"I want a Double Bacon Cheeseburger, two large fries, one large drink—" Clyde ranted random shit off the menu as if I were taking his order. Contrary to no popular belief, because everybody already knew, I didn't give a fuck about what he wanted for lunch today.
Shoving him forward by his shoulder, I commanded, "Tell that to her, fatty."
Grumbling as he stumbled, Clyde turned his head to give me some pathetic version of a glare before reciting half of the entire menu, I swear, by heart—thankfully not to me this time. I should probably be concerned about how much food he can pack into his body for breakfast, lunch, and dinner but I really couldn't bring myself to care. It was more amusing than anything to watch him scarf down a buffet for every meal.
When I thought about it, which had actually only been once when I was high, I figured that people were most likely jealous of his capability to literally inhale mass amounts of food and remain the same weight. Clyde couldn't comprehend the envious factor, though. All he saw was chub even though he's always been that way and always would be. He was in such denial about his body type that he had deemed it his "baby fat". He wasn't even a bad chubby. It was more like the Pillsbury Dough Boy chubby. Token had even agreed and said that he wore the extra pound well.
"Do you want anything, Craig?" Token asked, glancing back at me from where he had taken Clyde's place at the counter.
My eyes flickered briefly toward the menu. Every fast food joint was actually just cheating you out of your money. When you asked for a Double Decker Cheeseburger you got the deflated version of the picture you'd been drooling over. Burgers as flat as pancakes with buns that had probably fallen on the floor a few times over their lifespan didn't sound as appetizing as it had in fourth hour.
"I'll pass." Stepping out of line, my feet carried me toward Clyde who was having a field day with the ketchup dispenser. His hand was dressed with little paper cups, each filled near overflowing with tomato sauce.
"Could you help me out?" He asked.
"No."
I found us a nice, clean table near the exit and sat down in the seat that wasn't facing the sun. If Clyde had a problem with it, he could go sit somewhere else. If Token had a problem with it, I might consider switching him places.
There was a play place for the little kids to my right and I distinctly remembered shoving Clyde into the fun balls then leaving with my car before he had the chance to make it back up. Sometimes I loved him for the specific reason that I could do shit like that to him, effectively making him late to fifth period, and still get away with being his best friend.
"Why thank you so much, Token, for helping me with the ketchup. You are my best friend." The brunette spoke like a robot, over exaggerating his monotonous speech as he and Token made their way to the seats I had left open for them.
As a retort, I demanded, "Eat fast, bitch."
"Do you just want to eat at school?" Token asked, hovering an inch above his chair in case we were about to agree.
"Are you saying I called dibs on this table for nothing?" I inquired, narrowing my eyes not at Token because Token could do no wrong, but at Clyde because he was an easy target.
"Pretty much," the brunette answered nonchalantly.
"When I take you both out to a diner and show you guys what a real burger is, you're sitting on the ground." That was a promise, one that the brunette knew very well. One of the last few times we'd gone to a restaurant, I had asked the staff if human pets were allowed, and if so, whether or not they'd serve them human food.
Peeved, I stood from my seat and opened the exit door for Token. When Clyde tried walking through, I let it shut on his shoulder, disrupting the placidity of his ketchup cups. He grumbled, shoving his way through the door to quickly catch up with us. As he sat his tray on the hood of Token's girlfriend—I only called her that because she was black—there was mild interest in the thought of veering her forward until the brunette's food fell off.
But I didn't want to harm her exterior. I had just gotten her cleaned. Some might cringe at my version of "clean" but for an old, beat up car she looked as slick and shiny as she could.
"Dude, you stole McDonalds property," Token pointed out when Clyde slipped into shotgun, yellow tray on his lap.
"Fuck the po'lice." I wanted to clap him on the shoulder in congrats for not being a huge pussy like he usually was, but I was sober.
