Chapter 1

Chapter Track: When the Day Met the Night- Panic! At the Disco

"I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea to go into honors English in my junior year. Why the hell didn't anyone stop me? I always thought everyone was being dramatic when they said junior year was going to be the hardest, but now I realize they were right. Not only do I have an essay due on Monday, which is only a week before my first SAT, but Mrs. Dicklick also assigned us a poetry project due on Monday." Craig sighs, rubbing a hand through his dark hair. He lets his gaze drop, toying with a loose thread coming from a rip in the knees of his jeans.

"That was mean. Mrs Dixon isn't a dick, she just sucks at planning. Plus, it's not like it's her job to pay attention to the SATs. But, she did assign us partners. That's not even the worst of it: I got assigned to Kenny McCormicklight." He looks up in exasperation, his gray eyes widened slightly for emphasis.

"Can you believe that! Kenny. Out of everyone in my class, I got assigned to Kenny. Kenny shows up late every single morning to homeroom, smelling like the cheap cigarettes he smokes all the time. Not to mention the fact that the things that come out of his mouth are barely intelligible because of that dumb fucking bandana he wears. And he's always dicking around in class with his dumbass friends.. He's so irresponsible, I wouldn't be surprised if I had to do the whole fucking thing on my own. I would have taken anyone else for fucks sake. Even Kyle holier-than-thou Broflovski. At least with him I wouldn't be guaranteed fail." Fiddling with the left arm of his glasses, Craig rubs the piercing in his tongue over the roof of his mouth, trying to think of what else to say.

"But, I fucking suck at writing poetry. Thank god it's only part of the unit. Reading it is fine, I can do that well enough. But I'm totally fucked if I have to write any of my own shit. I just hope-"

"Craig! Mom says to stop talking to yourself and come downstairs! You're going to be late for school if you don't leave soon!"

"Fuck, Ruby, shut the hell up! I'll be down in a minute!" Craig shouts back, rolling his eyes. His gaze slides back to his old video camera, which he watches for a moment before speaking once more. "I guess I have to go now. Over and out." He has it propped up on a stack of textbooks and boxes, due to the fact that he doesn't have the money to afford any proper equipment for the poor thing. He slides his glasses back over his eyes and reaches forward, clicking the record button. The weak red light stops blinking and Craig saves the video to his memory card, popping it out of the slot and slipping it into an old Nintendo game case. Then jams the case into an empty guitar case and stashes it at the back of his closet, behind some of his baseball equipment. He can't have anyone finding this. If anyone were to see his video diaries he thinks he'd drop dead.

Pulling his hat on over his black hair, he glances at himself in the full-length mirror beside his bed for a moment. Worn out black Vans, rumpled and ripped jeans, a faded yellow t-shirt, gray sweatshirt, angled face, thin lips, long nose, sunken eyes. He scowls. Jogging down the rickety attic stairs and out the front door, he grunts a curt goodbye to his family before heading off. He lets the cool October air wash over him, sinking through his sweatshirt and jeans. He always walks to school. He finds it kind of calming. It's the time of day when things aren't really awake yet, no one's around him, it's cool out, no one's around him, the sun hasn't fully risen yet, no one's around him. It's his peaceful interlude between the craziness of his house and the craziness of school.

Craig was never much of a people person, so being in school has always been hard for him. He has a small, close-knit group of friends and that's more than enough for him. His best friends, Clyde and Token, have always been good with people, but not Craig. Craig always enjoyed his own company. Nice and boring, exactly the way he likes it to be. Crowds give him a lot of anxiety, though he'd never in a million years admit this to anyone. Well, anyone but his camera.

Pushing past the front doors, he shoves his way to his locker and spins the lock, searching the crowd for his friends. They usually meet up before they head to their home rooms, but they might be running late. Since Token recently got his license everyone has been mooching rides off him, so he usually drives them all in; but Clyde has a tendency to sleep through his alarm, making them both late. Oh well, it's not like he'll never get to see them. He slams his locker and proceeds through the rest of his morning, meeting up with Clyde in first period then Token and Tweek in fourth. He walks with Jimmy to English, dreading every moment of it. He complains the whole way to Jimmy's American History class, where his friend offers an encouraging smile before leaving.

"Goddammit.." Craig mutters, his shoulders sagging as he looks down the hall to his class.

