Five Seconds in Your Heart:Chapter 1
Cartman grumbled as he leaned over one of a number of large plastic crates in the drama club's closet. His patience was waning. This was the third box he'd opened that didn't have a single costume in it. And this was not the star-bright junior year he'd imagined for himself.
"I can see your ass-crack," Kenny smirked.
"Shut up, Kenny," Cartman snapped, reaching back to yank up his pants while his face reddened. After he felt them sagging down again, and heard Kenny's barely-muffled snickering along with it, he spun around again in embarrassment.
"Don't you have some rocking chair to whittle or something, jackass?" he snarled. Kenny pretended to look offended.
"Don't stereotype. You know I'm doing make-up!" Kenny whipped out the make-up bag he'd brought from home, complete with brushes and remover. There was even faux leopard fur decorating the sides. Cartman glanced over it, unimpressed.
"Very funny. Like you're gonna spill your cross-dressing fetish without putting up a fight. The girls already think you're creepy as hell."
"Hey, I'll tell them it's my sisters or my mom's or some shit." Kenny cradled his bag like a baby. "Whatever. I like make-up. And just 'cause you hate yourself for keeping sundresses in the darkest part of your closet doesn't mean I have to hate myself for doing the same."
"Whatever. Where the fuck is Butters? Isn't that shit-eater stage manager this year?"
"Yeah, that's right," Kenny snorted. "Still won't do acting, even though you know it's what he stays up at night thinking about."
"Good," Cartman said, "I hope he sticks with the sets, 'cause his acting is fucking awful. If I get stuck with him as lead next year I am not gonna be happy."
Kenny barked out a laugh.
"Still telling yourself you're gonna be club president? Give it up, the vice prez this year, that junior with the funky hair, is gonna be president for sure. It's all seniority, and you don't have jack shit to stand on, considering you've never actually been in a play. Not to mention you nearly killed Clyde when you 'accidentally' gave him food poisoning, which is why they're sticking you with costumes this year and not on cast."
"Oh, come on," Cartman rolled his eyes. "I was his understudy, how else was I s'pose to get on stage?"
"He didn't even have a leading role."
"Whatever. I just needed to get my feet wet, is all. I wasn't asking much."
"They gave you a shit part 'cause you're a shit actor. Not much better than Butters here, are ya?"
Butters, who had popped up as if on cue wearing an oversized tool belt, laughed hesitantly as Kenny wrapped an arm around his neck and gave him a noogie. Despite Kenny being unusually short and scrawny (like a starving rat, Cartman liked to say), Butters remained shorter still. This seemed to give Kenny an impulsive need to tease him. Luckily, Butters still held Kenny in high regard, for whatever reason, and the two generally got along and were friendly.
"Well, h-hey there, Kenny," Butters struggled to get out of Kenny's hold. "S-so did you ever find that screwdriver I was asking about, fellas?"
Kenny gestured over to Cartman, who scowled. He'd completely forgotten to check for it.
"It's gone forever," Cartman snarled. "Go buy another."
Butters' face fell.
"Aw, geeze, Eric," Butters said, sounding worried. "You know I don't got a car or nothing."
"Then I guess you'd better start walking, Butters," Cartman said, inspecting his nails. "It'd be shame if the club president heard about how you lost the screwdriver."
"Oh, Jesus!" Butters said, glancing from Cartman to Kenny, who had a hand over his mouth to hide his smile.
"Oh, yes, yes," Kenny said, clearing his throat and attempting to keep himself together. "It's all very serious."
"O-ok fellas, I'll go get right on that." With new resolve, Butters marched off to get to the nearest hardware store, only god knows how.
"I hope he's not actually planning to walk there," Kenny said, almost in disbelief. "Butters is the realest dude I know. Don't you ever feel bad for giving him so much shit?"
"You give him just as much shit as I do, if not more," called Cartman from the drama closet. He'd retreated there to dig around the boxes again. He might as well get a head start on all this costume shit so he could move on to bigger, better things. Things worthy of him, in other words.
"True," Kenny agreed. "At least I'm actually fond of the guy. You just sound fed-up with him most of the time." He strolled into the closet behind Cartman.
"Uh, that's cause I totally am. Shit." Cartman swore as he banged his head on a low-hanging shelf, but managed to emerge with a half-decent costume this time.
"Yeah, right," Kenny said. "If Butters wasn't around you'd have no one to talk about your weird Dancing With The Stars obsession with." Kenny laughed as Cartman chased him out of the closet, costume in hand. Cartman, predictably, quickly gave up.
"Aw, you're no fun," Kenny laughed, jogging in place.
"Okay," Cartman wheezed, "first off, it's not an obsession. And second, it's not weird." Cartman raised his nose slightly higher into the air. "I'll have you know that millions of people enjoy Dancing With The Stars every week."
"Yeah, all of them high school boys just like you!" Kenny said with an overabundance of fake enthusiasm.
