Fester

As in:

Well, gee, Pierce thought to himself, what an added bonus to the day. Meg Pulliam made eye contact with me.

He actually did think this to himself, to steel himself against any inkling, on his part, that it meant any more than, say, her turning to look at a car accident from a school bus window. The worst thing, he realized, was to let this fester into a notion that she’d made eye contact as a signal that she may be approachable for something resembling conversation.

But what the hell. It’s just data and his pal Brian could be counted on for a second opinion.

“So, bitch (which, for reasons nobody understood, is what he affectionately called Brian) what would you say if I told you that Meg Pulliam turned all the way around, looked back over her shoulder, and looked me in the eyes.”

“Easy,” Brian replied. “I’d say she was having an off day. But assuming for the sake of argument that you weren’t hallucinating, don’t rinse those eyes and don’t bang your head against my locker. You don’t want to do anything to erase the tape, if you know what I mean.”

“Ah, good point. I need to drink this in.” Said Pierce.

“Yeah, you’re going to want to sleep with cotton balls in your ears tonight. Just in case the image tries to escape.” Said Brian.

“See bitch. That’s why I always share these things with you. You always know what to do. You’re so schooled.” Said Pierce.

“You and the ladies know that,” Brian said, turning to leave. “But it’s been hard to come by.”