Today is the day they're supposed to use to write a rough draft of their poem, which means Craig will have to spend some of his valuable time with Kenny McCormick. A deep frown forms on Craig's face, his eyes darkening as his fingers tighten around the straps of his backpack. He slides into his seat in the back of the classroom noiselessly, tucking his face into the fabric of his sweatshirt. He doesn't want to do this. Not only does he suck at writing poetry, but he sucks at talking to people. Anyone outside of his immediate friend group is an issue for him, which makes group projects like this literal hell. The bell rings loudly in Craig's ears and everyone quiets down, settling into their desks and pulling out their supplies.

"Okay everyone!" Mrs. Dixon says cheerily, clapping her hands together. She was a pretty fun teacher; at least, before she assigned this project. She's kind of a hippie, always wearing skirts that sweep all the way to the floor and talking in a soft little voice. Craig raises his head slightly to listen to her, laying his cheek on his arm. "Time to meet up with your partners. Today is the only class day you will get to use for this project; everything else is to be done on your free time. Feel free to move around the room." With that, she offers everyone a smile before turning back to her desk, leaving her students to roam freely around the classroom.

Craig isn't moving. Kenny can get his ass up and come to Craig. The raven buries his face back into the cozy sleeves of his sweatshirt, closing his eyes to try and block out some of the chatter already beginning to circulate around him.

A hesitant tap on his shoulder makes him jump slightly.

"Uh, hi," Kenny says, his words muffled by the bandana he uses to cover his face. Craig allows his eyes to wander over his new partner, taking in everything about his appearance; stark blue eyes, freckles dusted over the bridge of a crooked nose, brown bandana stretched across pale cheeks, orange hooded sweatshirt, the hint of a gray shirt laying just below his collarbone, jeans with numerous stains and rips in them, and a pair of grungy white Converse. Kenny shifts under his glassy gaze, feeling as though he's under a spotlight. Sighing, Craig lifts his head from his arms fully and sits up, offering a short grunt in greeting to the blonde. He doesn't want to do this, and he certainly doesn't want to do it with Kenny McCormick.

Kenny pulls a spare desk closer to Craig's, sliding into the seat and placing his backpack at his feet before he begins to pull his books from inside. Craig watches intently, his head cocked slightly to the side.

"So, uh.. You got any ideas about what our poem should be about..?" Kenny asks softly, his voice hesitant. Craig shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck to massage away the crick.

"I'm not a poet."

"Really?" Kenny asks, baffled. Craig quirks an eyebrow in question. A mischievous smile grows on the blonde's face, the crinkles around his eyes giving it away immediately. "You look the part. Thick black glasses, bags under the eyes, 'Woe is me' attitude-"

"Fuck you. At least I don't look like some street rat." Craig spits, rolling his eyes. Kenny's grin disappears just as quickly as it came.

"God, what the hell is your problem?" He hisses, folding his arms over his chest. "I was just joking around, shit. You don't have to be so serious all the time, you know." He looks down for a moment, dirty nails picking at a hole in his jeans near his knee. "And I don't look like a street rat, asswipe. I don't get your damage with me. 'S not like I do anything to you."

"No, but your Neanderthal friends do. And you just stand by and fucking watch." Kenny's expression softens slightly as he hears this, and Craig shrinks in his seat, arms folded across his chest. Way the hell was he thinking? What does yelling at Kenny accomplish? Nothing. Fucking nothing. It sure as hell doesn't stop what's happening to him, and it sure as hell won't make Kenny want to help him. Craig scoffs under his breath. Yeah. Like he'd ever want Kenny's help.

"Let's just get this the fuck over with, okay? I need a good grade on this project, with or without you." Kenny pauses for a moment, unsure if he should just brush away what Craig had just said.

The look Craig gives him tells him he should. He clears his throat, opening to a new page in his notebook.

"So, what would you want to write about?"

"I don't know. Like I said, I'm no poet. I don't like to write at all, actually." Craig says quietly, keeping his eyes trained on his desk. Kenny falls silent for a moment in thought.

"Well, what do you like? What are some of your hobbies?" Craig scrolls through his small list of likes and dislikes, rolling a few around in his mind before he decides that he can't decide on one that would be fitting for this situation. He shrugs, leaning on his fist

"Okay..." Kenny scribbles in his notebook, his handwriting loopy and tight. Craig cranes his neck to see, and Kenny slides it away from him. The raven's brows pull together, his nose wrinkling. Probably just porn or something stupid like that in that book. He sighs, shaking his head.

