so this is the first fic i've ever written.
some of the plot elements have probably been done a bazillion times but hopefully it's presented in a way that is "fresh" or "hip" or whatever the hell you young people say nowadays.
disclaimer: i do not own south park or any of the movies, tv shows or music i happen to make reference to.
Wednesday, October 28th.
If I survive junior year without being incarcerated for murder it'll be a bigger miracle than Jesus.
When I turned thirteen I told my parents to stop giving me presents because it wasn't right that millions of kids overseas never celebrated their birthdays, but every year they insist on giving me something whether I like it or not.
I opened my present at breakfast. Ever since I told my mom I wanted to go vegan she's been using substitutions in everything. Most of the time she doesn't get it right, but the soy milk/Egg Beaters french toast she made for breakfast was surprisingly good. As I tore off the recycled wrapping paper my dad told me, "It would do you good to let your feelings out once in a while." So here I am. Writing in a diary about my life because I feel too guilty to not use it.
At least it's eco-friendly.
And I do let my feelings out, but only because Bebe won't shut up until I tell her what's bothering me. And trust me, I've tried lying to her. It's no use.
But I digress.
On the way to school I spotted Kenny McCormick walking on the side of the road. Apparently he missed the bus because the electric company disconnected his power and the only reason he woke up this early is because his dad had just gotten in from the bar and was screaming at his mom (he explained this to me on the way. My car thermometer said 11 degrees and I was not going to let him catch his death of pneumonia). When I pulled into my parking spot he asked if I wanted a quickie, which I answered by slapping him.
Typical morning.
I have AP Language first period with Stan, Kyle and Red. The latter two are usually in the back of the room texting each other and giggling in between taking notes (they were a lot more physical until Kyle got a B on his progress report). Today was no different. Since the lovebirds only have one class together and the Super Best Friends have three, Stan cuts Kyle some slack and sits in the desk next to mine.
Stan and I are… complicated. You know how in elementary school you had "boyfriends" or whatever? That was Stan. Only we continued dating throughout middle school until I finally broke up with him the summer before freshman year. I told him I couldn't use any distractions between the Ivy League and myself, which was true, but in all honesty it was because we acted like we'd been together sixty years instead of six. There was no passion on his part unless I threatened to break up with him. When I did, he would start begging me not to until I assured him I wasn't.
Kyle told me he stayed in his room for a week listening to Morrissey after I dumped him. (I was more surprised at the fact that he listens to Morrissey, considering the one time he let me go through his iPod it had a strict "No Whiny Music Allowed" policy.) I don't know if that was supposed to guilt-trip me, but it didn't. For once.
My dad, the only psychiatrist in South Park, says it sounds like he has underlying abandonment issues evidenced by his behavior towards me and the hoarding problems he's had on and off since elementary school. I don't really question it because it makes sense. Sort of.
Presently, Stan and I are friends. We study together every Tuesday with Kyle, Red, Butters, Token, Tweek and Bebe when she doesn't have late cheerleading practice. (It's actually a lot of fun. If we have a test the next day we'll meet at Tweek's dad's coffee shop and he lets us sample new coffee blends by calling us his "test audience.") But lately Stan has gotten really… I dunno. I want to say clingy, but that's probably not the right word. He'll ask me if I want to hang out after football practice but when I say I can't because I have Debate or SGA or violin until 6:00 he sounds okay but he gets this really hurt look in his eyes. By "really hurt" I mean "as bad as those Sarah McLachlan crack baby commercials." And I'm not entirely sure it's because he still wants me back or not.
Yesterday during first he asked if I wanted to go to Token's Halloween party with him, immediately added "as friends" and explained that he was driving Kyle and Red. So I said yes because 1.) I felt like I owed it to him since he's been wanting to hang out for weeks and 2.) I could relate. You have your share of awkward third wheel moments when Bebe Stevens is your best friend.
I did throw in a condition, though: no Raggedy Ann and Andy costumes.
With that being said, the party's on Saturday and I have no idea what to dress up as. Bebe said to just put on lingerie like every other girl going. I told her I was PMSing, which was true, but I don't even own lingerie. Nor do I really want to own any. I should probably find my old Chewbacca mask. Maybe if they had a contest I'd win first place.
