Chapter 1: The Nervous First Day
Chapter Track: Waving Through a Window from DEAR EVAN HANSEN
I know it's creepy to stare at people. I know, okay. I get it, believe me- I have enough people staring at me that I know this fact better than any other fact in the entire expanse of the known universe, and probably beyond that as well. I mean, I'd stare at me too, I guess. I'm tall, thin, gawky, and clumsy as shit to boot. Plus, I wear these perfectly round, tortoise-shell glasses that make my eyes so big they look like they're gonna pop out of my head. And my hands, Jesus. Where do I even start with them. I always pick at them, so they're covered in a crap-ton of pastel bandaids. Not to mention the long, bright yellow rat's nest on top of my head that I happen to call hair. I can barely manage to get it into a ponytail each day, but if I wore it any shorter it would be worse to take care of; it would stick out from all angles, and I would be powerless tame it. Lately I've taken to using pins and clips to keep it out of my face, but it looks sloppy and unpracticed. Which, it is, but I don't like looking like that.
So, considering all of this, I should know not to stare at people, right..? But sometimes I can't help it.
Especially when who I'm staring at is so beautiful.
And I mean that, when I say that he's beautiful. And I don't throw that word around much anymore. But he is. He's fairly tall, about six foot two or so; I'm not really very good at guessing that sort of thing. He's got dark hair, but he mostly hides it under his hat. He's worn this same stupid hat since he was a kid, and it's this dusty blue color with a yellow pompom on the top of it. And, God, his face. It looks like it was sculpted out of clay, made specifically to grace the concert stages of the world. It would look even better if he were to smile once in a while, but that's beside the point I guess. He only smiles sometimes, when he gets lost in his own head on stage. It's like the music melts into him and he completely disappears, like he's not even on this planet anymore. Even then it's a tiny little smile, like he doesn't realize he's even doing it. Come to think of it, he probably doesn't.
Who am I describing, you I might ask? His name is Craig Tucker, and he's a member in this band that's kind of blowing up everywhere now. I know him well. Or, I used to, at least. I knew everyone where I grew up, and everyone knew me. Now, in my fancy new adult-ish life, no one knows me. No one cares to know me.
..I'm not sure which situation I prefer.
Someone bumps into my shoulder and I snap out of my own head, jerking around to keep the tray of coffee I had in my hands balanced and off the pavement. Great. Just when I fucking thought I had gotten away from the stuff, I'm thrust into a job where one of my only responsibilities so far is getting people's coffee orders right. Then again, I am pretty new here. It's the first day of the tour, and the first tour I'm on, so Token doesn't really have me doing much else yet. I probably shouldn't refer to him so casually, right? I mean, he is sort of my boss.
…He's totally my boss. But I do know him for, like, my whole life, and he did say that I didn't have to call him Mr. Black like everyone else does... Sighing, I grip the tray - with both hands this time - before continuing on my way to the snack table, grabbing a few of Token's favorite muffins before heading back towards the trailers we have set up behind the concert hall we happen to be at this week.
A lot of this is totally new to me. I can tell that Token gave me this personal assistant job out of what I assume to be pity, but it's a job nonetheless. See, when I left my tiny home town of South Park after high school, I thought I'd be pretty okay. My school gave me a good scholarship, I had financial aid to cover the a good amount of the rest and a small loan for the leftovers. I worked whenever I wasn't in school to pay it off and pay for anything else I may have needed, like medical things, clothes, books. That kind of thing. My parents were no help; I haven't spoken to either of them since the day I graduated high school, and even then it was fleeting. Meaningless. The situation I had worked out with my school wasn't too bad, until I graduated college as well- then I was left with no job, no housing, no friends and no money. I was about to go crawling back to South Park, when I randomly met Token in a deli I happened to stop at while I was on the road. That's when he offered me a job as his personal assistant on tour with the band he manages, which would have solved literally every problem I had at the time. I'd have been an idiot to say no, and thank fuck I didn't. Token and I were friends through elementary school and high school, but I kind of dropped off the face of the earth after I left town. I had to leave everything behind- my phone, my laptop, my clothes... My everything. With that went all my friends.
