A/N: I'm having a lot of fun writing this, and I'm sure this one will be updated way quicker. I haven't given up on my other story, I just want to focus on this for a while, so it's on temporary hiatus. Don't hate me if you like that story. It's alright, I guess. I'm not feeling it as much as I'm loving this one. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoy writing it.
Chapter Two – Don't Know Nothing
I lie in bed, clutching the covers, squirming around a little. I loosen my grip and stare at the clock flashing beside me. One thirty six...in the morning.
I can't sleep. My mind feels troubled, and I've got a lot to think about. I'm pondering over how Eric Cartman, of all people, will be tutoring me. Did he know that yet? Had Mrs. Roberts already asked him? A lot of questions I wanted answers to.
Closing my eyes, I put my hands under my pillow and turned on to my side. I close my eyes tighter, making sure I'd resist the urge to open them and stay awake.
After what seems like an eternity to me (which isn't all too hard. Five minutes is a long time for someone like me), I manage to fall asleep without much trouble and it's how I stay all night.
I wake up usual time, which is about ten to eight. Which also means I have about twenty minutes to get ready.
As I comb my hair and stare in the mirror and see my uber sexy reflection stare back at me, I don't think about all this tutor business. In fact, it hardly crosses my mind. So, I keep it that way, and continue to get ready.
Grabbing a snack bar from the cupboard, I walk outside, slamming the front door shut behind me.
I feel a bit groggy and pessimistic because of how much sleep I've been missing out on the past few weeks, maybe years, and it's a really sullen atmosphere outside. The skies are full of dark clouds. I think it might rain.
Oh, too late.
So, here I am, walking to school barely prepared, trying hard to forget things I needn't remember, whilst rain spits at me like pellets. I'm getting a little pissed off, because if it rains any harder, it might fuck up my hair, or something.
I might even get wet, and that's not good. I don't like to sit around in wet clothes.
Luckily, I live quite close to school, and I'm here in no time, walking through the corridors before it even dares to get worse outside.
Normally, I'm bombarded by horny teenage girls begging me for sex (some wanting a relationship, but the majority only wanting to have sex with me) but today, I'm not, which is a bit weird.
I walk into the toilets, where I usually hang before school officially begins. I sit on the windowsil, which is located high up on the wall, obviously where this huge window is.
I'm a little bored and tired. I glance at my watch; eight twenty. School didn't begin until twenty five to nine, so I was alright for another few minutes.
I found myself soon drifting to sleep, despite the fact I was in a totally awkward position. I like to sleep like that. I like sleeping in cars sometimes, but it always hurts my back.
"Clyde?"
I wake up a little confused and I look around my surroundings to see who called my name. It was just Craig, I should have known, really. I sigh a little, staring at my watch again. I'd been sleeping for ten minutes, and I had five minutes 'til school began.
"Yeah?" I respond.
He shoots me a weird look. "Were you...sleeping?"
"Kinda," I nod as I speak. He shakes his head, but I don't know why.
"Dude, you should get some sleep," he informs me, even though I know that I should. "Or you risk falling asleep in maths. You know how much that bitch hates that."
I chuckle a little. "Yep. Every other teacher has no problem with it. What's her beef?"
Oh shit. Maths.
Eric Cartman tutoring me.
Maybe I was just making a mountain out of a molehill (I think that's how that saying goes, but I'm not entirely sure to be honest) and having Cartman as a tutor wasn't so bad. I'd known the kid for a long, long time and he'd never done anything all too dangerous to me. He hadn't killed my parents and/or grounded them into chilli...yet.
There was this one time where he got this little kid to bitch slap me when we were playing pirates in Somalia, which was totally uncalled for.
"Clyde?"
I shake my head furiously, knowing that I'd zoned out and began to think of the possibilites of tonight. What if Cartman tried to do anything 'funny' with me, and not just haha funny, but what if he does stuff to me? What if he tries to rape me? Or molest me?
"Dude, are you alright?" he asks me, and I look at him as he stares at me questionally.
"I'm fine," I'm not sure if I'm lying. "Got some shit on my mind."