Psh.
ANYWAY, second period is French III, otherwise known as the Wendy/Bebe Power Hour. (And A Half.) Our teacher is the sweetest lady imaginable but runs the school paper so she's usually busy with that. We end up watching Disney movies with French subtitles and getting homework assignments I usually finish before the class ends. And that's with Bebe chattering away in my ear the entire time.
Then there's lunch. I sit with the entire study group except Red and Tweek because they have the other lunch period. Stan made me swear on my Prius that I would not discuss classwork at the table because "some of us need a break. If you need to study, go to the goddamn library." It was tough at first, and sometimes I do go to the library, but I got over it quickly.
Third period is APUSH, which nearly everyone I know is in. Everyone except Red, Tweek and Kenny, but it's really a wonder Kenny's made it this far. (I think he's trying to become the first member of his family to graduate and I'll applaud his effort unless he tries to hit on me. Then I applaud his face. With my hand.)
By everyone, I mean I have to deal with him.
Eric Cartman.
He is, quoting a movie I saw on TV one night when I couldn't sleep, "a boil on the butt of humanity." I can't talk about him without wanting to see the life go out of his eyes as I cut off his air supply with my bare hands.
I am staunchly against capital punishment, donate often to human rights organizations and occasionally go to protests in Denver, but eradicating him from the face of the earth would singlehandedly be the most humanitarian thing I'd ever do.
If anyone were reading this they'd probably be asking "Jeez, Wendy, what's so bad about this guy?"
I think it'd be easier if I listed what isn't wrong with him.
…
…
…
Okay, there actually is something.
As much as it pains me to admit it, his ambition and perseverance are pretty admirable qualities. No matter how many times someone or something thwarts his plans of taking over the world or making Kyle suffer (usually some plan that involves both), he is always back next week with another one. God, I feel like I'm saying Hitler had a good method other than the whole murdering Jews and gays thing. As if I don't suffer from enough Catholic guilt.
I'm officially agnostic but when I don't have anything school-related to do on Sundays Mom makes me go to church with her to "expand my religious horizons." How does that even count if I've been going there my entire life?
And I'd go to temple with Kyle sometime for the religious horizon expansion if his mom didn't scare me so much. I went to his house once during ninth grade and she pretty much interrogated me on why I was there and if I had any intentions to date him. I told her straight up I didn't see him in that way and for some reason she got offended. And then last year I saw her at Jim's Drugs and she glared at me for a whole ten seconds before turning back around and whispering something in Mr. Broflovski's ear.
Okay, so I'm not allowed to be just friends with guys. Good to know.
But back to what I was talking about.
In APUSH we were split into to two groups and had to write/perform an informative skit on The Kansas-Nebraska Act. The teacher put me in charge in one group, then most likely suffered a brain lapse because she picked him to helm the other. Actually, no, I take that back. The last time we were in a group together… I'll keep it short this time. Butters had to be rushed to the hospital because he was caught in the crossfire and then his parents grounded him so he hasn't been able to go to study group for the past three weeks. (Note to self: look up number to Child Protective Services.)
Since his group was going to present last, Cartman had first pick.
"Stan."
Goddamn it. He knew I always picked Stan first because of his public speaking abilities. I watched him join Jabba the Hutt on the opposite side of the room, pinching the bridge of his nose in stress. Cartman took advantage of the fact that I was looking in his direction and smiled contemptuously, waving one of his gargantuan hands in a Princess Diana-type fashion.
My turn.
"Craig."
Two can play that game, Jumbotron.
The thing about Craig is he's in the Drama Club, therefore everyone wants him in their groups. Not because of his acting, though. Ironically, he hates everything about being onstage and sabotages any attempt to get him to perform. Writing is his genius, and every fall the Drama Club sponsors one of his plays. This year's consisted of twenty monologues about objects found in a garbage bag. I don't know anyone who actually saw it, but apparently a critic from Denver gave it a four-star review.
Back to him.
"Butters."
Oh come on, we both know you're just going to make him your bitch again.
"Kyle."
Sorry, Stan.
"Heidi."
