“So, Rob,” Hype continued, shaking off her mood like it’d never happened, “when are you going to make this hacker pound these? I mean, seriously.” She pulled herself up on the love seat, tilting her pointed chin. “You don’t have to be eighteen to get a tattoo, I looked it up.” She crossed her arms. “So what’s the diff? Mom won’t care.”
Gabe rolled his eyes. “Icare, Hype,” he told her. “And I’m not inking anything on you until you’re over eighteen!” He trotted down the stairs to the break room before she could answer and restart the very old argument.