He shrugs and doesn't reply. Instead, he walks out, in perfect timing with the school bell.
X (o) X –
"Clyde Donovan?"
I smile a little to myself, but I don't know why. "Present."
She gives me an assuring-esque look, and I bite my lip a little.
To make sure I don't fall asleep, I get out a piece of paper that's been in my bag for months now, and it's got apple juice stains lurking in the dog eared corners. I think it's even turned yellowy-brown. I begin to doodle on it as she continues to take the register.
Thank God I'm 'D', and there's still loads more names to get called out.
Staring down at all the squiggles, smiley faces and random pieces of writing, I'm pretty impressed at my handiwork (even though it's not exactly something Monet would be proud of...I think, anyway. Is Monet an artist? How do you pronounce his name? Is it French? Spanish?). It's also an attempt to not fall asleep, and add to the list of countless times I've fallen asleep in class.
That lesson was a blur, as it normally always is for me. All I remember was her setting us some online homework on some website, and some other shit I don't care all too much about. Surprisingly, she didn't pick on me once, which kinda...shocked me. I guess.
English passed by, too. As did Science, and Art. All I remember doing in Art is splattering paint over Kenny and our teacher getting all pissed at me, making me miss about three minutes of my lunch. Meh.
Craig comes up to me at lunch as I stand in the queue.
"Are you excited for your little date tonight?" he teases, giving me a huge shit eating grin. I can see my reflection in his braces (for his fucked up teeth) and it's kinda creepy.
"It's not a date," I remind him. It sounds a little harsh, but it's not meant to.
"Whatever," he shrugs, almost flipping me off. "Have you seen him today?"
I raise an eyebrow. Kinda stupid question, considering the fact I'm in most of Cartman's classes. "Yep, but we haven't spoken. He might not know he's meant to be tutoring me."
Craig stares at me, not talking. He shrugs, as if he's given up on talking to me for the time being, and walks away, leaving me alone for once.
X (o) X –
I don't remember what I did in Geography after lunch.
Now I'm in French, which is a totally gay and pointless lesson. Why do we have to learn a language I will never speak? I went to France, like, once, and it sucked total ass.
Aw, shit. I forgot. Cartman sits next to me in French, which isn't as bitchin' as it used to be. He's actually really funny in French, albeit annoying. He was so annoying it was funny. He once said to our totally bangin' substitute 'voulez-vous coucher avec moi'. I know what that means. I like that saying.
He said it to me once. Can't remember why but it made sense back then.
"Afternoon, fag."
I hear his voice in my ears, and I glare at him through the corner of my eye. He's taking his stuff out of his bag, smirking to himself as he plops a headphone into his ear.
"And you're gonna listen to music in the lesson?" I don't know whether it's a question or a statement. Still smirking, he nods, not even looking at me.
I stare at him blankly. "...Why?"
I've got his attention now. His dark brown eyes hit mine and he raises an eyebrow. "Because I want to, and I do whatever the hell I wanna do."
I don't question him anymore, and keep my lips pressed together to refrain from saying anything more.
Our over the toply cheerful French teacher came strolling in, a huge smile on her face, in spite of that fact it was a cold, moist Friday afternoon and the weekend was not long on its way. I rolled my eyes as she greets us in a nauseatingly sweet kinda way and began to explain what we are going to be doing this lesson. I'm not listening, which is no surprise.
Just as I begin to concentrate, Cartman taps me on the shoulder. I don't respond, and I can see he's getting pissed off. He pokes me harder, and I was trying to refrain from crying. I cry a lot, at the simplest of things, and it makes me look like a total fag.
I glower and frown at him.
Once our teacher, Miss. Fraigh, is finished setting a video up for us to watch and take notes on, I finally get around to seeing what he wants. Miss. Fraigh is distracted by the video right now, so there's no chance I'll get caught. Besides, practically everyone in this class talks during videos.
"What?" I whisper loudly and he stares at me for a few moments.
He sighs. "Took you a long time to answer me, dickface."
I don't say anything, and I wait until he says something more. He doesn't.
"Just tell me what you want," I whisper again, a little agitated.
