I hate having class with him. I hate being distracted so damn much that my hands shake to the point where my name on my paper is an illegible scribble. I hate his cocky grin, whispering to his cocky friends; never glancing in my direction. Correction – he happens to look at me, it seems, at the moments I hate him the most. He sits two rows over from me in English class, directly horizontal. Jesus Christ, do you know how hard it is to not look at someone when they sit directly horizontal to you? My hand twitched again. I hated having to lie. I hated making up excuses to my mom about missing work, just so I could watch him play baseball. At the thought of work, my whole body gave a shudder. My dad was going to kill me if I missed another day. My shaking hand brushed the blonde hair out of my eyes; which, ever so quickly, glanced back to him. He looked bored; leaned as far back in his chair as possible, and tapping his pencil on the desk repeatedly. His eyes were half closed, as if he was daydreaming about somewhere far away from 4th period English. His eyes were a deep shade of blue, like the reflection of a storm in deep water. The teacher mumbled something about war's influence on literature, but I wasn't paying attention – I just stared over at him. His eyes, without warning, flicked in my direction, and narrowed with confusion and suspicion.
"Aughhh!" my practically leaped form my seat, jerking my head back in the direction of our aging teacher. That didn't matter; he'd already noticed that I'd been staring. Jesus Christ! No one turned to see what my outburst had been about, which I was sure was due to the fact that I had them so often. My whole body was shaking, and I moved my pencil around my desk, as if to act casual. I could feel his eyes on my though, sizing me up; burning into me. I hated his stupid glare. I hated how after class I was sure he'd beat me up for this. Most of all, though, I hated how much I loved him.
However, he didn't beat me up after class. In fact, Craig Tucker didn't even look my way for the next three days. Even in the lunch room, where I sit so close to him that my heart feels like its going to fly out of my chest - his eyes never even wandered to my side of the table, let alone me. I tried to avoid him as well. Tried, being the key word in the previous sentence. Somehow I'd always run into him, though; at the locker, walking into the classroom – he even stood behind me in the lunch line one day. Jesus Christ. Just thinking about him made me jumpy. My hands were shaking again, and I inhaled deeply to try and calm my nerves. My eyes focused on the board, where our teacher had written several equations, which I, in my thoughts of Craig, had failed to hear the significance of. I hated our junior science class. Not just because I had a bad grade in that particular course, or the fact that our teacher was a 60-some year old, balding man, who droned on forever, but simply because of the fact that science classes in general seemed to make me more fidgety than usual. As if on cue, I drummed my fingers hard on the desk. The steady tapping of my fingers, echoed through the quiet classroom, and awoke the blonde haired boy seated next to me.
"Mmmmnm nmnm…?" He mumbled sleepily, his speech completely unintelligible. He stretched his arms, and yawned loudly, which the teacher didn't seem to notice. After rubbing his eyes, and ruffling his already messed up hair – he turned to me.
"Oh, hey Tweek," He smiled, his eyes half open. His sudden acknowledgement of me took me by surprise.
"Augh-!" I started, my hand twitching slightly.
"Mr. McCormick, Mr. Tweak," The teacher started from the front of the room, "If you want to chit-chat, do it in the office." I nearly fell out of my chair. Kenny just smiled.
Needless to say, I was extremely happy when that class was over, partway because I narrowly missed having detention (thanks to Kenny). However, the fact that science was last period made up for my potential-reprimand, because of how quickly I was able to make it out of the school. I breathed a sigh of relief –something incredibly rare for me- the moment the doors swung shut behind me. School was just way too much pressure.
It was snowing outside, and I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck. My coat offered little comfort against the cold, considering I couldn't steady my hands long enough to fasten the buttons. The chill added to my constant shaking. It seemed to be unusually cold this afternoon. Lots of students rushed past me into the student parking lot; some laughing, some rushing to get the heck out of there as soon as possible. I noticed Craig among them; a terrible neutral expression pasted on his face, considering his best friend, Clyde Donovan, was laughing along side him. My stomach dropped, and I quickened my pace.
I didn't have a car. I didn't even have a license, for that matter. My parents both agreed that I wasn't ready to be behind the wheel of a vehicle, which was reinforced by the fact that I failed drivers training miserably. I didn't live far from the school, but walking, especially on a day like this, was a huge inconvenience. I couldn't help but think of last year, when Craig gave me a ride home everyday. The feeling returned in my stomach, and I quickly pushed the thought from my mind. The snow crunched dully as I rounded the corner of the street. I heard the roar of a car engine pull up behind me. The sudden noise startled me, and I swirled around quickly, almost losing my balance.
"Gah!" I shouted, jumping away from the car directly behind me. My heart was beating incredible fast. The car was a light green volkswagen beetle - a car I didn't recognize at all. The window closest to me rolled down, revealing a boy with dark hair, and a confused look on his face.
"Tweek? You need a ride?" Stan Marsh asked, leaning over to pull the handle on the passenger door. I was utterly confused as to why Stan Marsh was driving this car – expecially since his parents had bought him his own last year. I'd seen him drive to school in it several times, half the time with Kyle Broflovski in the passengers seat. However, Kyle was absent today.
I was about to reject his offer, when a particularly cold blast of wind blew between the car and I.
"Aughh – uhm, sure." I said shakily, sliding into the passenger's seat next to Stan. "Thanks."
"Dude, no problem." He replied, pulling the beetle back onto the road. The car smelled strongly of perfume, which confused me even more. Stan must have noticed my confusion.
"Ugh, I hate driving Shelly's car." He said bitterly, a furious look on his face. I didn't know exactly how to respond to him, so I tired to picture Stan's sister. I didn't get very far, considering I hadn't seen her at all since she left for college. "She just comes back out of the blue, grabs my keys, and leaves again." He continued angrily. His voice rose, mocking his older sister.
"I'm going on a trip, turd, and I need a car that can fit my friends!" He imitated. My hand was twitching, and I nodded a couple times to show I was paying attention.
"Now I'm stuck driving around this stupid thing," He mumbled, hitting the steering wheel for good measure. He sighed, and shrugged. "It's really cold out today."
"Y-yeah," I agreed, glad to be off a topic that angered Stan.
"So how come you were walking, dude? I mean, doesn't Craig usually drive you?" The moment the words left Stan's lips, the knotting feeling in my stomach returned. My hands were violently shaking now, and my mind raced to find a response.
"Erg – augh – yes, he was," I was so nervous that I was literally hopping up in down in my seat. Stan raised his eyebrows at my violent reaction to his statement.
"… okay." He said simply, pulling down my road. When he finally reached the drive, I nearly tore the handle off the car trying to get out. The cold wind hit my face the moment I opened the door. Jesus Christ, what was wrong with me? I turned quickly to Stan.
"T-Thanks." I stumbled.
"Yeah, sure." He said. He didn't seem that affected by the awkward conversation only minutes previously, and slowly backed out of my driveway. Unlike before, Craig stayed firmly in my mind, and the sinking feeling in my stomach was replaced by butterflies. The kind of butterflies you get when you're completely and hopelessly infatuated with someone. Damn.