Crime, Punishment, and Puppies

by happysquid008

Squid's take on Stanley's arrival. slash SquidStanley

Crime, Punishment, and Puppies

~happsquid08

WARNING: If you don't want to deeply examine the human condition and all that, then don't read it, I suppose; same goes for homosexual stuff.

Rated T for language and sexual themes, not to mention homosexual tendencies

Disclaimer: Who owns this stuff anyway? Can anyone truly own anything except one's own body and ideas? -ahem- Louis Sachar owns all the characters in and plot of Holes, and thus he is my homeboi. This fic is my idea, though, so ownership kind of ambiguous…If he ever wants it, I'll give it to him.

Squid x Stanley

-Part 1-

It was the first day of Camp Green Lake for some bastard taking the place of Barf Bag. He was like a cute lil' spaniel puppy, with large, innocent eyes and long, curly brown hair. He stumbled around and blinked at everyone with that damning shy smile on his face, the one that said he was just waiting for someone to come and claim him from the pound and give him a shiny collar.

I knew what was coming the second Armpit was assigned to the little shit. Or the other way around, I dunno. I knew he would call him Theodore. He didn't know about the extremity of our tiny culture of criminals. I was looking forward to the look on his face when he got his ass handed to him.

When the moment came, I was ready. He was in an instant headlock, and I said, grinning, "Bet he smells that." Still smirking, I twirled my toothpick experimentally between my teeth. Armpit communicated with the deadly combo of sweat, pain, and rough words as we looked on.

"Man, Pit, whaddya gotta be so mean for?" I asked, still with a sadistic smile. We walked away to the shade of the porch. I leaned against a wooden pillar, taking every single awkward moment of this new kid as he blinked, pursed his lips disappointedly, and crouched upwards. He stood painstakingly on his elbows and propped himself on his hands. He did a weird roll and somehow managed to get on his feet. I smirked as he made his stumbly way to the water spigot.

"Thanks, Armpit," he called, trying to remedy the situation with a complying word and a small, awkward smile. The smile slipped from my face for a second, then got pasted back on as we made our way to the tent.

He really acts like a puppy.

It was at lunch the same day when he sat right in front of me. I couldn't tear my eyes off of him. I hungrily watched his every reaction to everything, and couldn't contain myself any longer after the incident with the stolen bread. I needed to know. What kind of criminal gets into Camp Green Lake that acts like such a wimp? I took a breath to make sure my voice didn't sound too eager.

"So what they get you for?" I nonchalantly picked up my other piece of bread.

"Stealing a pair of shoes." His voice was so quiet I could barely hear him. He fiddled his thumbs on the edge of the table and shyly looked down at them. "From the store, or were they still on someone's feet?" I chuckled. Then he came back with a wallop. They were Sweetfeet's shoes. Big reaction from everyone from that. Then he surprised everyone even more. Zero said something to him. "You got Zero to talk!" I stammered. I had never before heard Zero say anything. I hadn't even really heard him at all except for his footsteps and his shovel clanging in the dirt. I looked at this kid in a new light. So he could speak, after all. And this new kid – well, I didn't know what quite to make of him now. I didn't say anything more until we were only talking about Sweetfeet. I halfheartedly came in with some statistics and then said no more until lunch was over. No use bringing more attention to my attention.

I'd been looking at him the entire lunch. Every movement, every facial expression, every piece of food eaten, all of it was duly noted. I figured if I delved any more with words this kid would stop looking so serious and start being shy and awkward again. And I didn't want that to happen. He was looking at Zero in this way ever since he had talked.

I like puppies. They're cute, enough said. This particular one was fully engaged, with his lashes flashing and his eyes inquisitive. His hair slightly mussed and his eyebrows furrowed. I couldn't get out another sarcastic comment if I tried. Well, maybe if I tried real hard.

He saw that I was looking at him and, with nothing else to do, he grinned at me to try to abate the uncomfortable atmosphere. It was all I could do was stop myself from grinning back at him. Puppies do that to a person. God, if I'm not careful, I'll be talking to him like girls talk to babies. I realized I should probably start eating again when X-ray sent me a look of confusion, noticing my strange behavior.

That night, I kept tossing and turning until I was in the perfect position: I could see that kid's eyelashes blink in the moonlight. He glanced around the tent, and I hurriedly shut my eyes. He seemed to be deep in thought or some provincial shit.

I sighed and could hardly wait for the morning to come. Then maybe I could see his face when I ran my hand over his newly formed blisters, and then his fall to the ground in agony as I scratch them open with my fingernails and smear the blood on my cheeks as warpaint, his palms pressed tightly to my cheeks by my hands that are covered with gloves, his face contorted, him kneeling before me, falling onto his back, me kneeling on top of him, up close to his face, taking in every moment of his agony, the lines of pain etched in his face as I continue to tear him open. I tear my gloves off with my teeth before I start on his hands again, then his mouth, and then his clothes. Blood is everywhere as I smear it from his hands onto my hands onto his bare skin. A gasp escapes him, a hitched breath, a groan, a pause from his screaming, as my hands trail down, fingers exploring…

And then the horn is blowing, and I groan as my eyes crack open.

Damn. And it was just getting to the good part.

I glanced at him, the kid in question. He looked as though he hadn't slept a bit. He was rubbing his eyes and sitting hunched over on the edge of his bed. I curled up in bed and reached down to make sure it was safe to get up. It was, so I rolled out of bed.

It was going to be an eventful day.

I pulled on my gloves, set my face grimly, and headed on out.

I grabbed a shovel and made my way to the breakfast table. It was gross; honey isn't very good on a tortilla in my opinion. I shoved it down my throat hungrily and snagged another one. Anything goes if you're hungry enough, as all who stay at Camp Green Lake find out quickly enough. Stanley picked one up with some curiosity, but his face quickly assumed disgust when he experimentally put it into his mouth. I sniggered quietly to myself and smiled like an idiot, my own tortilla forgotten in my hand.

