When they finally fitted the last band, the gun was ugly. It was asymmetrical, the grip was slightly too small, and the muzzle was crooked. But it worked.
For the next two hours, they worked. Leo cut the pine with a coping saw, his arm aching by the second piece. Sam sanded the edges until they were soft as silk. They broke two clothespins trying to get the tension right. A rubber band snapped, hitting Leo on the cheek, and Sam laughed—a real, un-pixelated laugh that filled the dusty room. rubber band gun template
He laid the template on a scrap piece of pine. With a dull pencil, he traced every curve, every line. His hand, accustomed to clicking a mouse, felt clumsy. The pencil slipped twice. He swore under his breath. When they finally fitted the last band, the gun was ugly
Sam grinned, aimed at a cardboard robot Leo had drawn on a box, and fired. He missed. But he was already reaching for another rubber band. For the next two hours, they worked