He seems a little agitated too, and he rolls his eyes. "I can't believe I have to tutor a dumb fuck like you."
I freeze a little, and this icy chill flows through my body (just because I'm dumb doesn't mean I'm bad at writing, OK?) and I stare at him. I must be staring at him weirdly because he starts to stare back at me like I'm insane.
"Did you cheat on the test?" I find myself asking before I can stop myself.
"What test?" He's playing dumb for sure. And I think it's offensive to dumb people to play dumb, especially when they're playing dumb with me, because I might be dumb.
"The maths one," I narrow my eyes as he contemplates. He begins to murmur some inaudible stuff that I can't make out or comprehend, and he suddenly returns my gaze.
"Oh, that one," he looks pretty proud with himself. He examines his fingernails, checking out the imaginary dirt lurking underneath them. "Yeah, I cheated. Problem?"
Feeling a little bit afraid of him 'cause he's bigger than me, I shake my head.
"Good," he smiles at me, but it isn't genuine, even I can see that. This guy's as readable as a book. Maybe not like a hard one, or something, but maybe a picture book that's easy to read. I can't read long, thick books. They wear me out with all their long words and they just make me lose all patience and will to live. I read this super long book once, and it felt like my eyes were gonna pop out my head and my brain would suddenly shoot out of my ears, brain juice and all.
"I can't believe you have to tutor me," I growl at no one in particular, not even Cartman, and I put my head in my hands.
Somehow, he hears me, and he raises an eyebrow yet again. "What's that, Clyde?"
I look at him. "Nothing. Honestly."
X (o) X –
"Don't think you're getting away that easily."
I turn back to see Cartman power walking towards me. He might be running, but his fat is probably slowing him down so it looks like he's just walking fast. But, I don't know.
Before I can protest, he begins to talk again.
"We have a lot of shit to be doing, Clyde," he smiles sweetly at me. "So we better hurry, right? Right." He pushes past me, his fat almost knocking me over into a puddle on the side of the road, and I scowl a little.
It was everything I was expecting.
Before long, we've arrived at his house. I wanted to go to my house, but being the selfish, arrogant pig he is, he said it's 'best to go to his house because he most likely has more food.' Prick.
I'm on the chubby side myself, being labelled as the second fattest kid in South Park, after Cartman, of course.
"We're gonna have to start with the basics," he informs me as soon as we step inside the door without even bothering to offer me a snack first or welcoming me into his, ahem, humble home. His home smells like lavender and pancakes. I don't know how, but it's actually a really nice fragrance. I like it, anyway.
"Normally, we'd go a little more advanced, but because I'm dealing with a complete dumbass like yourself, I have to start with some easy shit," he tells me, and I scowl again. I almost growl at him. Now I see why some people get pissed off with him easily.
"Now, Clyde, what's two times two?" he asks me, his eyes gleaming with a hybrid of mischief, naivety and even some disturbing dark undertones hidden in there.
I smile to myself. My eyes are bright; gleaming. I knew the answer to that one.
"Four," I over excitedly reply, still smiling like an absolute maniac, feeling proud. He stares at me strangely, and I continue to beam at him.
"Right..." he says quietly, still staring at me. My smile was gone now – it was hurting my cheeks so I dropped it. "Moving on." He shoots me another weird, confused look.
I sit there, eagerly awaiting my next question. It felt like a pop quiz, only cooler, because pop quizzes are stupid and irrelevant to my education. I think we should learn about robots. They're cool. If I ever got a pet robot, I'd call him the Clydonator, and he'd clean my room so that I don't have to. That'd be awesome.
"Five times two?" he asks me quickly. I almost don't catch that, but after three seconds of remembering what he said to me, I pout.
Sneaky little butthole, as Cartman would put it.
"That's not fair," I whine. "I don't want to answer that. You know full well I ca-"
Suddenly, the back of my neck begins to sting. I wince in pain as it gradually makes its way to my nervous system, informing me, Clyde Donovan, that it hurt.
Ow.