Then I realized too late: his shovel had an odd dent where the point was supposed to be. X-ray walked up and grabbed his shovel and tossed the other one on the ground. Magnet walked by and tried to explain why it happened, but the puppy dog still didn't get it. He was just blinking confusedly, like a dog having no idea what new trick he's supposed to learn. I smiled and walked up to him, tortilla still in hand.

"Smaller shovel, smaller hole."

The look on his face was then one of complete understanding. Those puppy dog eyes looked directly into mine with thanks. Pleased with myself, I walked away with a satisfied grin, biting into the remembered, stolen tortilla.

I wondered what he would do today.

He heard the speech every new camper gets. The one about why we dig holes. The one nobody believes. Then, he stuck his shovel into the ground, jumped on it to really shove it in, and fell over in an ungainly way.

I laughed. It was really quiet and nobody else heard me, but I did. It wasn't a mean laugh, either. That's what surprised me. I had meant for it to be a snigger and it came out as a sunny, positive, let's-all-be-friends, shucks-that-sucks kind of chuckle.

And it was that laugh that prompted me to torture him again; this kid was getting to me, making me do weird things I wouldn't usually do. I thought a while before I came to a crude conclusion; I'd shove some dirt into his hole. It would have to look like an accident but not an accident. Everyone would catch on. Except, of course, the puppy.

But then, once it was set in motion, I couldn't stop, and I started hating myself. All he did was politely, kindly, softly, and awkwardly ask us to please maybe if you could please start throwing our dirt into other piles. If it was me, I'd kill the bastards. But not him. He just… looked at us with those eyes. Those big, brown, girly, long-lashed puppy eyes.

I couldn't stand it. "Shut up, Stanley." Everyone started chiding him. "Watch where you throwin' yer dirt – Stanley." I taunted. His lower lip wobbled for a second and his eyes got squinty. I hated myself even more. A sadistic grin was on my face and a pang somewhere in my chest. It slowly melted off my face as the pang grew to fill my entire body. My hands paused in their lifting of the shovel, but then I continued to throw dirt into his hole. When I took a small break for water, I sat down in my sizeable hole and stared into space, thinking that the sky was so blue, he must hate you. The sky's so blue…He's gotta hate you. So blue…Hate you… Blue … You … Boo… Zoo… Moo… Sue… Who… Flu…Cue…No Clue…Puppy Dog Eyes…

I think I fell asleep, because at the next water-filling, Magnet was shaking me awake. I was still real groggy. The first thing I said was, "He's got no clue, he's like a puppy, with those eyes, man, you feel me, man? Cute as he could be. Damn cute." The muttering was not lost on Magnet. He gave a sharp look over to Stanley's hole. Then he turned all his attention to me.

"Hey, man, you feelin' okay? Wake up, man. You gotta finish yer hole soon. Everyone else is almost done." Then I woke up all the way. I rubbed my forehead, grabbed my water container, and jumped out of the hole. I forgot about what I said to Magnet. He certainly didn't, though.

He brought it up later when we were alone, walking back. We had finished about the same time, because he's always been slow and I had to catch up with the rest after falling asleep for about half an hour.

"So, you like puppies?"

This threw me.

"Um, yeah, actually. I had a dog for a long time." I covered my mouth metaphorically. Squid isn't the type of person who would say that, is he? Oh well. I already said it.

"Yeah, I like puppies too, man. That's actually the reason I'm here."

"Because of puppies, man?" I snorted. "What, you kill a guy for stealing your puppy? Or did one of your girls figure out that you were cheating on her with Lassie and have you arrested for animal abuse?"

"Naw, man, I tried to steal one out of a pet store."

"What? Why? Couldn't you have just bought it?"

"Man, they cost like a thousand bucks!"

"What, for a litter?"

"Naw, for one puppy!"

"No way, man, that's insane!"

We got back to the tent, conversations melting into others, and ended up talking about the reason Mr. Sir was always so mean to everyone. We figured that at the moment it was because he was having a lover's quarrel with Pendanski, and that Pendanski was mad because he liked it better when Mr. Sir smoked because it was more of a turn-on. We were still laughing when we walked in the tent.

We included the other guys in our insight, and soon we had the entire tent laughing. Then when the hilarity had died down, I brought out some dice and played with two or three of the guys. It was so hot in the tent, I halfway unzipped my orange suit and folded it down. Damn, was it hot. Sweat would've been dripping down like rain on my torso if I had had any moisture left in my body.

"Best two outta three, then?"

"Yer on."

We continued like that until we heard gunshots. We all started except for Zigzag, who forsees every disastrous event possible, apparently. He just smiled this creepy smile.

Five minutes later, Stanley came in. He looked scared out of his wits. I perked up, and then returned my focus to the dice. I threw them down and won again. Zigzag was talking to Stanley about the yellow spotted lizards. Something about that made me angry.

Nobody except me could scare the shit outta this puppy.

I decided to take part.

"Yeah, man. And if you ever get lose enough to count 'em – Kkk! Yer dead." I spun the dice through my fingers and then expertly tossed them down. I won again.

He looked totally freaked out, and flinched every time a shot rang out in the night. Of course, everyone did, but the look on his face was pure terror, one that called for his master to put him in his lap and pet him. I wasn't looking at the dice when I threw for the last time. That time, I lost.

I didn't care, though.

I was too busy looking across the room and smirking, a toothpick dangling from my mouth.

Over the next three days, that's all I was doing. Looking. I observed his shower from a distance, sitting on a nearby porch with some friends. He was directly in my line of sight. I was disposed to look, at least.

The hint of a smile played on his lips when he stepped under the cold water. He smoothly rubbed soap all over his body and hair. He had just covered his face with a new layer of soap when it suddenly shut off. I smiled and covered my mouth with my hand.

Nobody else noticed. They were too busy talking about the strange affinity the new kid had with Zero. I wasn't particularly interested in discussing it, anyway.

I could relate to Zero's affinity.