Clyde reached out to switch the radio station once the car was running and I felt like a complete tool as I backed out of Mcdonalds listening to Katy Perry. Then I just felt like a douche when I turned my head to see Clyde lip singing, food jostling in his lap as he bounced his foot to the beat of her music.
Taking a quick peek through the review mirror, I saw Token swiping a hand down his face as though he were embarrassed. It didn't really work since he was smiling. The only problem was that I refused to listen to Katy Perry. Even if the song was almost over. Even if the ride back to school was just under five minutes. I turned the volume dial down to keep Clyde's new favorite genre of music from annoying the hell out of me which caused him to glare my way. I could feel it, although instead of responding to his child-like action, I moved over a lane.
"I was listening to that." He finally said, muttering rude comments beneath his breath. "You'd like her video for Last Friday. Corey Feldman was in. The Goonies, The Lost Boys."
I knew who Corey Feldman was, though. He didn't need to list off movies he's been in. "Katy Perry sucks. That's an insult to hear he's in it." But then I reconsidered and said a bit sourly, "Eh, all his new stuff is shit anyways."
"Fuck you, Craig. You don't know good music."
"Please don't get him started," Token sighed, but my fuse had already been lit.
"All you listen to is perverted bullshit about fucking bitches and slapping some hoes. People don't listen to that kind of music because they like it. They listen to it so that when they do drugs, the beats will pump them up." Clyde tilted his head back and groaned. "I find it pretty sad that music is a reflection of people's lives because all anybody ever listens to anymore is crap about partying, getting drunk everyday, and raping a sexy woman in a club because they're horny."
"You love partying and getting drunk!" He cried, throwing his hands in the air.
"That has nothing to do with this." Token started cracking up in the backseat. "Shut up, asshole." I smirked crookedly, flipping on my blinker before turning into our school's student parking lot. There were plenty of open slots since most of the seniors and juniors were probably trying to stay away from school for as long as possible. I chose a space near the front gate that way I could make it home on time today. Red Racer reruns were on.
"You just like that classical shit."
"Be careful what words you use to describe my choice of music," I warned the brunette. "I wouldn't call it classical, either. Classics, but not classical. That's more instrumental quartets and stuff like that. I just like the oldies."
"I think you're actually sixty years old," Clyde informed, removing himself from my car. Thank God. I didn't think she liked him very much. That's why she liked to run him over from time to time.
"You're just jealous that by the time I actually am sixty, you're going to be fat and I'm going to be one of those cute old men that all the ladies fancy. We'll be in the same nursing home too. That way you can watch as girls fawn over me and whisper sweet nothings into my deaf ears."
Clyde laughed at that. "What about Token?"
I turned around to give my best friend a good once over even though I didn't need to. Sometimes I just liked to have an excuse to look at him because I could never get over how suave he was. I honestly just wanted to give him a big hug for looking so charming in his dark jeans and Reeboks. "Tokens black. He's always going to look good. He'll be running marathons every Wednesday around the White House, throwing money over his shoulders like a pimp. He'll visit us in our nursing home on Saturdays and slip us cocaine then roofie the girls. We'll have good times, trust me."
"So I do get ladies."
"No, just the one with the growth underneath her nose because nobody wants to fuck that. Even when they're half blind and deaf."
"I fucking hate you, Craig." But Clyde was laughing in that way that made his dimples show, and that's when you knew that you still had your best friend charm.
Token slung his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his chest despite the inch I had on him. "Some of the stuff you come up with is just bizarre, dude." I nodded along, agreeing wholeheartedly. My imagination tended to lean towards the weird side, but it was only with these guys that it unleashed itself. There were reasons behind why they were my best friends.
"But really, I can dig Nicki Minaj," I admitted, walking in line with the two as we made our way across the court yard to our designated spot under the tall oak tree. There was a single bench beneath its shade and it had been our territory since ninth grade. People sat around it—groups like Wendy's, Jimmy's, random fuckers we didn't even know—but nobody was ever given permission to be near it. The only exception was Kenny because no matter how hard you tried to get rid of him, he just didn't budge.