And, who could've guessed I'd be lucky enough that the band that Token happened to manage was Holocene, one that was showing up everywhere lately. It also happened to be made up of all my other friends from South Park: Clyde Donovan, Stan Marsh, Kenny McCormick, and Eric Cartman. Well, I wouldn't call Cartman my friend; he kind of bullied me throughout grade school, but he did that to everyone. Not only that, but Kyle Broflovski is their stage director, and Butters Stotch handles sound management. And there's one more person in the band itself, the one I've been staring at all day while assisting Token while the band was doing sound checks and rehearsals.
Craig Tucker.
Luckily, Token has kept me busy enough that I haven't had to actually talk to any of them, let alone Craig. Like I said, it's my first day, and I'm not entirely sure I want to talk to them yet. They've been at this for three years or so now, and this is the first tour I've been on; there's bound to be questions, questions that I'd rather not answer right now. Or ever. Never answering them would be best, but I know I'll have to do it eventually. I'm not even sure if they know I'm here, though I'm sure Token would have told them by now. I just know that they're busy enough that no one has come looking for me yet. My plan is to avoid them for as long as I can and cross the bridge when I get to it.
I jog back toward the trailer that everyone calls the office, which is set up alongside all the busses and vans we need for carting all our equipment back and forth between shows. There's two busses for the band, two busses for the crew, one large truck for the equipment and the office trailer. I knock once before I walk in, holding my folder between my lips as I balance the muffins and coffees in one hand to open the door.
That's when I notice there's more than one voice coming from the back. In fact, there's a few voices. And I still recognize every single one of them, too. A cold panic washes over my body as the door swings shut behind me, knocking me a few steps inside. The voices slow to a stop for a beat before I see four pairs of eyes turn to me, and I feel the panic take hold of my chest with an iron grip.
"Sweet, you're back." Token says warmly, standing up from his desk and pulling up the sleeves of his mustard colored cashmere sweater as he takes a few steps towards me. They're all staring at me with a mix of confusion and anger, though I think that the anger isn't really directed at me; they seemed pretty heated when I got in here. I say nothing, dumbly staring back at the other three people as Token strides over, like there's nothing wrong. He removes the tray of coffees from my grip and eyes the papers still between my teeth, his eyes glazing over them quickly. "And you remembered to grab the forms from Jasmine, perfect." He adds, taking those as well. Without anything left to do, I force myself to look down at my shoes, my stomach doing flips.
I know these people. I'd remember them in a hundred years, when we're all old and crusty and decrepit. No matter what, I always seem to remember people.
Token walks back over them with a glance at me over his shoulder, gesturing for me to follow him. Wringing my hands, I reluctantly join him at the desk, my eyes down the whole time. His desk is at the very back of the trailer, overflowing with things but impeccably neat. There's a small desk running perpendicularly to his, which he has told me is mine. I haven't had a chance to put anything on it that he hasn't given me- so it's pretty bare.
God, i could recognize these people from a thousand miles away. They look pretty good, more grown up in a lot of ways. Kyle's frizzy hair isn't hidden under a green hat any longer. He wears it longer on top than he used to, and his curls are now controlled and styled by what seems like a lot of gel. He's wearing a crisp set of dark blue jeans and soft leather shoes, with a pale green button-down shirt. He seemed to grow into his frame, filled out a little bit- in high school he looked a lot like me, though he was kind of short. The person standing beside him, Stan Marsh, doesn't look to bad either. While he still wears his hat his hair is no longer visible from under it; in school he wore it pretty long, almost to his shoulders. He seems to have filled out as well. Actually, he's more than filled out. He's outright buff, and there's a little bit of stubble on his chin. He's in a plain t-shirt and jeans, with worn out vans on his feet. A few tattoos peak out from under his sweatshirt, which he's rolled to his elbows. Where Kyle is sharp and pointed, Stan is soft and rounded. They're like perfect opposites, but they never go anywhere without each other. And Cartman- Jesus Christ, where the hell do I start. It looks like he got taller, and with that got fatter as well. The acne that dotted his face in school is now gone, and the hat he used to wear is absent as well. His hair is shaggy and unkempt, but clean, just like the clothes he's wearing. I blink at where he's lounged on the couch we keep in here, his legs stretched over it like he owns the place He's stuffing barbecue chips into his mouth, and there's crumbs on his chest below the bag. He doesn't seem to mind.