The next few days were equally eventful, with lots of random acts of complete and utter hilarity arising from the puppy. However, my restraint from interacting with him was getting thin. Every time I saw his blisters, I would be reminded of exactly what I wanted to do to him, and my hands clenched in hopes of relieving some of that desire.

On the fifth day, I couldn't take it. I needed to talk to him, anything would do. I just needed to make sure he knew I was alive and that I interacted with him without jumping him. I didn't know what I was going to say or anything. I walked into the REC room and found my chance.

He was writing a letter.

I strolled over too him. It's never good to show how excited you really are in these situations. I had to be cool. Cool. Squid is cool. I'm Squid. Therefore I must be cool.

My toothpick took on a mind of its own as I neared the table where he was writing. My fists gripped themselves in my pockets. They unclenched easily as they were lifted out into the world.

I snatched the letter out from under his hands.

"Who you writin' to?" I consulted the first line real quick. 'Dear Mom and Dad' was what it read.

"Aw, you miss yer mommy and daddy?" I smirked. Hi s face darkened with annoyance. Or was it embarrassment? I couldn't tell.

"I don't want them to worry." He made a grab for it. I held it out of his reach, and he jumped up to get it, brushing his chest slightly against mine. I held it even more out of his reach with a smug smirk. Then the old fire ignited when I realized what he was saying. His parents? Worry?

"They don't care." My voice turned cold and hard as I said it. My eyes narrowed, too.

"Give me the letter!" He lunged for it, and somehow his thigh made it in between my legs. Good God. I had to end this quickly for my pride as a man. I also didn't want those eyes changing my thoughts on the matter. They were much too convincing, especially with a hint of anger flashing in them. Then I remembered why I was sent to this camp. I remembered why I did what I did to get here. I remembered why. My heart hardened again. Funny, I don't remember it melting.

"Believe me, they're glad to be rid of you."

I crumpled up the letter and threw it in the trash. How could a weak puppy love his parents that abandoned him? How could he have any reason to be happy when he's being tortured in this damn camp? I angrily walked out into the hot sun.

How, when I couldn't?

Why does he want to talk to people outside of camp anyway? Am I not good enough company? Is D tent, the most powerful tent in the entire camp, not good enough?

I sighed. I knew that that had nothing to do with anything. All it showed was my jealousy, really. Most normal kids love their parents. I just forget sometimes that that kind of relationship exists.

I spit out my toothpick into the dirt.

Damn.

I really don't know what makes this guy tick.

I thought about it for a really long time. He wasn't the stealing type; I know how to recognize liars and thieves, and he was neither. He wasn't violent. He wasn't completely stupid either, though he was definitely naïve and innocent. He was just like a puppy. A cocker spaniel. With big, brown eyes.

And man, I couldn't get over it. His eyelashes were as long as a girl's. He had a dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. His hair bounced with curls. His smile sparkled when he dared let it. A few freckles dotted across his face and I made it my business to count each one. There were exactly twenty-two on his face. Not very many considering, but his skin was more the type to tan rather than to burn and develop freckles.

He obviously didn't deserve to be here, and yet he was so caring to everyone. He didn't throw himself into the depths of despair; he just barreled on through with a shy smile on his face. I know normal people, and they don't act like that. He's clearly not normal. He's just on a different scale of 'not normal' from the rest of us here at Camp Green Lake.

The day he found the fossil was the beginning of a slight change in me.

I found that, instead of wanting to see his blood, I wanted to see his smile.

I wanted him to feel accepted.

So I helped convince the guys to give him the nickname X came up with – Caveman.

I was playing pool with the guys when the fight broke out. Mind you, it wasn't actually a fight at all; he was just being his klutzy self. I was there in an instant; I had seen everything that had taken place. I was there first, pulling him away with my left hand and brandishing a pool cue with my right, placing my body between them. Glaring death at the fool who dared to mess with my puppy.

After everything simmered down, I led him away by the shoulder, my body acutely and distinctly aware that we were most definitely touching. I slung my arm around his shoulders. I gave him some really good advice that, said by anyone else, would have sounded flustered and worried. But I said it evenly and smoothly. I think.

"Don't look at him. He's crazy, you understand me?" I looked him straight in the eye. He looked trustingly into mine. My grip tightened on his shoulder. I was serious. I didn't want him to get in any more fights with that hooligan. That guy was way too violent for my liking. A couple of scars could accidentally find themselves covering up some of his freckles. I couldn't have that; hell, I took the time to count them all.

We rounded off at the pool table, where the 6 ball was suspiciously rolling. Funny. I determined the trajectory of the ball, compared it to the walking patterns of the guys around it, and quickly narrowed the suspects down by their positions, gestures, and personalities. I looked in disbelief at Zero before masking it with a smirk. Then the smirk widened in realization when D-tent gathered around.

It was time to give the Caveman the knowledge that he was indeed Caveman.

I grinned, as he didn't get that he was the very Caveman we were discussing so avidly around the pool table. When the horn blasted and everyone started calling him Caveman, I slapped him on the back and cheerfully said, "C'mon, bro."

I glanced back and he was grinning sunnily, as happily as a puppy would be after his master gave him a treat. My lips involuntarily turned upwards. My toothpick danced merrily up and down.

It was still doing that thirty-two hours later during the D-tent discussion with Mom.

We were discussing Magnet when I came back to Earth. I was still watching Caveman out of the corner of my eye. He visibly started when I leaned forward suddenly and butted in.

"No, no, tell 'em, Magnet. They wanted a thousand bucks for just one puppy."

I hoped that this sentiment wouldn't be seen as pussy or anything by any of the other guys. They were all pretty cool, but it was still a worry. I need my rep to always be intact. A man with no reputation is not a man at all. I glanced around searchingly in reassurance.

Everyone exclaimed that that was the worst bullshit they'd ever heard. Magnet made everyone laugh – he said he would have made it out if "his pocket hadn't started barking." I believed it. My eyes lost sight of Caveman for a second as my eyes closed and my mouth opened in a laugh. My toothpick was spinning around without a care in the world.