"I thought we were done with this conversation after it turned into us ending up in nursing homes," Clyde whined, waving to a few of his friends as we passed them by. Bebe blew him a kiss, one of which Token looked away from. I spat at the brunette's feet, just barely missing his foot when it lifted to take another step. "Gross, dude!"
"This conversation isn't done until I say it is. Now stop flirting with Token's future woman."
"It's alright, dude," Token tried saying, but I wasn't having any of it.
"I am the law of this trio. I just made it illegal to flirt with Bebe unless you're Token Black. Punishment for doing so is my fist up your ass while you're sleeping."
"Okay, okay. Sorry," Clyde apologized, giving a wimpy pout to Token who brushed the concern away with the flick of his hand. "What were you saying about Nicki Minaj, Craig?" He sat his tray down at our table before taking his seat in the middle. I chose his right side, and Token put himself opposite us. It was always like this.
"I like some of her songs," I stated.
"She has multiple personalities, though."
"And each one spruces up my life."
"What? I—no, no. What the hell is wrong with you, man?" The brunette grumbled just before shoving a handful of fries in his mouth. Token stared for a moment, watching the potato slivers disappear before unwrapping his burger. That poor, deflated burger.
"Come on, bro. You cant tell me that her lyrics aren't catchy. This one is for the boys with the booming system; top down, AC with the cooling system?"
"Oh, God. Here we go. You gotta sing my favorite part, man," Token laughed, encouraging me to continue. Clyde grinned over his mouthful of fries, knowing exactly what was coming.
I did this to them all the time, just randomly started singing bits and pieces of songs that I liked. Supposedly it was hilarious because I was so emotionless and monotone. They often told me that if I sent in a recording of myself to Apple or Mac, they'd use me as their next computer generated voice. I guess it was even better when I wasn't sober, because when that happened, I actually tried to sound like I gave a fuck.
"Excuse me, you're a hell of guy, you know I gotta think for American guys." I nudged Clyde repeatedly with my shoulder. "I mean—sigh—sickenin' eyes, I can tell that you're in touch with your feminine side—uh." The only part I had attempted at had been at "sigh" just so I could give myself an accent.
"You're such a douchey retard, Craig," Clyde laughed, dimples showing in his cheeks again. Too bad douchey wasn't a word. "Why can't you be like this all the time?"
"He just rapped to you and that's what you say to him?" Token deadpanned. "Hey, man. If you had done that to me I would've shown you some love."
"I know. Clyde just doesn't appreciate the simple things in life."
"Hey!" The brunette launched a fry at Token. When it bounced off his face and landed on the table, he picked it back up and ate it. "I would've rapped it back but you're not American," he said to me, offering a fry instead.
"Peruvian is close enough, you fatass."
Clyde scoffed. "What if I make you one of those shirts but instead of saying 'Kiss me, I'm Irish', it'll say 'Fuck me, I'm foreign'? Will that compensate for not serenading you with a song?"
"I didn't serenade you with shit. I only did that because Token wanted me to. But sure."
"Maybe you'll finally get laid."
"Maybe you should enjoy your sex life while it lasts because by the time you hit sixty your pudge'll be overflowing and women won't touch you."
"Stop saying that!"
"Aye, Tweek. What's up?" Both Clyde and I turned our heads at Token's greeting. Strangely enough, there was Tweek Tweak walking up to our table. The closer he got, the more he looked about ready to run for it. I could see on his face just how distressed he was. A few of the supporting tables outside of the boundaries of our tree were watching the frail blonde with inquisitive eyes.
I didn't blame them. This was new.