Ew. Bebe and I used to be friends with her until she started a rumor that she saw Bebe giving our gym teacher a blowjob during freshman year. The school investigated it and even though the rumor was completely false and there was no evidence whatsoever, they fired him anyway. (She did think he was hot, though.)
"Bebe."
I know I should have picked her first, considering we're almost as close as Stan and Kyle, but for me it's about picking the best person for the team. I have leadership, Craig has talent, Kyle has brains and Bebe has sex appeal. Don't get me wrong, Bebe is incredibly smart. She just also happens to know how to use her assets to her advantage.
"Sally."
Sally was even worse than her cousin Heidi. The only thing I'm going to say is there's a reason why everyone calls her "Powder."
"Token."
In case Craig decided to write a musical number.
"Jimmy."
Damn. We needed a joke contributor. Craig is probably the most serious person I know. And I know Al Gore.
It continued in that fashion until the last person, Kevin, joined my team on the left side of the room.
So we put our desks in a circle and went around discussing ideas. Craig scribbled down the good ones and told us to give him about twenty minutes to finish it.
Token and Kyle talked amongst themselves. Bebe asked the teacher if she could use the restroom. Others decided to go get a drink from the water fountain. I took this time to reread everything in my textbook pertaining to the Kansas-Nebraska Act in case Craig had any questions.
Well, that was my plan.
A little after I put in my earphones and became immersed in Chapter 11 I felt a slight tugging sensation in the back of my head.
And then I heard the scissors snip a fraction of a second after I pulled out the earphones.
When I say I don't recall what happened after that, I mean I could rack my brains for a month and I still wouldn't be able to tell you what I did. The next thing I do remember, though, is Principal Elizabeth's spit hitting my face as she screamed at me.
"Do either of you know how many tax dollars are spent cleaning up your messes?"
It didn't occur to me that there was someone in the chair to my right until after she finished asking the question. And that particular someone usually isn't hard to spot a mile away in blizzard conditions.
When I wiped the saliva (which is, incidentally, THE most disgusting word in the English language) off my face I suddenly remembered the events prior to my blackout and frantically checked the nape of my neck.
The thing about my hair is I've been growing it out and donating it to Locks of Love every other year since I was ten. Before third period yesterday, it all used to be a few inches above my waist. When I checked, everything was okay except HOLY SHIT THERE'S A GIANT CHUNK MISSING I AM GOING TO KILL THAT MOTHERFUCKER.
At least I'm alive. At least I have all of my limbs. At least my parents weren't fed to me as chili. It was only a chunk of hair. He cut it a little shorter than what I'm used to but I could deal with that. Stay calm, We-
Too late. I screamed.
"I will not tolerate this behavior, Miss Testaburger!" The only time I had ever seen her this angry was when the Westboro Baptist Church held the entire student body hostage last year.
"I'm sorry." I sank further down in my chair. "I know this probably sounds weird to you, but I honestly can't remember what I did."
Derisive laughter rang out to my right. "Really, hippie? At least when I do something wrong I'll admit to it!"
Against my better judgment I turned to look at him. Other than the black eye and giant bruise on the side of his face I apparently gave him, he only barely resembled the egregious nine-year-old I once beat up for making fun of breast cancer. At a whopping 6'4" he's the tallest person in our class, isn't nearly as fat as he used to be, and honestly, if I didn't hate him more than anything else in the entire universe I'd probably consider him…
God, am I really saying this?
Attractive.
Excuse me, I have to go vomit now.
"What are you talking about? You never admit to anything!"
"I do too!"
"Name one thing."
"Okay. I admit you are a hippie bitch who needs some ointment for all that sand in your vagina."
"YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW, YOU FAT ASSHOLE!"
"AY!"
"STUDENTS!"
We were out of our chairs, my fist was clenched and he had rolled up one of the sleeves of his jacket. He looked at me like I was a steaming pile of cow shit and I glared right the fuck back at him. I didn't care if he's over a foot taller than me. I wasn't intimidated by that despicable bastard. What I did care about was Principal Elizabeth doing anything which might hinder my chances of getting into Harvard. So I hastily apologized to her and sat back down.
"I would expect this from Mr. Cartman but not from you!" As more spit flew in my face I felt myself shrinking. "Assaulting one of your fellow classmates is one thing, but blatantly lying and saying you don't remember is another."
