Michael asks, watching Gavin struggle to jam down half of a bright yellow lemon onto the juicer. The massive amount of energy he puts into it only produces a minuscule amount of juice in comparison.
“Shut up, Michael,” Gavin responds through gritted teeth. “God, why is this so hard?”
“Because you’re an idiot.”
“This would be a lot easier without your attitude.”
“Maybe you need to lift. Do you even lift?”
“Who are you, Ray?”
“You should find that William Sasso guy. He’ll juice the lemon for you.”
“I don’t want his saliva all over my lemonade.”
“He’ll surely get it done faster than you will, weakling.”
“Michael, stop! I don’t need your sa-“
In the heat of the argument, Gavin presses down on the lemon a bit harder than he should, causing a small stream of liquid to burst out and hit him square in the eye. He immediately drops the lemon, bringing both of his hands up to his face as he hisses in pain. Michael, as expected, begins to crack up.
“Dude, are you…are you all right?” Michael tries to ask sincerely between bouts of laughter, but cannot collect himself. Gavin looks at him, less than amused, one hand still covering his stinging eye.
“When you’re done, get the keys. I’ll be in the car. We’re buying some damn lemonade,” Gavin says flatly, turning around to walk out the door.
Michael doesn’t come out for another five minutes.