I wasn't sure of the last time I had seen the blonde. My brain kept drawing blanks, but I felt as though it hadn't been very long ago because I could easily say that he looked the same as he always did. Disarrayed blonde locks, doe-eyes, a delicate face. It seemed common that he was wearing skinny jeans and ankle boots although I wasn't sure why. He had a scarf around his neck, a green one with funny little tendrils of yarn loosely hanging. It looked familiar and again I didn't know from where. When he stopped in front of our table, he did so in a way that kept him a good foot's distance away.
"H-Hi." He seemed concerned, maybe as though he didn't understand why he was here which was understandable. "Uhm, C-Craig?" Clyde and Token raised their brows at the blonde's strange introduction to me. I just stared, uninterested. It kind of bothered me that he was so regular to my brain for no apparent reason. "You need h-help with math... right?"
And this kid knew that because...? "How did you know I suck at math?"
His jaw tightened, blonde brows knitting together. "We have it together right after l-lunch. Fifth hour, dude." One of his hands twitched and he quickly clasped it with the other.
Lifting my eyes back to his, I watched them quickly gaze away. My math class was trigonometry, ridiculously hard bullshit that was completely useless unless you wanted to graduate into a triangle. I slept all hour every day in that period, but it was nice to digest what I had eaten the lunch period before so it wasn't an utter waste of time.
Did Tweek really have it with me? It explained why he seemed familiar.
"It's a weighted course," I finally said. His eyes shot back to mine, understanding the quiet insult.
"Funny how I'm the one who's actually passing." Hands struck his mouth like swathes of duct tape. He looked horrified for technically insulting me back. "I-I'm so sorry! I didn't—it just came out, I swear."
"Don't sweat it, man. Craig knows how to handle a couple of jabs at his intelligence," Token assured him, laughing it off.
I had two options—three if you counted Clyde chasing Tweek away like a furious dog whose bone had just been sniffed at by another hound. I could remain stoic Craig Tucker and give Blondie the finger, ultimately ruining any chance of passing my class and leaving me one credit short which meant becoming a super senior. Or I could remain stoic Craig Tucker and give Blondie the finger but agree to his what? Was he going to tutor me? That was weird.
"Okay."
Tweek dropped his hands, giving me this dead-beat stare for a few seconds before his face lit up and he definitely looked way too happy to be receiving my approval. It was weird seeing him so alive but maybe that was because rumor had it that underneath our lunch table was a mass grave filled with the bodies of kids who'd tried to sit with us. Apparently Kenny was there but that bastard never dies so he got off the hook for still attending classes, no questions asked.
"Are we doing this today?" I asked.
"W-What? Today? I—er, well I have plans. N-Not plans really, but its not obligatable—I mean, obligatorily. I just—" Tweek shook his head. "I'm obligated to go, man. Tomorrow, okay?" His cheeks were a dusty pink at his many different uses of the word "obligate". "Tomorrow," he repeated, turning around on the heel of his little boot to shuffle his way back to wherever the hell he'd come from.
It was only when his steps crunched in the snow did I even realize that the ground was white. "I think it's weird how I'm so used to the snow that I don't even realize when it's snowing," I mused.
"You wanna know what's weird? What just happened. Are you seriously going to not talk about how fucking strange that kid is? I think he just asked you on a date," Clyde jabbered, glancing at Token for confirmation.
He made a half-n-half face. "That was pretty... odd."
"Odd? No. That was like phycho-killer right there. I seriously think he's going to cover your face in saran wrap until you suffocate and then butt-fuck your corpse. Spazzy shits like him do that kind of stuff, man. It's not safe anymore, I'm telling you."
"That's because all people do these days is make hit singles about jacking off to people partying, while they're naked, while they're drunk off their asses." Clyde scowled at my mention of the music argument again. "If I don't come back from fifth hour, I want you to know that he already got me and that my dead corpse is finally getting laid. Bury me in that shirt you talked about getting me."
Lunch ended with Token laughing his ass off, and I passed out in my trigonometry class forgetting entirely that Tweek was even in it.
