No. 182

“Wake up. It’s your birthday,” said a voice that was far too cheery for the time of the morning.

Tom Scrout rolled over and pulled the covers up over his head. “Go away,” he mumbled from beneath the blanket.

Missy Caplain poked him with a rolled-up magazine. “Get up!”

Tom grunted from within his cocoon. “I don’t know why my roommate let you in here, but remind me to murder him later.”

“Oh, hush. Nathan wants to get the party going, but he was unwilling to come in here and risk his hide. He probably made the right call, too, based on your attitude, Mr. Grumpypants.”

“Fine. Alright. Settle down.” Tom started to sit up, and caught a glimpse of the bright blue numbers of his alarm clock. He slumped back to the mattress.

“Really? That’s just ridiculous.” Missy wasn’t having any more of this. She smacked him with the magazine. Hard. “Thomas William Scrout, get your butt out of bed. It’s your birthday, and we’re going to have fun whether you like it or not.”