They all eye me suspiciously as I walk past them, my eyes on the ground. I slide into the leather seat beside Token, setting my messenger bag beside me in silence. Token does the same, taking a sip of his latte before returning his attention to the other three people in the trailer, quirking an eyebrow at them.
"Now, Kyle, What were you yelling about?" Kyle folds his arms over his chest and sinks into his right hip, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.
"I wasn't yelling. I was just talking strongly about how Eric keeps-"
"It's Cartman to you, Jew," the brunette pipes up from the couch, glaring at the redhead.
"Eric," Kyle hisses at him, leaning over. "Won't listen to anything I say. He does the opposite, in fact. I'm the stage director, he has to listen to me for a fucking reason. I'm not just there.."
While they continue speaking i pull my new laptop from my bag and set it down, trying to be as invisible as possible. Though, I feel a pair of eyes on me as I do so. When I look up I see Stan staring at me from over Kyle's shoulder, his expression unreadable. Something tells me he's just here because Kyle is, not because he has an issue of some kind. My eyes flicker back down to my hands and I fold them into my lap, swallowing the growing lump of nervousness in my throat.
There's a lull in the argument, and that when Stan decides to ruin my whole plan.
"Tweek..?" He asks softly, his eyebrows crinkled and a hand pressed thoughtfully into his chin. I tense, and feel everyone's eyes shift back to me. Token clears his throat.
"Uh, yeah. He's my assistant now." Token tells them, glancing over at me. Traitor. He knew my plan from the start. I didn't really tell him, but.. By the way I had acted when he mentioned everyone from South Park I would've thought he wouldn't say anything to anyone. I doubt they actually remember much of me, anyway. I was always pretty invisible, always attached to Craig's side like the little leech I was.
"Oh, sweet dude!" Stan says excitedly, a huge grin stretching over his face. "You were so much fun in school. Where the hell did you disappear to?"
"Oh, you're that twitchy kid, right? Dad owned the coffee shop, mom was the resident crazy?" Cartman asks, the tone in his voice suggesting that he doesn't want an answer. I narrow my eyes slightly at him and press my lips into a thin line, though it clearly goes unnoticed. He spreads the bags of chips with two fingers and peers inside, dumping the crumbs into his mouth before crumpling the bag and tossing it towards the trash can beside my desk. I yelp and jump up, skittering to stand behind Token. Cartman smirks. "Yep, just as jumpy as I remember." Stan swats at his shoulder, narrowing his eyes before returning to me with a warm grin. It puts me at ease a little bit, knowing that someone other than Token has my back here. Stan was always that person in the grade, looking out for everyone and stuff like that. I give him a timid grin, adjusting my glasses a bit out of nervous habit.
"Don't be such an asshole, Cartman. And don't distract Token from the issue at hand." Kyle says, his voice severe as he takes a step closer to Token's desk. "He needs so stop being so disruptive during rehearsals, dude. He's messing everyone up. And we're on a tight schedule today. We have another sound check at two then rehearsal at three, not to mention the meet and greet. It begins at five, and people are already lining up for it." Kyle shifts his attention to me and I shrink back slightly, wringing my hands together under his gaze. "While it's awesome to see you again, Tweek, right now isn't the best time to reminisce."
I shake my head and hold up my hands. "N-Not a problem. Get on with what you have to do, d-don't let me stop you." Kyle's face transforms, a bright smile replacing the almost pouty frown he was wearing moments before.
"Finally, someone who agrees with me." He says triumphantly, turning on his heel and heading for the door. Stan automatically follows, giving me a wave and a declaration that we have to hang out after the show ends. Cartman begrudgingly shoves off the couch as well, but Token stops him before he can go anywhere.
"Tweek, can you do me a favor?" Token asks, leaning back in his seat to look up at me. He rummages through a door in his desk for a moment before producing a stack of papers contained in an orange manila folder, holding them out for me. "I need you to run these to the security office, it should be just inside the stage B door. They need to sign them to confirm that each meet and greet will be full security events. Make absolutely sure they know there's one today, two tomorrow and one more on Friday." He says, slowly and carefully. I make sure to absorb what he says, holding the stack to my chest. He smiles before turning back to Cartman, his expression tired. I leave before I can hear what they're saying.
