(So next day~ xD)
Garret clicked his mouse again, not realizing that by every key he stroked his eyes continued to droop farther down his face. He wasn't one for going to bed early, or waking up early for that matter, but this had to be the latest he had stayed up in a while. He tiredly glanced at the lower right-corner of the computer screen and sighed. 6:48.
When his mom and Paul figured out he had barely slept and it was only a mere two weeks from the beginning of the school year, they were going to be pissed. Garret sighed, scrolled back to the top of the page, and logged off. There was something different about talking to people online than in life. It was easier, you didn't have to see their reactions, and you could simply stop talking to someone. Real life was different: people wanted an explanation for everything you did. Shutting down his CPU, Garret stood and glanced out of his window before climbing into bed. He barely registered his eyes closing before he hit the mattress.
Around noon Paul knocked on Garret's door, wondering why the teenager was still in bed. He had (or should have had) more energy than the rest of them. When the boy didn't answer, the man opened the door and looked inside. Garret was sprawled atop his bed, legs tangled in the sheets, and arms hugging the mattress. He sighed and leaned against the door frame. "Garret, it's lunch time. You need to get up."
"Mmph," came from the bed as Garret pulled the blankets closer to his torso.
Paul rolled his eyes and walked over to the side of Garret's bed where the teenager had set up his music docking system, and turned up the volume. Then he hit play.
Loud metal music came blaring out of the speaker and Garret practically jumped from the sheets. "My God Paul!"
"You need to get up."
Garret narrowed his eyes and sat up, leaning against his head board. He yawned and ran a hand threw his matted hair. "It's summer vacation."
Paul shock his head. "Sleep on a weekday. It's Saturday. We have stuff to do." And with that, Paul left the room knowing Garret wouldn't go back to bed.
The door shut and the teenager sighed, closing his eyes and pushing himself towards the end of the bed. "'Stuff to do' my azz," he muttered, standing up from the mattress and shuffling towards a box of clothes on the floor. He stripped quickly, pulling new clothes on: a simple gray shirt with the England flag, and a pair of blue jean shorts. He fished some socks from a drawer and shoved his iPod and phone into his pockets before shuffling downstairs, ready for a day of absolute boredom and tire to overcome him.