I didn't notice the look both Magnet and Caveman gave me. I also missed the look between them, and the one between X-ray and Zigzag. And the one Zero gave to Caveman. But I did notice that everyone was laughing except for Pendanski. I laughed even harder.

After we all had our laughs, Mom started on Caveman. I stiffened and the grin slid off my face. I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to see him possibly get tortured by this quack if he wasn't okay with the questions. If he was uncomfortable at all, I might snap and use my toothpick to forcibly pop Pendanski's eye. I folded my hands together and tried to calm down.

Yeesh.

Nothing had happened yet, and I was already completely ready to kill someone.

I need to calm down I gotta calm down this isn't good I'm way too tense how could this have happened I really need to stay in check I'm not going to kill anyone I'm just gonna wait for this to happen and if nothing happens it'll be fine nothing's gonna happen nothing's gonna happen nothing's going to happen nothing is going to happen NOTHING IS GOING TO HAPPEN!

My hands were still tightly wound around each other. I waited.

Mom asked him if he knew who was responsible for his presence here at Camp Green Lake. I waited with bated breath for his answer. It was a definite yes.

Mom asked him who it was.

My eyes narrowed. Sudden images of a bloody, beaten counselor flashed through my mind. One that was lying in a hole with flies picking, lizards slinking, and vultures hovering. My gaze flickered between them and my grip tightened as I leaned forward, if that was even possible. I was picking through an arsenal of weapons I had stored in D-tent when the answer came.

"My no-good-dirty-rotten-pig-stealing-great-great-grandfather, that's who it is."

I laughed even harder than I did at Magnet's comment. As did everyone else.

I missed his constant attentions between Magnet and me. His gaze shot between us, doubtful and inquisitive. My smile grew as Magnet pounded my back in merriment. Caveman's eyes narrowed. I didn't notice at all. My toothpick could have sprouted wings and flown away with the amount of air it got.

What I did notice was the constant attentions Caveman and Zero gave each other.

Especially when Caveman gave the okay for Zero to talk to Mom. That look in his eye was the same pondering look he gave the first day. That was a look that spoke volumes. One that spoke of an unknown connection of destiny.

I hated it.

If I hadn't caught myself, I would have had quite the look of hatred on my face. As it was, I still held a sarcastic smile.

Walking out, I made sure to not even look in Caveman's direction even though he was walking right next to me and focused all of my attention onto Magnet. It was all I could do to give out interesting, funny questions as I felt like strangling Zero. He was right in front of me as we walked back to the tent. Right there. I spit my toothpick in his general direction.

Hilariously enough, it stuck in his hair. He didn't even notice until Caveman plucked it out. I was still smiling, but anger roiled inside of me.

The look on my face was not a pleasant one that night.

Nor was it the next morning until I spotted a cloud on the horizon.

"Hey look! A cloud!" I forgot my senses and my smile radiated. I probably looked like some damn five-year-old getting a Christmas present. Also kinda like a hick. It came out sounding like, " Hey leuwk! Uh clow!" X-ray asked where excitedly.

"Right there!" I pointed enthusiastically. In retrospect, I should have just pointed. That one sounded even worse, like this: "Righ' thair!" but at that moment I was too happy to try to hide my Texan accent and upbringing.

It was so far away. Armpit moaned to the cloud about shade. Someone mentioned rain. I snorted. Fat chance of that.

"Warden owns the shade, man." Caveman hefted a large rock out of his hole. He grunted and pushed it up and away. He wiped his chin and picked up his shovel.

Damn straight. I squinted into the distance and looked far away into the mountains.

Maybe… if a cloud is over there… it would need water to evaporate to form it. Maybe there's water over there. Maybe – maybe my mom'll stop drinking and my dad'll come home. Maybe the Toothfairy is alive and well. That kind of thinking has always kept me on track and I plan to keep using it for every stupid shred of hope that forms in my damned imagination. Mountains always have some amount of moisture; hell, snow always collects on the tops of the Himalayas in China and Tibet, even during the summer. It should be no different for any other average mountain, and just because there's a little water doesn't mean there are enough resources for me to survive on out there in the unforgiving desert. Besides, I wouldn't be able to handle living without technology like the toothpick. Escape is definitely not an option, and I'm not going to waste my life on some damn imagining and die in the desert.

I shook my head. Who wants to escape from Camp Green Lake? Especially when there's such a cute puppy to play with. A smile touched my lips and then flew away as I concentrated on the rough feeling of parched wood digging into my hands as I thrust the shovel back into the ground. It took another bite of dirt and I disgustedly slung it aside.

There are no miracles. It's useless to hope. I've never been to church in my life and I sure ain't gonna anytime soon. Jesus ain't gonna save me. I try my hardest to crush any hope I find left. There are no miracles. If there were, I might have had enough money to eat every day back in Houston. If there were, we might've lived in a house. If there were, I might get proven innocent for the crime I was sent here for. If there were, Mr. Sir might be fired and someone better would be appointed. If there were, maybe my mom would stop drinking and my dad would come home. If there were, Caveman might look at me seriously instead of at Zero.

There are no miracles.

It was much later that day when it happened. Caveman found something. He called X over and showed it to him. X grabbed it and said it might be a shotgun shell. He had obviously never seen a shotgun shell and I felt obligated to correct him.

Caveman thought a second. He mentioned a heart with two letters on it. All I could think of was SS. S for Stanley, S for Squid. I tried not to let anyone see my agitation when it turned out to be KB.

Of course I laughed at Zigzag's comment about Keith Barringer. Hell, it was hilarious. But in the back of my mind, I knew that my thoughts were getting out of control. My crazy hope of those two letters being S and S was crushed and I felt the old pain return and the old fire flare up.

If a hope this small and idiotic had this affect on me, I would surely kill myself if it was a seriously important hope.

