Some shitty number

Mom walks into my room, hands me the phone, I don't grab it.

Mom: Brother's calling.
Me: What does he want?
Mom: He wants to know your GRE scores.
Me: No.
Mom: He says if you don't want to tell, then it means you sucked.
Me: Give me that phone! Hello?
Bro: So... how'd you do?
Me: Nigga, I'm not telling you.
Bro: That means you did a shitty job.
Me: No, actually, I didn't. I kicked some nice ass.
Bro: Then what was your score?
Me: What was yours?
Bro: I did kind of shitty. I mean, my math part was alright... that was a 780. I'm embarrassed of my verbal. That was a piece of shit.
Me: (internally) Oh yeah, I got him here! (spoken) What'd you get? (I was *this* close to gloating)
Bro: It was some shitty number like... 590 or something like that. Fucking retarded.
Me: What the fuck? Are you kidding me?
Bro: What you get?
Me: Not a 780 on the math, that's for sure.
Bro: What about your verbal?
Me: Not bad... I got a... 620 (LIE)
Bro: Oh yeah? Nice. You have some pretty solid scores there. Congratulations.

Asshole. Killing my buzz (who needs rejection letters, when you have a brother attending grad school at Princeton? Dick head).

... 590 a "retarded" verbal score... fucking jerk.