"I'm really not good at this sort of thing, dude." He says again, feeling like a broken record. He finds himself saying that sort of thing all the time nowadays. Kenny glances up at him once again, his gaze pleading. Craig rolls his eyes. "..Does it have to rhyme?"

"Not if we don't want it to."

"Good. Rhyming is for dicks." Kenny cracks a small smile, leaning into the aisle between the desks to get closer to Craig. The rest of class is spent with them talking, trying to figure out what to write about, though they never actually write anything. They agree to meet at Craig's house to keep working at it (because Kenny won't just do the damn project alone, even though Craig's help would probably bring the grade down anyway). Craig keeps his eyes glued to Kenny's notebook, and every time Kenny notices him staring he covers more and more of the thing.

"What the fuck is in there that you're so fucking protective of?" Craig finally asks, feeling frustrated as Kenny once again yanks it just out of his view. The blonde laughs, slapping the cover closed just as the bell rings.

"Write me a poem by the time I get to your place and you'll find out." He says, shouldering his backpack and walking out of the room. Craig feels dumbfounded, almost like he got smacked in the face.

...it's just a notebook, right?

Shit. Now Craig has to write a poem.

Craig decides that he hates poetry. He hates his room, he hates us desk, he hates his computer, and he sure as fucking hell hates the little blue line that won't stop blinking at him on the screen. He groans, slamming his laptop closed and stalking over to his bed. He's been trying this for two hours now, and he still has nothing. Kenny is supposed to show up in an hour, and he has nothing. Nothing won't get him a look into Kenny's mysterious Gray Notebook.

And now he has to look in that fucking notebook or he's going to explode.

Flopping onto his bed, Craig closes his eyes for a moment, clearing his mind. It's okay. He can do this. He's gotten this far, right? That's gotta count for something. He's also pretty sure Kenny was mumbling about what he does when he needs to get something done for school. Something about actually physically writing instead of doing it on a computer, and how that feels ten times more fulfilling or something dumb like that.

Whatever. Craig will try anything at this point.

He rummages through his backpack for a moment before pulling out his English notebook and flipping to a new page, propping it up on his pillow as he searches for a pen as well. He stares at it for a moment, blinking as though the words will just magically appear on the pages. Glaring, he lays back on his bed, staring at the little stars peppered all over his ceiling. He remembered how hard it was to get the tiny things up there. He'd saved his allowance for weeks to buy enough to cover his whole ceiling, and Tweek and Token had to help put them up. They took turns standing on each other's shoulders to reach, and after a few falls they were up. They still glow in the dark, despite being there since Craig was a little kid.

Craig loves stars. He loves space in general, actually, and he has since he could remember. Maybe he could write about that?

Sighing, he pulls the notebook back and flips onto his stomach, leaning his hand on his fist as he tries to concentrate.

By the time Kenny actually gets to Craig's, the raven has a short little thing written down. He's not even sure if Kenny will count it; it's only five lines long. But, he did put a lot of effort into doing it. Hopefully it'll be enough. Feeling hesitant, Craig pulls open his front door to a seemingly excited Kenny.

"What's got you so happy?" Craig mutters, nodding towards the stairs. Kenny steps inside, wiping his sneakers on the mat.

"No mere mortal has ever entered the Tucker house and lived." Kenny answers simply, shrugging. Craig rolls his eyes. "Whatda'ya got for me, Tucker?" Kenny asks, the grin visible on his face as he follows Craig up to his bedroom. Craig figured it would be better for them to work up there, since his family would be getting home from Ruby's cross country meet any moment. The last thing Craig needs is to be embarrassed. Or worse.

Craig sits on the floor in front of his bed and rubs at the back of his neck, pulling his notebook off his pillow. "It's stupid.." He starts, chewing on the inside of his lip and toying with the spine of the notebook. Kenny shakes his head, pulling the book away from the raven. "Hey, don't-" Kenny pulls his bandana away from his mouth and begins, his voice light and clear. Craig cringes.

"The Stars hold the truth

To each of humanity's questions.

They spell them out in pictures and shapes

Each dancing across the night sky.

We just don't speak their language."

The blonde blinks and looks down at Craig. "This is, like, really good, dude." He says, grinning widely. "I didn't know you had it in you." Craig keeps his eyes trained to the floor as blush floods his cheeks, creeping over his ears and down his neck as well.

"It- um.." He clears his throat, picking at his nail. "It wasn't as hard as I thought it was. I wrote it in like five minutes..."

