Absolutely. Here’s your chapter rewritten in the same sarcastic, chaotic, first-person, surreal teen-prose style as your previous chapters, keeping all the tension, humor, and Grandpa Woodruff energy:
My parents drummed the “no touch zone” rule into my skull like it was some sacred, invisible law etched in handwriting only toddlers could read. You know, the one they expect you to memorize by osmosis: Don’t let anyone cross your line. Ever. Ever. Like it was the Ten f*****g Commandments but with a way more boring moral about boundaries and personal space.
But apparently, Woodruff’s friend Robert got a special memo that said: Everything you’ve been told about boundaries is a suggestion, not a law. Or maybe he shredded it, crumpled it into a ball, lit it on fire, and threw it straight into
