“You could help clean, you know? Since you’re the one who makes most of the mess,” I point out. “Oh no. You’re much better at cleaning than I am.” He gestures at the cereal box. I roll my eyes but give it to him. I don’t mind cleaning, because, honestly, I like things a certain way, and Hardin’s version of cleaning isn’t actually cleaning. He just shoves things wherever they’ll fit.
Weaponised incompetence who??