"You're a really shitty liar, but this is still really good." Kenny says, a joking tone in his voice; Craig can't help the tiny smile that pulls at his lips. "We could use something like this if you want. It'll be easier to write about something you like."

"Ugh, no. I don't wanna be a cliche, asshole. There are way too many poems about space and shit like that."

"Okay." Kenny says, moving to sit down next to Craig. "Then what do you suggest we write about?"

"I don't know. What do you like?"

"Music, painting, movies.. Lots of stuff."

"What about movies, then? I love movies." Craig proposes, pulling his notebook out of Kenny's hands once the blonde agrees. "And you told me I could see your stupid book if I wrote this goddamn thing, so pay up McCormick. Hand it over." Kenny seems stricken by this, as though he'd forgotten about their deal.

"Goddammit.." He mutters, reaching to retrieve his backpack.

Fucking finally. This is exactly what Craig had wanted, what Craig had worked for over the past few hours. He can't help the devious smile that pulls over his face as Kenny produces the mysterious Gray Notebook and holds it against his chest. Craig reaches for it, and Kenny jerks it away from him.

"What?" Craig asks, impatient. Kenny pleads with him silently, his eyes begging for something that Craig can't understand. "What is it, asshole?"

"Just.." The blonde pulls in a deep breath, preparing himself to speak. He looks like he expects Craig to punch him. "I'm not actually going to show you what's in this... I was never really going to show you."

"..what? Why the hell not?"

"I never thought you'd actually do what I told you to, let alone that you'd still want to read it!" Kenny says, standing. Craig's eyes flare and he sucks air into his lungs through tight lips; he can't believe he fucking fell for that bullshit.

Then again, it's just a notebook. It might have something in it that Kenny doesn't want everyone to see. If someone found Craig's collection of flash drives, the ones containing all his video diaries, he would feel the same way. He's been making those things since he was nine, which would mean he has about seven or so years of his deepest thoughts and feelings on them. If someone were to watch them without his permission- which no one on the face of the earth has- he'd have to throw himself off a cliff somewhere.

"Fine. Let's just get this stupid fucking project done." He says, his tone back to its usual monotone. Kenny seems relieved.

"Perfect." The blonde says, his grin returning as he tucks the book back into his backpack. "And, thanks."

"If you mention this to anyone, I'll rip your balls off and give them to your little sister as a gift."

"Jeez, touchy. Fine, I won't tell anyone that you actually do have a heart, tin man."

By the time Kenny says he has to leave, they've essentially completed the project. Craig said he'd edit it on his computer and print it out, so that he can bring it in on Monday morning. The sooner this stupid thing is out of his life, the better. He figured he'd drop it off before homeroom. He spends a bit of time typing it before pushing it away, the light burning into his eyes. At least it's Friday, so he won't have to get up early in the morning.

He feels the familiar feeling deep in his chest, like a string tugging him through a dense crowd. He wants to talk. He gets this way after stressful days. Cracking his knuckles, he begins to set up his camera in its usual spot, perched beside his bed on the nightstand. He balances it on a stack of books, clicking in the memory card after retrieving it from his closet. Perfect. Right where it's supposed to be.

Smiling, he stares at the blinking red light as he begins to speak.

"Hi again," he starts, his tone relaxed and comfortable. Doing this has always makes him feel better, like finally getting to the safety of your home in a rainstorm. "It's almost one o'clock in the morning, but i've never woken anyone doing this. I figured it was okay. I never really understood how the whole rest of my family are morning people, especially when there's so much more to do at night.." He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. He feels like he's done that a lot today.

"It turns out that working with Kenny wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be, even if he was a total asshole and lied about the notebook thing. I guess it made me work, and it got the project done. So it's not all bad. And, as it turns out, I actually really like what we wrote about. I'm excited to turn it in and see how well we do." He turns to glance at the clock, yawning. He slides his glasses off his eyes and pulls his hat off as well, setting them both on the night stand beside his camera. "I guess I've gotta go now, but it was pretty nice talking. Even if it was only for a few minutes. Over and out." Craig reaches forward, clicking the record button and watching as the light slowly stops blinking.

Now that he's done that, he feels like the day has truly concluded. He makes video diaries every day; getting everything off his mind helps him fall asleep. Though, for some reason, he can't seem to stop thinking about what's in Kenny's notebook that he was so sensitive about. The raven shrugs to himself, pulling his pants and shirt off and slipping under his covers. He's so tired he's asleep before his head even hits the pillow.