Imitation Exercise 2

For my imitation I chose a book by author Larry Doyle entitled "I Love You, Beth Cooper." First will be the original page from the book, followed by my imitation of the style and structure.

Original:

"Let's see under there," Beth said. Denis whimpered
as softly as he could as Beth removed the waffles. The
blast area was already purple en route to black and
beyond.
"Open."
The eyelid stuttered as it retracted.
"Pee-yuke," Treece noted.
"Dude." Rich grossed out. "That's NC-17."
It looked worse than it was, since it looked like Denis
was at least blind, perhaps dying, and possibly a
brain-eating zombie.
From the inside, it looked: bloody. Denis tried to
focus on Beth's face, which he knew was only inches
away. What he saw, swirling in a red sea, was a blurry
pink mass with two darker circular areas in the upper
half and a small horizontal smear in the middle of
the lower half. If that was a face, then:

"MY CONTACT!" Denis gasped.
Beth snapped her fingers again.
"Contact down!"
Treece and Cammy initiated contact-retrieval ma-
neuvers, dropping to squats and sweeping the floor
with their fingertips in long, overlapping arcs.
"Dont worry," Beth told Denis. "We'll find it. We
always do."
"You wear contacts?" Denis asked, enthralled by
the defect they apparently shared. "What's your pre-
scription?"
Beither either could comprehend the deep geekitude
of the question, and before Denis could compund it
with whatever he might say next:
"Found it!" Treece said.
She held up the champagne cork. A geltinous dol-
lop clung to the metallic cap. Quite proud of herself,
she marched over and presented it to Beth.

Imitation:

"It's going to be fine," his mom said. "You're going to
forget all about me and your father." Connor couldn't
help but feel a little guilty. She said he would be fine
as if it were him were would be lonely. If they barely
spent time together living in the same house then being
across the country attending college would be as though
he were off to join the Star Trek Federation.
"Where is your box with all your awards and certif-
icates?" his mom asked.
He pointed to the corner of the room. "Next to the
one with my winter clothes."
"Ahhgg!" his mom shrieked. "How in the world
did you let your room get this dusty? It was better to
just not answer that one Connor thought to himself.
Connor's mom left the room to go get more masking
tape to finish boxing up the rest of his Star Wars figur-
ines, which to anyone else may have been called dolls,
not suitable for anyone over the age of puberty. "What
was I thinking choosing UCLA," Connor mumbled to
himself as he fell onto his bed, arms spread wide, as
though he was playing that trust game he learned
during Leadership Summer Camp two years ago. "I
need to get out of this place though," he continued.
"Beam me up Scottie."