I forgot about my pain and fire with the sudden change of atmosphere. With one sentence, Caveman had turned this scene from a calm, friendly one to a threatening, wild one. I stepped a bit closer as X closed in. If he pulled anything, I wasn't sure what I would do. I prayed to God that Caveman would think of something to get us out of this mess.

And he did it. He instantly dispelled the atmosphere with a novel idea – to have X-ray wait until the next day to show his find to Mom and get the whole day off. X-ray sauntered off as if he had been the one to have the idea.

"Pretty smart, Caveman." I tapped the rim of his hat twice playfully and my eyes creased, showing my gratitude. Then I walked away.

That night, I thudded my head against the shower.

What if next time I do hit X? What happens to me? I'll be screwed. I can't do this anymore, man. What if my rep goes straight down into hell? I can't take this. I don't know what I'll do, even. That's the scary part. In those situations I can't predict my next move because my head and heart are constantly fighting it out until the very moment I make my move.

That's the trouble with these sorts of things.

I stopped banging my head when I couldn't feel my forehead anymore. I hadn't noticed until then that the water had stopped flowing from the showerhead a long time ago.

I walked back to the tent in a daze. I fell right asleep and had no dreams I could remember, thank God.

The next day the plan Caveman came up with was carried out without a hitch. Mom called someone named Louis right away on his walkie-talkie and five minutes later a dust cloud was on the horizon and a car blasted through it. I looked on in wonder. Who was going to come out? Who exactly is the warden?

It was a lady.

A beautiful lady, with red hair and a cowboy hat. Not to mention th' hard face with a smile carved on it. That smile looked like it belonged somewhere else, it was so nice and forgiving. I thought that it would have looked more natural if the smile was on Mr. Sir's face, and that was saying something. Her jeans fit snugly around her and her blouse fluttered as she walked. Her sleeves were rolled up in a defiant way. She handled the find with care and softly ran her finger over the heart Caveman had pointed out earlier, gazing adoringly all the while. Her fingernails were the color of dried blood.

She was the scariest lady I'd ever seen. And goddamn it, I've seen a hell of a lot. I pulled off my gloves with my teeth, shovel in hand, leaned against the wall of my hole, and waited for this to be over.

Quickly, as if I had planned it all along, my head snapped towards Caveman. He was closest to her. He was looking at her as if he had never seen a girl before in his life. My sarcastic eyebrow was raised unbelievingly.

The Warden asked the proper questions, like who had found it and where it was found. I looked down. There was no way we would find whatever they were searching for. Caveman had found it two sites to the left, one site down. I caught my breath before it could become a sigh. We would spend forever and a day wasting effort on this ridiculous escapade. I looked up resignedly.

I had thought that this particular scene was at an end.

Then she said, " But first, fill everyone's canteen!"

Then Mom said, "I've already filled them." With a smile.

She took off her sunglasses.

"Excuse me?"

Oh shit.

I knew that was trouble.

And so did everyone else. She shocked me into starting and nearly dropping my shovel when she turned to us and asked for Caveman. I gripped my shovel with desperate futility.

No matter what, I can not hurt the Warden. Even if the bitch was threatening Caveman in some way. Or just making him uncomfortable, it didn't matter, I'm sure would respond in the same exact way. Anything that made Caveman realize that he might feel uncomfortable set me off on metaphorical rampages recently.

He awkwardly stood in front of her with his hat respectfully off his head and a serious look on his face. His dumbstruck look surfaced when he caught her meaning – her entire purpose in this was to embarrass Mom.

"Oh no, I'm fine, I have plenty." His eagerness formed in his twisting of his hat.

"Excuse me."

Damn shit motherfucker goddamn bitch shit! He could seriously get killed here!

Or worse.

Stanley –!

I gripped my shovel even harder. I totally and completely didn't notice I was gripping the sharp edges. My toothpick was completely stagnant.

I looked on in anticipation and horror.

He shifted and got the drift from her tone.

"I might've, uh, dranken some…"

"Thank you."

The tension suddenly evaporated. For Caveman, anyway. My shoulders slumped down and my eyes closed. The Warden stepped off and proceeded to tell off Mom. Caveman got back into his hole and I realized my hands were dripping blood.

Bending down in my hole, I ripped off some cloth from my head and wrapped it around my hands. I tugged with my teeth and made sure no blood seeped through. Then I put my gloves back on.

I didn't want anyone feeling sorry for me.

Especially Stanley.

I mean, especially Caveman.

I wondered at my slipup. I'd never called anyone by their real first name after they'd gotten a nickname before.

The Warden announced that we were to "dig this dirt twice," and we proceeded to do just that. Nobody dared tell her that she was digging in the wrong place. I watched as Caveman went off with Zero and a wheelbarrow.

I shrugged and thrust my shovel back into the ground with a vengeance.

Splotch after splotch of dirt flew from my shovel. I hacked at a rock that was stuck in the ground until it came loose. I threw it out of my hole, hoping it would hit someone in the head, but no such luck. I returned to my task.

When we headed to lunch, I positioned myself in front of Caveman.

I didn't want to be suspiciously staring at him and I didn't want anyone to feel as if they could pick a fight with him or even look at him funny, so it was the perfect place to be.

After all, I had a rock hard reputation here. Nobody messed with me unless they had a death wish except for other guys in D-tent.

Everyone knew how I had ended up here.

My toothpick cut angrily through the air.

Then I tuned in to the world around me. Zigzag was trying to scare the shit out of him again with talk of microphones and cameras everywhere in the camp, and Caveman was obviously rattled. I glared at Zig before sidling up alongside them.

"Man, don't listen to him, I read his file. Says he suffers from, uh, acute paranoia."

And this was true.

And Stanley gave me the trusting look again and my toothpick bounced happily as I walked a little faster and turned away.

I had read Stanley's file, too. I knew everything about him now. Well, everything that didn't really matter in the slightest. His family, his pets, his grades, his school – the only thing that looked useful was his birthday. Maybe when it was his birthday I could give him a present or something.

I hummed a famous song as we neared the tent. The only other person who knew it was Stanley, and he joined in with me.

