Mortimer Quincy heard this but showed no unusual reaction. While toweling his hair dry, he asked, "Got a problem with that?"
'So blatant about their puppy love!'
Pantheon was sick of their PDA. He turned and got into his bunk, sighing dramatically, "Alas, what a cruel and arduous world..."
The others were confused, wondering why he'd suddenly started spouting classical poetry.
You could almost smell it—the sour stench of jealousy.
"Mortimer, you're just too rich! Spending five hundred yuan to boost a poll? Jealousy is making me ugly," Paul Powell wailed, his face a mask of cosmic injustice.
Chase Hawkins saw his opening and twisted the knife. "You don't need jealousy to be ugly."
"Get first in our year, and you can do it too."
Mortimer Quincy replied coolly, then decided not to waste any more time on them. He got into his bunk to call his girlfriend, but she didn't pick up after a long while. 'She must be in the shower,' he figured.