Wait, what?
"But I really don't-"
"DO NOT TALK BACK TO ME!"
At this point I felt like one of the Borrowers.
I looked over at Cartman.
"You heard the lady, hippie," he muttered before he mockingly flashed me that Invisaligned grin of his.
She continued. "I have no choice but to assign you two weeks detention."
Wait, what?
I gave someone a black eye, called them a fat asshole in front of the principal, then proceeded to "talk back" to said principal and the only thing I get is detention? As much as I'm going to hate missing an hour of all my after-school activities, I was imagining a far, far worse punishment. I tried my best to look convincingly sad. Cartman looked like he had just successfully embezzled ten million dollars from the National Association of Ginger Jew Hippies.
"And don't think you're getting off scot-free, Mr. Cartman. You're still getting one week for that stunt you pulled on Miss Testaburger."
He said it the exact time I was thinking it: "Oh, GodDAMN it!"
"Do you want me to make it two?"
"No, ma'am," he said, staring at his feet.
She glanced at her watch. "Well, class is ending in five minutes and I'm late for a meeting with the Superintendent. I suggest one of you go ahead to your next period and the other one get your homework and makeup assignments from Mrs. Cooper. Is that clear?"
Wait. Exactly how long did I black out?
"Yes, ma'am."
She promptly exited her office.
Cartman and I started to walk out at the same time until he held the door open and said, "After you, hippie."
"You're just going to cut the rest of my hair off."
"I am not, ho!"
I ignored him and walked out of the door before he had a chance to pull out the scissors.
"I was going to admire my handiwork, thank you very much!"
"Admire this, Fatass." I took a page out of Craig's book and gave him the ol' One Finger Salute.
"Ay!"
"Wait, Kyle, check and see if she's Wendy again."
"You do it, dude. Red'll kill me she finds out I've been gazing into girls' eyes that aren't hers."
The Super Best Friends stood a reasonable distance away from me until Stan slowly stepped forward and cocked his head to examine my face.
My last class is Pre-Calc. I passed both Algebras and Geometry with grades in the mid 90s and I can't even wrap my head around what I'm being taught. Will I ever have to know anything about complex numbers outside of maybe taking a class on it in college? Probably not. Am I regretting not signing up for AP Stats? You bet your sweet recycled paper ass I am.
But thankfully, Kyle's in this class. And thankfully, Kyle's the only person who actually likes this stuff. And also thankfully, the teacher lets us pair off into groups of three to work on our 15 page study guides every Tuesday.
"Yeah, she's alright," he turned back to inform him, then faced me again. "You can come sit with us so long as Cartman doesn't burst in trying to blame Kyle for killing Jesus or stealing Clyde Frog or whatever the hell he makes up this week."
"You guys, I don't even know what happened." I said in the midst of pushing our desks together. "I remember taking out my earbuds and the next thing I know I'm sitting in Principal Elizabeth's office getting the Yell And Spit. And then when I tried to tell them that they didn't believe me."
"Well, I believe you," Stan stated as he pulled his textbook out of his bag. "Cartman picked me to be in his group, remember? When you turned around you kind of looked like Drew Barrymore in Firestarter."
"Shit. I didn't set anyone aflame, did I?" I was actually concerned about that. I HATE when innocent bystanders get hurt just because that evil douchebag and I have at it once in a while.
"Of course not." Kyle turned to the section in his binder labeled "POLYNOMIALS", then added "You did do sort of a…" He paused to think. "Stan, how would you describe it?"
"A banshee scream? I dunno." He shrugged. After he placed his study guide on top of his textbook, he looked at me and said, "Look, I'm going to tell you what I told Kyle after that time Cartman tried to Holocaust-tattoo the numbers from LOST on his wrist. He likes it when people react to his antics. Maybe if you started being nice to him he'd die of shock and nobody will ever have to hear the phrase 'respect mah authoritah!' again."
I turned to Kyle. "If he told you that, why is Cartman still alive?"
"I have anger issues," he said as he wrote something down in his study guide. "No matter how much I try to act calm, it's only that much worse when I do lash out at him. Or at someone else."