I grinned and slapped him on the back and asked him about what other artists he liked.

He smiled back and came up with all sorts of things to say.

My toothpick was dancing merrily up and down and left and right. It seemed like it couldn't stop. I was dizzy from just watching it.

In the shower that day, I remembered my hands with a vivid pang. I washed them and winced as I saw that they were quite deep. They smarted as if they were burning as the water cascaded over them.

I was the only one there and I planned to keep it that way. The sun was setting, so no one could see my misfortune even if they had seen my convulsions. I didn't want anybody to know.

But I had forgotten about Stan – about Caveman. The slowest digger in the camp. His outline showed on the horizon, but I was kinda distracted. I noticed him when it was too late – he had already seen the deep cuts and I hurriedly covered them up. He reached for me, his eyes full of concern.

"Stop!" I snapped at him. "I'm fine!"

I remembered that I was kind of completely naked and thank God it was darkish. Some lights were still on, but they were far enough away just to give outlines of shapes. Caveman was startled, and I'd like to think it was because of my suddenly presented wounds, not my… natural attire. Or did I? I was certainly getting jumpy. I think I lashed out at him.

I sighed and lowered my guard after considering options. He was just trying to help.

"Sorry, man. I didn't mean to…" I looked at the ground.

"Naw, it's okay, man." He relaxed. "I'd still like to see them if it's okay."

I looked up at him to see if he was fooling with me. Nobody can see my weaknesses, especially when I hide them with every ounce of my being.

But then I found my arms outstretched and my palms held open to the sky.

Hm. Didn't expect that.

Gently, so very gently, his hands covered my own and went exploring. My messily tied knots around my hands were carefully undone.

"Damn, man, this is pretty bad. If you're not careful, it could get a really bad infection, and since it's so deep, you could end up losing them both."

I gripped his hands tightly in shock before wincing and regretting it.

"Are you serious?" My voice shook and my eyes were as wide as they could be.

"Yeah, man, you have to get this looked at."

I paused and considered him.

I figured he might just care about my well-being.

"Okay." I withdrew my hands and began tying them again. "But you have to take me."

He started. Quite visibly.

"And if you're lying," I continued, "You might find yourself in a hole."

He smiled and chuckled. "Sure, sure." He threw me my clothes and we made our way to the main building, where I got my hands disinfected and wrapped.

That night I watched avidly as he settled down and went to sleep. In this light, I could define every eyelash, and in this silence, I could hear every breath.

My eyes creased and I hugged my pillow as my lips convulsed upwards.

My toothpick could have made it into the circus with the performance it gave.

The next day was not so good.

In fact, the next day was a fiesta of hatred, me hating myself.

I'm weak.

So weak.

In so many different ways.

The next day, we were digging the dirt together again, and I, still in my radiant mood, had somehow gotten next to the Caveman. Then the Warden, God damn her, decided that we weren't digging fast enough, though I didn't see her pull out a shovel, and applied the whip to Mr. Sir's ass.

Of course, he just had to pick me to abuse. He came up to me like I had stabbed his Pendanski and whaled on me like there was no tomorrow. I looked at the ground in hate and didn't dare myself to speak. I just concentrated on the feel of the shovel in my hand and the dirt's clumping beneath my feet.

Hate roiled behind my blank eyes. I couldn't control it.

How dare this faggot embarrass me in front of Stanley? Stanley, of all people! Why did I have to be right next to him? Why did he have to observe all of this first-hand? Why did he have to see me looking so weak? And to think I had been so happy minutes before because he was next to me!

Why, goddamn it?

Mr. Sir had gone on to harass some other piece of shit and I realized I couldn't contain it anymore. I couldn't see anything but the color of spurting blood for a second. In a mixture of anger and panic, I whipped my shovel around. There was a loud thud.

A very loud thud.

One that brought me back to my senses.

Wasn't Caveman the one that was next to me?

damn

damn

damn

I blinked, and realized my eyes were brimming with something suspiciously like tears. I didn't bother on touching my eyes; I just looked around wildly and saw Stanley on the ground.

He was mad.

Very mad.

And bleeding, too.

I had hit him on the head with the rusty, metal part of my shovel.

"It was an accident, man."

That was all I could say.

"Sorry, man, it was an accident."

I couldn't shut up. I kept saying it over and over.

"It was an accident. Sorry."

I had returned to digging long before.

It repeated in my brain like a mantra, drumming itself into my thoughts.

It was an accident an accident I swear it was really I'm not lying I was just mad it was an accident I didn't think I didn't mean for this to happen I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry dammit I mean it I never say sorry ever and now I am so it really means something I'm not just saying it dammit it was an accident an accident an accident I'm so sorry I'm so sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry I don't know how you'll believe me but it's true I didn't mean to hit you I'm sorry sorry sorry sorry I feel as if I had hit myself I wish it had been me instead of you sorry sorry sorry I wish I had never lived if this would not have happened I feel so shitty right now dammit sorry sorry sorry it was an accident I don't think I can make it through this because you'll hate me and dammit it was an accident I swear I don't think you'll believe me because it seemed natural for an idiot like me with the rep of a thug to lash out and dammit it really was an accident I really didn't do it on purpose please don't hate me please please please sorry sorry sorry

And then…

He stood up…

With some help…

And Stanley glared at me…

And everything withered inside of me…And I knew then I couldn't possibly go on any longer…

But then I remembered that the only way to get through life without being hurt was to harden your heart and your head. At the moment, I was soft in both of these.

It was stupid for me to have fallen for him.

Stupid.

And who says I've fallen for him anyway?

I haven't.

I just wanted to do him, nothing more.

I didn't love this loser. This puppy.

And I won't. I refuse to.

I won't love anyone.

Ever again.

I settled for cold indifference.

After all, it worked when my dad left.

It should work for this, too.

I kept thinking that over and over again until the rest of my thoughts were blotted out by the overlapping words.