Once I'm outside in the cool air I can feel my chest unravel, and I can breathe once more. God, this is going to be way worse than I thought, isn't it? I should've known; I'm usually wrong about things like this. I knew it wasn't going to be a walk in the park, seeing everyone again, but I seriously felt like I was going to implode or something in there. Starting down the stairs, I scan the parking lot before actually going anywhere, not wanting to unexpectedly run into anyone else. I just hope no one is just out wandering around like I was. It seemed like Kyle had them on a pretty tight schedule, but mishaps happen. Just like this- I had no fucking idea they'd be in there when I got back. I probably would've hid until they left or something, watched the trailer from a safe distance or just walked back to linger at the snack table.
I know it's bad that I don't want to see them, but I'm not ready to. I've had bad anxiety for as long as I can remember, since I was a little kid. Plus, I'm prone to panic attacks which stemmed from my anxiety and developed into a complete panic disorder, not to mention all the other things that were probably wrong with me but went undiagnosed. And it was all made worse by my parents, who gave me coffee constantly as a kid. I try to stay away from the stuff as much as I can, by drinking tea and chewing gum and stuff, but it's like a drug to me. In fact, I'm going to grab myself a cup right now to calm the hell down.
Tucking Token's folder under my arm, I walk back towards the snack table and prepare myself a piping cup of black coffee before heading towards the back door of stage B, finding the security office rather easily. I tell her everything Token told me to, and the head of security takes them back to her desk cheerily. I linger in the doorway as she reads over the papers and signs them for me, looking around the room and sipping from my coffee cup as I lose myself in thought.
It's nice to be back on my feet a little bit, to have a semi-clear path laid out in front of me. Lately my future has been very hazy and unsure, and I hate feeling like that. It was easier for me when I was in school, mostly because of how structured everything was. I woke up, went to school, came home. It's jarring to do something your whole life only to wake up and have it gone one day.
It's happened to me more than once, and it's less and less fun each time it happens.
This job means more to me than anyone could know. It's given my life a structure once again, and because I'm working with Token he makes everything easy for me. It's given my life somewhere to go and it gives me something to do, something to look forward to. Not to mention the fact that I'll get to see the country. I've never really been out of Colorado my whole life; my family didn't go on vacations, and I've never had a reason to go anywhere else. Im excited to see where else we're going to go.
The head of security is done in a few minutes and hands me back the stack of paperwork with a smile, reassuring me that everything Token requested will happen without a hitch. I thank her before heading back for the trailer, passing Cartman on the way. He thankfully says nothing; I'm not even positive he saw me, which is a relief in itself. He's the one I've wanted to avoid the most. He's not the nicest person to begin with, and he's always picked on me. Well, everyone kind of picked on me when I was younger. I was more of a basket case then, believe it or not. I just to pull chunks of hair out my my head, I couldn't dress myself for the life of me, and I twitched so much I was almost vibrating; I'd make fun of me, too. But Cartman always took it to a different level than everyone else around me, and I couldn't really do anything to stop him.
In all honesty, the rest of the guys weren't get so bad to me. I'd consider them my friends, and I like to think that they did to; and I'm probably not wrong, considering how warmly Stan greeted me when he saw me. I'm just... I'm not ready to let them back in yet. I'm not really ready to let anyone in, at the moment. I've been through a lot lately, and i don't really want to drag up new memories by having them fawn all over me. They'll definitely have questions, and it's totally fair for them to want to question why I dropped off the face of the fucking earth for nearly five years. I mean, I vanished the day after graduation. Well, I guess it's considered the night of my graduation, really.
And, no one came looking for me anyway.
For a little while I thought that it was a good thing that I left without a trace that night, like I was off the hook and I wouldn't have to come back. But then weeks became months, and nothing ever came of my old friends. No letters, no calls, nothing. They knew what college I was going to- it probably wouldn't have been that hard to find me. I was lonely, and it's not like I'm very good at making friends in the first place. It's one of the many, many reasons i don't really want to speak to them right now. it was especially hard for me to sever ties with Craig, who I was really close to at the time. He knew the basics of my plan; though, he didn't know that I'd leave the night of graduation. I told him the bare bones, and he understood. I would've thought at least he would talk to me, and when he didn't for so long.. I thought he'd forgotten about me. Who would want to talk to someone after thinking like that?