"Remember when I broke my arm in sixth grade?" Stan asked. I nodded. "We never told anyone this, but Kyle decided to get back at Cartman for kidnapping Ike the week before. He set up a booby trap in his front doorway. What he didn't know was Cartman had stolen my copy of The Sims 3 and I went to his house to yell at the son of a bitch. So…" He made a crunching noise. "Until now, we've just been hoping karma'll rear its head by making all of his children have red hair."
We went through rest of the period in silence, other than the occasional "What did you get for number whatever?" or "Stan, you're doing it wrong." Then after I packed my things and copied down the homework assignment I turned to both of them and said "Okay. I'll do it."
"Sweet." Stan had the most mischievous grin on his face. If I said it wasn't reminiscent of everyone's favorite fatass, I'd be lying. "I never asked. How in the hell are you not suspended?"
"I'm wondering that myself." I pushed my desk back to where it previously was. "She gave me detention for two weeks. I'll obviously still be able to do study group but missing an hour of Debate's going to be a bitch."
"Ah, I'm sure you won't miss much." Kyle put his neck through the strap of his messenger bag. "Mr. Dixon probably won't even notice you're gone."
"True." It was a rare day our Debate adviser didn't fall asleep in the middle of watching us argue.
As the bell rang and students poured out of the classroom, Stan patted me on the back and said, "Good luck. And remember: be nice."
Cartman didn't show up for detention. Apparently he had convinced Principal Elizabeth to start his next week because he has football practice all week and a game in Conifer on Friday.
Fuck you, asshole, you're just going to use that excuse next week because it's Homecoming and you know she'll have to let you off the hook again.
On the bright side, at least I wouldn't have any distractions.
Wrong.
Wrong wrong.
Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.
With the exception of French, which I finish in class, I have to do my homework in order of what time I have it. I read the two chapters of Walden that were assigned so it was it was about half an hour before it dawned on me that Cartman had the APUSH homework. I asked Señor Adams if I could check to see if Mrs. Cooper was still here. He said no, but he'd do it.
Great.
I pulled out my iPhone. (My parents have a family plan. If it were up to me I'd have the most archaic phone imaginable. Or no phone at all. Maybe.) I didn't have his number so I couldn't leave him an angry voicemail like I so desperately wanted to do at that moment.
Bebe? No, she's at cheerleading practice.
Stan? Also at football.
Kyle?
Kyle Broflovski
What do we have to do for APUSH?
And now I wait.
I waited until Señor Adams came back, informed me that she had already left for the day and went back to grading quizzes with his giant headphones on to check again. Nothing. Shit.
Butters? His parents take away his phone when he's grounded.
Red? No, she had Physics that period.
Craig? He never did his homework.
Token? Guess where he was.
Tweek? He dropped it for Honors History the first week of class. He said something about too much pressure.
I was beginning to lose all hope until I felt a large hand thump the back of my head.
"Ho."
I turned around. "Cartman, I swear to God-"
"You'll what? Make a 1 on the exam?"
It took a second before it registered he had on every single piece of protective football gear imaginable, including his jockstrap which he had on over his shorts.
And at this point I don't know what came over me. I just started giggling like a twelve-year-old at a Justin Bieber concert.
"Ay!"
I had doubled over and tears were running down my face. I tried stopping, but it was no use. I'd look away and almost calm down enough to answer only I'd accidentally see the jockstrap again and erupt in another fit of laughter. It was probably the funniest thing I've ever seen.
To think he was so scared of getting his ass beat again…
"Well fine, bitch, if you don't want this makeup work I will gladly return to where I came from."
"No! No. I'm sorry. I just-" I was finally able to make a straight face. (Tip: If you ever want to stop laughing about something, always think of the starving kids in Africa. It worked for me about as instantly as Chipotlaway.) "Okay. Yes, I do need the work."
He reached through his helmet and put a hand on his chin as if he were pontificating. "You forgot to say the magic words."
Jesus Christ. "…Please and thank you?"
"No."
"Avada kedavra?"
"Quit trying to cast your evil hippie voodoo on me."
"You're one to talk about evil."
"You have to get down on your knees and say 'You, Eric Theodore Cartman, are the most awesomest and best looking guy around and could you please give me the work or else I'll die a death of not doing enough homework?'"
"'Awesomest' isn't even a word."