I kept thinking:

Maybe Mom'll stop drinkin' and Dad'll come home.

My indifference stole up on me like it had never gone away. I embraced it and fell into it, weary of feeling too much and eager to never feel again.

I hoped to stay like this for the rest of my life, but it didn't work out that way. About a week later, something jolted me out of it.

Of course, it had to do with Caveman.

Mr. Sir was filling up our water canteens when thunder clapped across the mountains, and someone said they wanted it to rain or something, that was the gist of it.

Mr. Sir was not impressed with this remark. He told a story showing how inane the sentiment was. It went sort of like this: Once upon a time, there was a magical place where it never rained. The end. Poetry. Why the hell was that necessary?

"I don't get it. I never get anything he says," I shook my head. Nobody needed to know I always understood. It takes pains to be stupid, and I try hard. Nobody needs to know that I have a head on my shoulders; it would just be annoying. I was never one that wanted to be atop a pedestal. Too much pressure for the person on top, always pressed to make the smartest comments and decisions. Not for me. I'm good with my commentary in my head. I don't need recognition for my witty remarks, thank you.

I'm independent.

And I'd like to keep it that way.

Magnet moved out of the corner of my eye. This surprised me, as he was moving the wrong way, towards Mr. Sir's truck, not back to his hole. I made sure not to crane my head as to attract attention. If Magnet was doing something and was caught, he'd get it for sure. And he was a D-tent brother. I couldn't help but help him.

I wondered what he was doing.

Then Mr. Sir drove away and everything was fine because Magnet hadn't been caught.

"Hey, anyone want some sunflower seeds?"

He held up the bag in triumph. He threw it around. I caught it, snagged some out of the bag, and threw it to someone else. It flew around until someone decided to throw it to Caveman. Seeds fell all over his hole!

"Aw, Caveman, butterfingers!" I called out. We all laughed. Then Something Happened. Mr. Sir's truck whipped 'round and headed back towards us.

Damn.

And all the evidence was in Caveman's hole.

He started covering it up in a frenzy. It was pretty smart of him to throw some dirt into his hole to help. He ended up in an awkward position in his hole, lying there like he was so slick. Or whatever. He might get away with it, though, I thought.

Then Mr. Sir's door slammed.

He ain't gettin' away with anything.

Cowboy boots somehow clicked on the dirt up to Caveman's hole. Why he picked Caveman was pretty obvious. He was the only one not working and he happened to be the weakest one of the group. Mr. Sir knew this, and he knew that Caveman was in here for stealing. At least I think he did.

Anyway, Mr. Sir found the remains of his sunflower seeds bag in a matter of seconds. That was where everyone got nervous. Especially Magnet.

There was a moment of truth. In said moment of truth, Caveman told a lie. He said that he had stolen the seeds.

That kind of hit me over the head like a shovel. I stumbled a bit in my hole and checked my head for a wound it felt so real.

A kind, noble cocker spaniel.

That was the first time I thought of him as a dog instead of a puppy. A damn cute one, too.

He walked away with Mr. Sir, and X gestured wildly to him. Magnet didn't move. Neither did I. I just watched him walk away. Something grew in my throat and chest and I couldn't tell what it was until he shut the door and turned on the ignition.

It was respect, I think.

I wondered how long he would be gone. Maybe he wasn't coming back. Mr. Sir did say they were going to see the Warden. He would probably be killed or something. At least injured. Or punished cruelly. Something would happen to him, and I couldn't protect him.

I battled with myself and returned to my hole.

But just as I neared the side of my hole, Zero crossed by. I froze.

He jumped into Stanley's hole and hacked away.

Everyone froze. And turned. And looked. And saw.

Then everyone turned back around and worked on their own holes. Nobody was going to get caught up in the task of getting Zero to say what the hell he was doing. It was okay. Caveman deserved it this once.

Everyone minded their own business.

Then, amazingly, about half an hour later, he appeared on the horizon.

"We thought you were dead for sure!" I said in amazement.

"What she say to you?" Everyone asked.

"Nothing."

"What she do to you?"

"Nothing."

He got back to his hole. And exclaimed. His hole was already dug. He guessed around, and Zigzag told him it was Zero who dug his hole for him.

I watched his reaction and his walk over to Zero's hole. And their talk. And their handshake. And their smiles.

Nobody could say I was jealous, but someone could certainly say I was angry.

Then I was next to Stanley in the lunch line. Zero was on the other side of him.

Unfortunate, actually. This situation closely resembled the one only days earlier where I had clonked Stanley in th' head with a rusty shovel. I carefully held my tray, pushing it onto the metal trail it was forced to follow. There would be no accident this time; I would make sure of it.

But then my plan blew up into smithereens. Mr. Sir cut in front of me and I, being the nonsensical, much too keen, much too inquisitive, much too observant brainless fool I am, noticed something I shouldn't have and pointed it out.

I asked Mr. Sir what the hell happened to his face.

And when I was picked up by the collar and thrust into a trashcan on the floor, I realized my mistake far too late.

They were fingernail scratches.

They were on his face. Next to his eye. And he smelt of a strange perfume that I associated with the only female in 100 miles. The Warden.

Before I put it all together, Mr. Sir was scaring the shit out of me, in my face and ready to beat my face into a pulp and slit my throat. I knew. I could see it in his eyes. I could sense his desperation to keep his fragile reputation stagnant. I understood that feeling and I knew the lengths that he was willing to go. I was afraid for my life.

When he asked me his little rhetorical questions, I sure as hell answered them. A trembling voice shook as it tumbled out of my throat, and through my fear, a shot of embarrassment zipped through me. Stanley was right behind me, watching this crackpot abuse me. The whole fucking camp was watching, but I didn't care about them. Just Stanley. And he could hear every single fucking word coming out of my mouth. Every single, embarrassing, weak, warbling sound.

I wanted to die. I wanted to be killed at that moment. But it was too late; Mr. Sir had already made his point and I had already been flung aside.

