My Heart's Explosive

By AllzStar

Author's Note: Woooo naked time! Haha not.

Chapter Two – I Got Big Lungs That Could Kill Your Chorus

"Craig? What the fuck is this?"

I look up from my lunch tray, one eyebrow already raised. "Huh?"

Clyde grabs my wrist and pulls it toward him, turning my hand palm up. Just before the crook of my elbow is a set of marks in a crescent moon shape. Clyde looks at me expectantly. I shrug. "I dunno."

"Fuck you, you don't know," Clyde spits, jabbing a finger at the marks. "Are those teeth marks?"

"Nope," I respond. "No."

"Then what the fuck are they?"

"Why do you give a fuck?"

Clyde lets go of my arm and sits across from me, his arms folded stubbornly across his chest. "I don't. It's just fucking weird."

I roll my eyes and sink my teeth into my sandwich, savouring the lettuce, cheese and bacon smothered in mayonnaise. My eyes roam over the cafeteria as usual, casually observing all the idiots that populate this fucking school. The girls' table, consisting of Wendy Testaburger and her posse of dumb-as-a-post bimbos, is right in the center of the fucking cafeteria for everyone to look at. But I could hardly give a shit about that table. Right past it, on the opposite side of the cafeteria from my table, is Kenny's table.

He's not there yet, but Kyle, Stan, Cartman and Butters have are eating their usual shit lunches, probably chatting about nothing. Kyle suddenly goes red-faced and starts yelling something, but the cafeteria is too noisy to hear exactly what he's saying. Probably calling Cartman fatass or something.

"...Craig! Are you listening?"

I snap my head back to my own table, where Clyde and Token are staring at me. "Uh."

"What are you looking at?" Clyde turns around to look, and then turns back, smirking. "Ah. The girls' table."

"Um. Yeah. 'Course." Actually I was thinking that Kyle Broflovski looks really fucking cute when he blushes. But whatever. They don't need to know that.

Tweek and Jimmy arrive at the table and take their usual seats, Tweek squished up next to me as Jimmy tries to get into the seat without his crutches. I try and move away, but there's barely any room on the bench, even for my skinny ass. I fidget, stretching my legs under the table. They get so cramped under there.

"Fuck, Craig," Clyde cries as my toe hits his shin. "Keep it in your pants."

"Yeah, alright," I sneer sarcastically. "That's my toe, you moron."

"Stop kicking me," Clyde growls.

"I need to stretch my legs," I say, and awkwardly clamber out of my seat. "These tables are designed for midgets, I'm telling you."

"No, you're just a freak," Token retorts, taking in my full six feet four inches. "You've got a problem or something."

"Whatever, small-dick," I spit back before grabbing my tray and tossing its contents into the nearest trash can. I'm done with these people. They bore me to tears. "I'm out."

I stride across the cafeteria, my long legs carrying me there in half the time a normal-sized person would take. Stan sees me first, his brow furrowed in confusion. As I walk past their table I swipe my hand out and snatch Kyle's prized green hunter's hat right off his head. He cries out in surprise, and then curses me loudly. I can hear him scrambling out after me, but I'm already out the doors and halfway down the hall.

Kyle's running footsteps are enough to fuel my mean streak. I turn towards him and hold the hat above my head, stretching up as far as I can without going on my toes. Kyle stares up at me, sullen, his blue eyes blazing with rage. His cheeks are a wonderful shade of pink, right to his ears. His red hair is only kindling to his fire. "Goddamnit, Craig," he spits. "Give it back."

I only smirk slightly, looking down at him triumphantly. Kyle is barely five eight. There's no way he can reach it.

"Fuck, Craig!" Kyle yells, his fists clenching. "Give it back!"

Ah, how I love antagonizing Kyle Broflovski. He's too fiery for me to actually consider seducing him, but teasing him is just as fun and doesn't result in drama. I love pissing him off. I've been doing it since middle school. Now, in senior year, it's a wonder Kyle hasn't learned to hold his hat on his head with an elastic around his chin. Or, better yet, leave the fucking hat at home. It's way too small for him, and hides his delicious red curls from my hungry eyes.

"Leave him alone, Tucker."

I look over my shoulder, not weakening my position over Kyle. There's Kenny, looking exasperated yet with a sparkle of amusement in his baby browns. "Stop being a dick."

I raise both my eyebrows at him, the corner of my mouth curling. He doesn't smile. He just runs at me and jumps, his sun-browned hand snatching Kyle's hat from mine before I can react. He hands the hat to Kyle, who calls me an unprintable name and storms back to the cafeteria. Kenny turns to me. Still not smiling.

"What the fuck, man," I groan, crossing my arms. "I was having fun."

"This isn't a game, Tucker," Kenny hisses, folding his arms as well. "You're being an idiot."

"Because I like to tease people I find attractive when they're pissed?" I asked. "Why not?"

Kenny rolls his eyes and reaches to scratch the back of his neck. "Look. Just don't fuck around with my friends, okay?"

I give him a dark look. What is wrong with him? Why is he acting like this? "You sure weren't acting this pissy last night."

"Yeah, well, last night was a different story." He's looking anywhere but at me. "Let's just...go trestling again tonight, alright? We'll talk about this later." He heads into the cafeteria, leaving me alone in the hallway. I stare after him.

I can't believe this.

KKK

I check my watch again. It is now ten-thirty. Kenny's still not here.

I sip my second beer, but there's a sinking feeling in my stomach. I recall the images from last night, all jumbled and mangled but the same basic idea in them: Black water, foamy spray, blond hair, sun-browned skin looking pale in the moonlight. Slippery bodies pressed together as they fight to stay at the surface.

Nothing really happened. We just swam around. Naked. Made out a little. No big deal.

Except it had been a big deal. At least for me it had been. So what the hell is Kenny's problem? Why would he kiss me like that and then pretend it didn't happen the next day? He won't get away with pretending he doesn't have feelings for me, because all the proof is right here, on this very beam I'm sitting on where he shoved his tongue down my throat.

I fish my phone out of my pocket and flip it open. No messages. He's not even going to call with some excuse as to why he couldn't make it. Son of a bitch.

I toss my empty beer can into the river and snatch up the remaining four cans in the pack, stuffing them in my backpack. Then I make my way down the trestle.

There were no trains tonight, anyway.

TBC...