"I don't hear you saying it, hippie. I guess I'll just leave." He headed towards the door.
I checked my phone again. Still nothing. What the hell was I missing in Debate?
"FINE." I kneeled in front of him and said with my most overdramatic Scarlett O'Hara impression, "You, Eric Theodore Cartman, are the most awesome and best looking guy around and could you please, PLEEEEASE, give me the work or else I'll die a death of not doing enough homework?"
"Heheheheh. Pretty nice. You didn't say awesomest, though."
"So what, am I going to have to repeat it?"
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"Just give me the goddamn envelope!" I snatched it out of his hand before he had the chance to raise it out of my reach. He surprisingly didn't yell.
"Whatever. Have fun with Señor Skullcandy."
"Have fun with Pete, Georgie, and Dim, Fatass."
"Ay! Wait, what?"
"You've never seen A Clockwork Orange?"
"I've heard of it, but my interests do not include dumb art movies about gay cowboys eating pudding."
"One: it's not an art movie, and two: you're thinking of Brokeback Mountain." I thought about it for a second and added, "Well, I guess A Clockwork Orange is an art movie, but-"
"I lost interest in this conversation a long time before you started babbling about fruit." he walked out of the classroom, turned back around, tipped his helmet like as if it were a top hat and said "Good day to you, Testicleburger."
I rolled my eyes and immediately tore into the envelope. It consisted solely of a note from the teacher.
Wendy,
I talked to several students who said you were acting out of self-defense, therefore I am not assigning you anything other than your homework. Please read Chapters 12 and 13 and answer all of the essay questions at the end of the unit. I hope you feel better tomorrow.
(Scribbly teacher signature)
…Was this some trick of Cartman's to make me get a zero? And of course at that exact moment I heard my phone vibrate in my purse.
Kyle Broflovski
What do we have to do for APUSH?
Chapters 12 & 13 & all essay q's
Okay, so he wasn't lying about that. I quickly responded with
Did you by any chance see Cooper
give Cartman an envelope at the end of class?
I looked at the time. 3:45. I decided to read my textbook until Kyle answered.
Yeah
3:48.
I considered that the end of the conversation until:
Why didn't Stan tell me he was
taking you to Token's party?
Ten more minutes.
Uh, I don't know. Ask Stan.
Nine.
I heard it from Cartman
How the hell does Cartman know?
Eight.
Idk. I thought he was lying so I
thought I'd ask you about it
Seven.
Well if it's any consolation we're
only going as friends. Also he said
something about 'not wanting to
be alone' or whatever.
Six.
Cartman pretty much made it
out to be a big deal
What do you expect? It's Cartman.
Five.
He's going w/Sally
j;ldsfkgjflkgsdjfkl
Powder?
He's going with Powder?
JESUS TAPDANCING CHRIST.
He's totally making that up.
Four.
I thought so too till I asked Red
I never had any doubts she'd stoop
that low but I didn't think it would
be in high school.
Three.
What can I say? That where'll
do anything for coke
Whore*
Stupid autocorrect
Don't call Sally a whore, Kyle. It's
degrading to actual prostitutes.
LOL
Two.
I think I'm going to take a mental
health day and do something about
my hair. Could you please tell
Dixon I got sick in detention or
something?
Oh, and remember we're meeting at
Token's for study group at 7:00
instead of 6:00.
Will do (:
One.
I almost forgot. Did Cartman ever
say why he cut my hair?
Stan told me Cartman made him
be a woman in their skit so he
tried to make a wig or s/t
Ugh. That is so classic him.
I wanted to add "but he picked pretty much all the girls in the class besides Bebe and me" but it wouldn't be any use. As much as he never gives up or whatever it was I said earlier, the boy has some serious flaws in his logic.
The student parking lot is (unfortunately) adjacent to the football field. As I walked out to my car I could see Stan basically skipping towards me. It was no use to go any faster considering he he letters in indoor track when football season is over. Couldn't I just go find the nearest hair salon in peace?
"Hey."
"Hey yourself."
Awkward silence.
"So, uh, have you given any thought to what you want to do for Saturday?"
"Not really."