Into a trashcan. I looked at Mr. Sir with a little something I couldn't describe. I wasn't really looking at him; I was looking through him. Hating him for not killing me, hating me for still being alive. Hating everything. My weakness. Stanley's adorable charm. Everything. Then I felt the pain. It was all-encompassing torture. My seized muscles, my sliced hands, my throbbing head, my guilt, my anger. Everything hit me at once.

I rolled up onto my haunches with a blank, glazed look in my eye. My hair was mussed and my shirt was wrinkled in odd places. I didn't care. I quietly and softly stood up with a little help from the table behind me. I heard Pendanski say something, I heard a door slam, I heard objects being thrown frustratingly against a wall.

I returned to the lunch line and looked down at th' food dazedly. I slowly picked up the tray and headed towards the D-tent table, not caring whether I had the complete meal on my plate. I just wanted to get away from Stanley for a second so I could possibly have a chance to sort through my thoughts.

I sat. Nobody moved except for me. Then the shuffling began and murmurs began to surface. I ate. Nobody at our table talked until X broke the silence.

"…Squid…"

I looked up. I don't know if anyone got the meaning behind that look I gave to X, but what it really meant went along these lines, roughly: 'I have no meaning to my life anymore. That was the worst moment of my life. Please don't ever mention this again. I want to off myself in a very nasty, painful way from such an embarrassing situation. I wish that I had never been born just for that. I hate myself. I am so incredibly weak. This place is brutal and I hate it here except for you guys. You are my solace in hell. I love you guys. But if you talk about this I'll probably hate you, but I won't hate you, I'll just hate myself more, and why the hell do I have to go through this shit? Why does my life suck so bad? Why do I always have to be such a fucking emo kid? I'm sick of all this shit that happens to me.'

Maybe it had too many conflicting thoughts running through it for them to understand it, but that look was probably a desperate cry for something from them. Maybe a kind word or something, I don't know. But all that happened was a lunch filled with silence and sadness.

My shoulders sagged noticeably. I couldn't eat another bite.

I stood and went to the tent. We still had twenty minutes left for lunch. I couldn't spend that time in the vicinity of Stanley. I just had to get away.

I had to have some time to become immune and stop caring.

After my epic failure in the cafeteria, I should have suspected that Stanley would try to console me and follow me. I should have forseen such a travesty. But I didn't, in my harried state, and so when he flopped down on his cot three away from mine, I looked up in panic.

I knew that creak.

It was the creak. The creak of Stanley's weight being put on his cot.

And then he started to speak. Blankly, I looked up into his eyes. The embarrassment that I thought I had buried deep inside burst forth. Where it had been a shot before, it became a bazooka, no, a rolling, unforgiving tank, crushing the walls I had built for myself and rolling out into waves of self-hatred.

Then his words hit me.

"…And then the Warden sliced his face with her fingernails, man. He's still pissed as hell, especially at me. So it's not you, okay? It's all my fault. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry that this had to happen to you, man. If there's anything I can do…"

"Stanley."

He looked straight at me in surprise. Nobody had called him by his given name in at least two weeks. He cocked his head confusedly and tensed up.

My head in my hands.

My voice caught in my throat.

"It ain't your fault." I sighed. "It's mine, alright?"

He started to protest.

"No, no, Stanley…" He was leaning in, I leaned closer in, grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward roughly.

"I'm tellin' you. It's my fault I got slammed around."

"Squid, man, it's…"

I took my other hand and covered his mouth with it.

"So you don't go feelin' sorry for me, a'right?"

Glaring beseechingly into those brown eyes, I almost lost my pride. The hand that was covering his mouth slowly brushed to his cheek and ran through his hair. His breath was coming faster now, as was mine, and I pulled him closer and closer until our faces, most specifically our lips, were millimeters apart. I could feel, taste, his breath inside my mouth. I said it directly into him, I breathed it down into his body.

"Don't go feelin' sorry for me, y'hear?"

His eyes fluttered. Mine were lidded but open, watching every reaction.

Pushing him on the bed wasn't in the plan. But I did it anyway. Pinning down his arms wasn't supposed to happen, either. But it did, and I welcomed it.

Though I couldn't go any further. No kiss, no nothing. I had to quit or there would be no turning back.

So instead, I leaned in to his ear and huskily whispered, "I guarantee, it ain't your problem." Leaned back and released him.

He scrunched up onto his elbows slowly.

And then I smiled. No teeth, just a sincere stretch of my face muscles. My eyes squinted happily and God, if I had a toothpick, it would have been going crazy. But I had to make do without one, shove my hands into my pockets, and move on out of the tent.

Walking, walking, walking. I don't know why I smiled. Walking, walking, walking. I glance back and stop as I lift the tent flap, my smile still leaking out like a ray of sun through clouds, shooting towards Stanley. Walking, walking, walking.

The bell had gone off. It was time to work, time to slave.

Stanley didn't move from what I saw. Probably remembered after the tent flap swung shut that his legs needed to take him somewhere. He wasn't late, so that's how I figure it.

I hope it wasn't too much for him, but what's done is done. I didn't even do anything, really. Just let him go without a damn kiss, though it damn near killed me to do it.

My shovel dug into the dirt, my fingers dug into my head, but all I could do was agonize within myself. I couldn't show anything that was going on in my head.

Agony. Pure agony.

Craziness was threatening to burst forth from that close encounter. Lust was about to consume my Superego and let my Id take over.

I had t' fight it.

It had almost happened. Almost. But Squid needs to calm down and stick with the indifference act. Squid needs to remember what happened last time he let himself feel something like this.

I remembered. I fell into the indifference again. Easy as pie. Except the smile was still on my face. No matter how many times I told myself about the Toothfairy, I couldn't wipe that smile off my face.

Damn. I needed a toothpick.

-End of Part 1-

I've decided that Squid is fun to write if he's not uber-depressed. Though he's still a little… well, manic depressive or bipolar, I can't decide. He's cool, anyway. And Shia LeBoeuf is so cute! Ahem.