I turn to face Cartman. He's holding something. A ruler? Yeah, a ruler. He's slapping it against the palm of his hand, a smirk on his face and an untrustworthy glint in his eye.
I pout again, not at all impressed. I stare at him for a few moments, and wait for some of the pain to fade. When it is mostly all gone, I ask: "What did you just do?"
He eyes the ruler he's holding. "I slapped you with this ruler, Clyde. You really aren't the sharpest knife in the drawer now, are you?"
I snarl at him, like a dog. Or a really, really vicious tiger. I don't want to be slapped with rulers. It's bad enough Craig does it to me every History lesson, only he isn't as harsh and it's more playful than out of malice, unlike this fucking pyschopath.
"Why would you slap me with a ruler?" I ask. I must sound so stupid right now.
He narrows his eyes. "Because you complained. Nah, you are my slave, I am your master, capeche?" I stare at him. I thought he was my tutor, not my master. And I could have sworn Kyle was his slave. At least, that's what he told me.
He glares at me with a malevolent look on his face. "Capeche?" he repeats through gritted teeth. I gulp, and I know I'm pretty afraid of him right now.
"Capeche," I respond lamely, looking down at the floor. I mutter a quick apology as he shakes his head, sniggering quietly to himself with his arms folded across his chest.
"Right, now that that's out of the way, we can start again," he says, catching me off guard. "Clyde. What is five times two?"
I bite my bottom lip, deep in thought. I use my pencil to scratch my hair. I'm so damn tempted to say twelve because of the countless times I've convinced myself that twelve is the genuine answer.
"Twe-" I stop mid sentence when I see his face. He raises the ruler slightly, indicating he might try and slap me again. "Ele-" he narrows his eyes, saying nothing. I thought harder. "Oh, I got it! Ten!"
He smiles assuringly at me, picking up a piece of paper off the desk. I wonder what it is. It could be something so uber cool that my head would explode, but then again, I really like the colour of Cartman's room and my head wouldn't look good on his floor, all covered in head juice. Also, I don't want to get bitch slapped by a ruler again.
It's on the desk now, mocking me. I glare at it, honestly believing that it's challenging me to a fight. That ruler is a pussy deep down.
"Well done, Clyde," he says indifferently, and I see what's on the piece of paper. It's a sticker sheet, and the stickers are gold stars. He peels one off and places it on my red jacket. I smile for a few seconds before looking back up at him.
"I'm guessing my discipline worked, hmm?" he adds. I nod, afraid to say more.
"I probably shouldn't piss you off," I utter, and I'm not surprised he didn't hear me. He might be ignoring me simply, but I'm not all that sure.
"Well, you know my address," he suddenly says, facing me, shuffling other pieces of paper. "I've got shit to be doing now, so it's best you go. This is just a little teaser, Clyde. How about you visit me, say, tomorrow morning?"
I think for a moment. "But tomorrow's a Saturday."
He chuckles dryly, sounding almost forced. "It is, yes, Clyde. Cancel your plans."
I don't think I have any plans for Saturday morning. I just leave it open in case Craig comes and wants me to come out and do some gay stuff around town or something.
I don't reply, and he stands up. I figure it's only best if I do the same.
"I'm hoping to see you tomorrow," he sounds so posh. Bleurgh. "Around, say, eleven-ish? Sound good, hmm, Clyde?"
I nod. "Sure, whatever."
He smiles, putting his hands behind his back.
Just as I'm about to leave, I turn to face him again, and I call to him: "Will I be slapped if I'm late?"
He giggles. "No, only if you don't do as I say."
I sigh a sigh of relief and head home.
A/N: Wow, over 3,000 words and 7 pages on this chapter. This is kind of a record for me. I don't really write long chapters, but this story's intriguing me. I really like it; I'm kinda proud. I'm hoping to finish this story quite soon, because it's almost half term and I don't have a lot due this week so I won't be as busy as other weeks.
Reviews are highly appreciated, be courteous of my hard work :3 If you don't reply, then your head will explode all over my lovely carpet, all covered in head juice. Haha, I love that, honestly, I do. Isn't the mind of Clyde Donovan exciting, children? :D