"I was thinking maybe Dr. Manhattan and Laurie Juspeczyk but then Fatass went and cut your hair…"
I swear to God I heard the faintest of "AY!"s coming from the football field.
"Your mom would never let you paint yourself blue."
"Yeah, I thought about that. If Kyle wasn't doing the whole Batman/Poison Ivy thing with Red we could have gone as Terrance and Ph-"
"Idea," I interrupted. "Why don't we just go as two separate characters?"
"Oh." Goddamn it, not that look again. "Yeah, that's cool. Anyway, I gotta get back before Coach McGuirk takes me aside and gives me a speech on… something." The expression on his face signified he had no idea what the topic of that speech would be. "I guess I'll see you at Token's." Defeated, he traipsed back to the football field, disappearing behind the bleachers.
Well, shit.
Bebe texted me while I was getting the rest of my hair chopped off. I told her where I was and she said she'd be there in five minutes.
The hairstylist was in the middle of blow drying when she waltzed through the door. Then, spotting me, she froze. Her purse made a weird clunk as it dropped on the tile.
"Oh my GOD!"
She then proceeded to run up, jerk me out of the chair and hug me like we hadn't seen each other in thirty years.
"It is so ADORABLE," she squealed as if she were in a pet shop. The hairstylist, a balding man in his mid-40s, was not amused.
"Okay, we get it, the hair's nice. Can I finish?"
As he began drying again I texted her about getting detention, Cartman showing up in all his protective gear and the conversation I had with Stan in the parking lot.
"He totally still loves you," she said as soon as the man clicked off the hairdryer.
"How can you be so sure?" I almost started to head out the door until I remembered I still had the apron on. "I mean, his mom's getting remarried, Shelly just moved back because she and Amir broke up and his best friend in the entire world spends all his time either studying or making out with his girlfriend. I doubt I'm the reason he's acting like this. And he knows I would hang out with him more if I weren't up to my elbows in homework and extracurriculars."
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the way out. I hadn't even looked the entire time I was there. My hair, although shorter than what I had hoped for, was actually not that bad. I reached in my purse, put my beret back on and linked arms with Bebe as we walked out onto the sidewalk.
"I just know these things, Wendy. I have Lovedar," she stated as if she were saying 'the sky is blue,' 'the grass is green' or 'Kyle's mom is a big fat bitch.'
I snorted. "You do not!"
"Yes I do!"
"Prove it, then." I stopped right in my tracks.
Bebe kept going for another two feet, then whipped around and said, "Kyle and Red."
"Okay. Anyone who knew them could have seen that."
"No. Anyone who knew Red could have seen that. Kyle never let anyone know how he felt until Clyde's birthday party. Not even Stan."
"Well, yeah. Stan doesn't exactly adapt to change very well. Shakey's before Token's?"
"Sure. I'm buying." We rounded the corner. "But the thing was, I knew. I could see him looking at her in the hallway between classes."
"It's kind of hard to not look at her considering her hair's the shade of a bleeding pumpkin," I said as we stopped at my Prius. As I pressed the unlock button on my keys I added, "And if you based your 'prediction' solely on that, then it isn't 'Lovedar' or whatever. It's your highly astute observational skills. Where did you park?"
"I didn't. Annie dropped me off on the way to gymnastics."
"Then where's your car?" I asked as I put my keys into the ignition.
"I told you in French. I'm getting new brake pads."
"Oh. I… completely forgot about that."
"Wanna borrow some of my observational skills?"
Instead of eating there, we decided to get a couple of pizzas for the study group. We ran into Kenny who, according to Bebe, had started working there a few days ago. I awkwardly stood and watched them flirt with each other until Kenny's supervisor yelled at him to get back in the kitchen.
As we sat back down on the vinyl-covered bench, I had to ask.
"Is there any guy between the ages of 16 and 35 you aren't attracted to?"
"Well… ugly guys." she laughed. After a few seconds of genuinely thinking about it she added in a hushed voice, "I guess Cartman, too, but only because he acts exactly the same as he did when he was eight." She saw the half-bemused, half-disgusted expression on my face and added "Okay. Hypothetical situation: I go to the club."
"And that you do-"
"I'm not finished," she said, ignoring my remark. "I go to the club, have a couple of cocktails and end up dancing with Cartman."