Shaking my thoughts from my mind, I head back to Token's office and place the papers on his desk with a smile, sliding into my seat beside his desk. The rest of the day passes in much the same way, with me running errands and following Token around, grabbing him snacks and running from bus to concert center most of the day. And, of course, ducking behind plants, doorways and cars when I see someone I think could be one of my old friends. The meet and greet rolls around quickly, and just before everyone files into the room Token tells me i can take a break.
"I won't need you until six or so. I'll just be here with Kyle and the guys. Go grab some dinner or something." He says, giving me a warm smile. I visibly relax, giving him a curt nod before starting towards the door. He stops me suddenly by grabbing my elbow, and I automatically flinch and freeze in my spot. I can tell he noticed, but he seems to blow right past it. "Just so you know, you don't have to act so weird around me. It's okay, dude. I won't ask about the last few years, I can tell tat you don't really wanna talk about it, but we can pick up where we left off if that's what you want."
I pull in a deep breath, staring at him with wide eyes. No one has really said that to me in.. In a while. The last few years have been so turbulent I feel like I'm invisible. I mean, I've felt like that forever, it's not very new to me. I've just never been so crushingly lonely before in my whole life. Spending time alone is great, as long as you know there's a group of people a phone call away if you don't feel like being alone anymore. That was the huge difference between South Park and the outside world: I had never been so lonely before. Growing up in a small town made me take the people around me for granted, because I thought that I would always have that. While I had it for a little while at my school, it never felt the same as when I was at home; i felt like no one really knew me like my friends did. I guess I'd gotten so used to being alone that i forgot how much I liked being a part of something.
"T-Thanks, Token. That really means a lot.." I say, rubbing the back of my neck. Token just smiles warmly at me, shooing me out of the room with a wave of his hand. I make my way out of the venue once more, taking a deep breath of the crisp Colorado air. There are posters of the band plastered everywhere. In a week, there will be another band plastered all over these walls, and the next week will bring someone else, and so on and so forth. It's strange to me how life can just move on like that, that it keeps going no matter what's happening around people. I stop to look at one of the posters, glancing from one familiar face to the next.
They're all thrown together with their various instruments, smiling widely at the camera with their arms around each other with such a familiarity it makes my chest ache. I feel like I missed out on so much with them. They're pretty much strangers to me, at this point. I snap out of it when my eyes land on Craig. God, he's the last person I want to see right now. We were the closest out of anyone else, after some stupid shit in our town kind of threw us together by accident. Not to mention the fact that we dated for a while; in fact, he's the only person I've ever really dated. At the time, it was the same for him. I doubt that's still true. I chew on my lip as I look at his picture, wringing my fingers together. He looks so... grown up. Confident, self-assured, cool. Everything he wasn't in high school. His hair is styled nicely, kind of long and curly on top but short on the sides. While he isn't beaming like everyone else, he's kind of smirking at the camera, one arm slung casually around Stan's shoulders as the other one leans on his navy blue bass guitar. He's dressed in dark jeans and a NASA tank top, wearing worn-out yellow converse sneakers and a leather jacket. His signature hat is atop his head, pulled back to let his hair flop out over his forehead. He looks like an adult, like someone who's got his life perfectly on track. Like it's going exactly how he wants it.
It's definitely not the Craig I knew.
I scowl at his picture, a lump welling in my throat. A sudden rush of anger washes over me and I stomp away from the wall of posters like a little kid, my hands balling into fists at my sides. God. I hate this. Maybe this wasn't a great idea, to work with all the people I grew up with. But it's the only idea I have, so I guess I'll have to get used to it.
I make it out of the venue and walk into a little town, strolling down Main Street as I fold my arms over my chest, trying to let the scenery calm me down a bit. I'm just getting in my own head, psyching myself out. I do that all the time, and it's actually one of the reasons I've had such a shitty few years. I know that this will turn out okay. I know that I need this job, and I know it'll be good for me to have.