"You asshole," Cartman said. He made another lunge for Kenny but was easily evaded. Instead, Cartman stumbled forwards, just in time for the door to the auditorium to open right into his face. He fell back on his ass and immediately brought a hand up to his nose as it started to sting.
"Oh my god, I'm sorry!"
Cartman opened his eyes to see Kyle momentarily poised above him, about to offer to help him up.
"Oh, it's just Cartman." Kyle withdrew his hand and Cartman frowned at him.
"Nice to see you too, Jew."
"Another Jew comment. Original," Kyle said dryly.
Cartman got back on his feet and brushed off his pants. Kenny popped up behind him.
"Sup, Ky?" Kenny and Kyle high-fived casually.
"Not much. I just came here to chew out this asshole," Kyle jerked a thumb over at Cartman, who still looked quite unhappy, "for telling Butters to walk to the nearest hardware store?"
"Yeah, so?" Cartman said flippantly.
"So, the closest one's in North Park."
"And?"
"And that's how many miles away?"
"You care about him so much, you drive him there. I've got actually important stuff to do," Cartman sneered.
"Like what, try on that costume?" Kenny laughed, gesturing to what was in Cartman's hands. Kyle stifled a laugh as well, in spite of his serious attitude. Cartman reddened.
The costume was a red dress, obviously meant to fit a feminine build by the shape of it. Simple and classy in design, Cartman had thought it would look good with an extravagant necklace or sleek heels. Now, remembering his own bulk, he was embarrassed to have even entertained the idea. Not that he would admit it.
"You're the only one it'd fit, shrimp," Cartman said defensively. "What're you, like, 5'3" now?"
"5'4"," Kenny said proudly, "and counting."
"Okay," Kyle butted in, trying not to smile so widely, and turned to wag a finger at Cartman. "But seriously. Don't be an ass to Butters."
"You just come in here to drama club, my turf," Cartman bemoaned, "and start telling me how to live my life? What're you even doing here? Don't tell me you marched all the way over here just to drive a stick up my ass about Butters."
"I came here to see you, actually, fat-ass, and to ask you something."
Cartman's ears perked up, and he grinned mischievously.
"Kyle, are you about to willfully indebt yourself to me?" Cartman batted his lashes. "Thank you so much for brightening my day, seriously."
"In your dreams, dude," Kyle sighed. "I don't care whether you follow through with it, but my mom asked me to ask you, so whatever. Ike needs a piano teacher, and she said she'd pay you $20 an hour." Kyle scratched the back of his head. "Not that I actually want you in my house more than absolutely necessary."
"$20? That ain't much," Cartman said, hmm-ing and haw-ing over the offer. "Can she hike it up to $50? To include damages to my own safety and wellbeing after being in a Jewish household for more than five minutes at a time." He smirked playfully, pleased with himself as Kyle went off on a rant.
"Oh, shut up, jackass. You're lucky she hasn't heard your anti-Semitic ass at work lately or else there's no way she'd offer you a job. Forget I fucking said anything. You'd be a bad influence on Ike, anyways."
Kyle stomped off, leaving Cartman to look over his dress once again. Kenny whistled lowly.
"$20 an hour, huh? That's not bad money. Some extra cash here and there couldn't hurt, y'know? Maybe I should teach the kid."
"Right," Cartman laughed, "I forgot about your awesome piano skills."
"You're not actually gonna turn that down, are you?" Kenny asked, looking at Cartman curiously. "Just think of all the ways you could ruffle Kyle's feathers with that gig."
"Hmm," Cartman said, mulling it over. "You're right about that."
"You could fuck with all his shit if he's not home. Steal his socks or whatever you jack off to in your weirdo fantasies."
"Oh, fucking sick, Kenny. Gross." Cartman made a face and pretended to puke. "Fucking gag me, seriously."
"Whatever, dude," Kenny said condescendingly. "It was only a joke."
Cartman glared at him and stomped back to the drama closet, where he laid the red dress on top of a cardboard box carefully, and then closed and locked the door. On second thought, fuck costumes. He was not going to deal with that hellhole of a closet right now, anyways.
"Let's go get McDonald's or something," Cartman muttered.
"Right on!" Kenny said, rubbing his hands together. "Hey, smoke a joint on the way there?"
"Not a chance," Cartman said. "My car is not getting hotboxed again. It smelt like weed forever. And besides, hotboxing makes me paranoid."
"Ok, new plan. Grab the Mickey D's, light up in my room. Deal?"
"As long as the mice at your place don't attack us as soon as we show up with a hot meal."
"Right," Kenny rolled his eyes, "I'll keep a leash on 'em."
The two gathered their things and strolled out into the high school parking lot, meandering this way and that before finally climbing into Cartman's old station wagon and speeding to the closest strip mall. On the drive back to Kenny's house, with a warm bag of fast food in his lap, Cartman thoughtfully tapped out the piano keys for Gymnopedie on his dashboard.
A/N: I've been staying up really late recently. By the time I get to bed, the birds are already chirping. What a pain in the ass. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you thought.