"Can we please change the subject?" I didn't want the mental image of my best friend grinding up against the only person I hate under a strobe light like I've seen her do a handful of times with other guys.
"No, no. Think about it. If I knew absolutely nothing about him or any of the things he's done or how fat he used to be… then yeah, I'd probably fuck him."
"EW!" I suddenly wasn't in the mood for pizza anymore, let alone any form of sustenance that could have been handed to me.
"Shh!" she clapped her hand over my mouth for a second, then sighed when she realized she was talking about the guy who had landed me in detention about five hours before. "Okay, fine, I'll talk about something else." she leaned back against the wall. "If Token doesn't make a move soon I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands."
Token is literally the only straight guy we know, single or taken, who shows or has shown no interest in her at all. So naturally Bebe wants him more than anything.
"I don't get why you're not taking it into your own hands this time."
"You see, Wendy, Token is special."
Oh, God, not the '(insert guy here) Is Special' speech again. She does that every time she's contemplating leaving the Republic Of One-Night Stands to travel abroad in Relationshipland. It happens about every three months. She'll meet a really gorgeous guy who she'll want to settle for and when she does have him, she gets bored after a week and dumps him to go back to clubhopping in Denver every other weekend. I pretty much drowned her out by texting Mom my plans for the night.
"Yeah, I'm listening."
Thankfully before she could get to the corny metaphors Kenny came out of the kitchen with two pizza boxes in his hand. He asked if he could help us carry it out to my car and I reminded him that women are perfectly capable of handling something as simple as pizza, thank you very much. Bebe rolled her eyes at me and apologized.
And that bitch didn't even help. She just spent the entire time giving him her digits as I placed the pizzas in the back seat, got in the car, put on my seatbelt, cranked the engine, and heard a loud thump as I backed out of my parking spot.
From what I can recall, Kenny had returned to work and a stray tabby had randomly run out in front of my back left tire. It died instantly, but that didn't mean I didn't cry. Actually, the word "cry" is probably an understatement.
The rest of my night was slightly better. Under all the duress I was (and still currently am) under, I had forgotten that it was my birthday. I don't like making a big deal out of it, either, but Bebe tries to do something for me no matter what my opinions on celebrating are. Last year she bought me Robin Hood on DVD and snuck a bottle of Bailey's from her parents' liquor cabinet. It was the first time I had ever thrown up from drinking. (On a school night, even.) This year she surreptitiously asked Token's personal chef to make me a vegan chocolate birthday cake and brought it out after we had finished discussing Thoreau's opinions on Utopia.
I think the reason why I hate birthdays so much is because it's so goddamn awkward when people sing "Happy Birthday." Like, what am I supposed to do? Just stand there until everyone finishes singing so I can blow out the candles and make a wish that probably won't come true?
With that being said, I wished for the genocide in Uganda to stop.
Then Bebe conjured a bottle of champagne from her purse and Stan made a really long toast about how great I am. It was one of the nicest things anyone's said about me, but standing there and listening to it was even more awkward than "Happy Birthday." I only had one glass, but Bebe had about five within a twenty-minute time frame and eventually started to hit on Token.
If she wasn't my best friend, it would have been hilarious. He was just standing there uncomfortably while she talked about how she'd like to "never go back" (her words, not mine). The slice of cake I ate pretty much soaked up that glass of champagne, so when Token looked over at me and mouthed the words "DO SOMETHING," I decided it was the time to take her home.
So I did. I've done this way too many times for her since i learned how to drive and she learned how to make fake IDs.
So now I'm home. I just now looked at the clock and I've been writing in this thing for three straight hours. It's technically Wednesday now so I'm changing the date and going back and putting everything as 'yesterday' instead of 'today.' It's one of the things I have to do or else it'll bother me. (I know that sounds like OCD, but it's not nearly that severe. It'll just annoy me to no ends and I'll end up in a horrible mood.)
Okay. I'm going to bed. If Cartman sneaks in and shaves my head during my sleep you'll be the first to know.
(Well, other than my parents. And the Sheriff's Department. And probably Cartman's mom.)
welp, that's it.
chapter two's going in another dimension; a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. a journey into a wondrous land of imagination: kenny's text messaging.
don't touch that dial.