It's not that I'm jealous of my friends, or that I'm not happy that they're successful or anything like that. I'm really proud of them, actually. They talked about doing something like this together for years, always talked about becoming famous and successful together when they were adults. I talked about it with them. My plan... Well, they were my plan. Everything in my life got swept out from under me one day, totally out of the blue. It's not that I'm not happy for them. I just wish that I got to be a part of this, of their future.
Pulling in a deep breath I duck into a diner to my right, figuring that I'll have the best luck with finding something I like in a place like this. It's small inside, warmly decorated with vintage posters and neon signs. Looking around, I catch a few glimpses of band merchandise scattered through the dining room, cotton shirts with my friends' faces smiling back at me. It's the same picture that was lining the walls of the venue. Lovely. The waitress comes to take my order and bring me water, asking if I'm waiting for anyone or something like that. I quietly say no and give her my order, and my food is in front of me before I know it. All the while I'm compulsively checking my watch, worried that I'll be late and make Token upset or something. I've always been like this, always imagining how things can go wrong. Some therapist that I used to see while I was in school told me how to handle situations like this one, where I'm making myself more panicked than I need to be: just imagine the worst case and the best case. If I can handle the worst, I'll be okay. If I imagine the best, I alleviate myself of some of the panic. While both options are equally as likely to happen, I can always try to trick myself into making the best one possible.
As it gets closer and closer to six o'clock I finish eating and head back to the studio, where a bunch of fans are lining up now as well. Flashing the security guard my name badge, they let me through without a problem and I find Token where I left him, in the meet and greet room.
"Ah, perfect, you're right on time." He says warmly, giving me a bright smile. A twitch of a grin forms on my lips and I shrug, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is around the time I'd take a seat in the control box upstairs to oversee the show, but I'm pretty confident in my replacement for tonight, so I was wondering if you'd want to watch the show with me, from the wings behind stage." He offers, laughing when I quirk an eyebrow. "My girlfriend is in town, and I asked her to help out tonight so you can see the show."
"O-Oh, no, that's okay. You don't have to go through the trouble for me-" I start, holding my hands up and shaking my head. I'm not sure I could handle being so close to them all right now.
"Don't be silly! Wendy's got it down, she's been with me since we had the idea years ago. She's probably more capable than I am at this point." Token says, guiding me out of the room and towards the stage door. I pull in a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest. "We get the best seats in the house; right off stage left, they set us up with some chairs and snacks and stuff. C'mon, don't stand me up." How could I not have seen that coming..? Not to mention the fact that he's dating Wendy fucking Testaburger on top of it all. If you don't know, she was the shit in high school. She was the first girl to get onto the baseball team, captain of the debate team, school president, track team captain... Pretty much everything else I can think of, too. And she was the best person ever while doing it all; it makes sense that Token trusts her enough to have her help him with the managing of a now million dollar band.
"..okay, I guess that would be alright." I mumble, picking at the seams of my sweater. Token beams at me as his phone dings loudly in his pocket, holding his finger up in my direction as he hurries to answer it. I let go of the breath I didn't know I was holding as he walks away from me, my eyebrows pulling together in concern. Like I had said before, I don't know if I want to see my friends on stage tonight. Everyone says that their concerts are legendary, that their music sounds so much better in person. I'm just...I'm not sure if I can handle it.
Well, I'm not sure if I can handle Craig. Handling all of my other friends on stage is one thing, but seeing Craig up there might totally break me. And it's a combination of so many feelings that I'm having trouble discerning one from the other.
Of course, I'm proud of him for what he's become, what he's been able to do with his life and how well he's able to do it. So many bands have the same amount of talent and dream just as big as my friends did, but not too many of them actually make something of themselves. But Craig managed to.
I'm also embarrassed. Not of him, but of myself. My life was supposed to go so differently then it did. I was going to go to Hollywood, become an actor and make it big with a couple of films. Or I was going to go to Broadway, be the next big Broadway starlet. But.. I didn't. I fucked up, I got fucked over, and now I'm here. With one cup of ramen in my closet, a rotten apple in my fridge and one pair of sneakers to my name. I look down at my forest green converse, warily noticing that the lining is coming apart from the right side on my left shoe. Feeling self conscious I tuck my feel closer to the wall, rubbing the back of my neck.
I guess I'm nervous to see them, but I'm also nervous for them to see me.