Authors Note: Thanks to those who reviewed, and all my lurkers. I check my stats, I know you're there. :P
All those in favor of me posting a chapter every day and get started on the NEW chapters, say I. I just have to know I have readers still, I'm trying to build my audience again.
Chapter 4- Paper Airplane.
Butters is ignoring me again.
Monday, two days after I helped him with his dark blue Kawasaki, and he hasn't acknowledged me at all. I didn't hear from him all weekend and now back at school he's acting like I don't even exist. So much for the, "You're my best friend" bullshit he tried to sucker me over with. I knew I shouldn't have believed it and I didn't think I did then. But now I realize I must have believed him a little bit, or I wouldn't be so God damn pissed off. All I know is that someone needs to smack that kid upside the head. I'd do it myself, but unfortunately my arm doesn't stretch forty feet away from my body, which is the closest he'll get to me. This is how I know he's avoiding me and not that he actually doesn't realize I'm there.
It's third period math and when I first enter the classroom, I contemplate being an asshole. Butters sits in the far back corner of the room, right next to Tweek. All I would have to do to get Tweek to let me have his chair is make any kind of sudden movement. I actually feel sorry for the paranoid, jumpy, caffeine junkie. He's in need of some serious one on one loving. I'd kiss away all his jitters and make him feel even better than better, If I weren't afraid Craig would kick my ass for trying.
If I did swindle Tweeks desk for the period, I could ram my desk up against Butters and stare at him the whole damn time. After all, how can you ignore gazing eyes for a full forty minutes? He would have to talk to me.
Then I remember this councilor I talked to a few times when I was ten. She told me to focus on happy things whenever I'm feeling particularly moody or upset.
Sex equals happy Kenny.
Where do you find sex in math class? Second row, farthest from the door. It's unfortunate that Kyle doesn't share this class with us, I would have really loved to see some groping right about now.
That aside, I flop into the chair one row behind and just to the right of Stan. As the teacher begins the incredibly boring lecture, I gather a plain piece of paper from my desk and write; Lets do some real math.
Underneath that I write;
Add a bed, subtract the clothes, divide the legs and multiply.
I snicker as I fold it up, write "Stan" across the front and then tap his shoulder. He accepts the note without looking back.
While he's looking it over, I avert my attention to Butters. He's busy jotting down equations and answers. I watch his tongue as it travels the perimeter of his lips and disappears again. He pauses, gnaws the tip of his pen and then glances directly at me. He blinks when he notices me staring and quickly goes back to work.
I feel a smile creep up my face. The way his hair looks falling into his eyes is absolutely precious. It's so soft and shiny looking. I wonder what it would feel like to touch it. Probably smooth and slick, like silk. Or even feathery.
I'm brought around when a wad of paper smacks me in the face and tumbles into my lap. I quickly open it and read Stan's writing;
Beer + porno + Butters equals Kenny joygasms.
I see you staring at him, you twisted fuck.
I snort a loud laugh when I read the answer and quickly slam my face into my arms to try and keep quiet.
He's actually drawn the "Joygasms" in a very creative, bubble figure way. The bottom looks like it's dripping with cum and he's even taken the liberty of drawing a tongue about to lap it up.
When I sit up I realize Stan is snickering, too. I bite my laughter back and add more to our paper.
I'm staring at him because he's been ignoring me. Now who's the twisted fuck? Besides:
Stan + Kyle equals Jewish- cum showers. (You don't even need the beer)
I lean forward as far as I can go, slipping it into his lap and intentionally rubbing my hand against his thigh as I retract it. I don't know what it is about Stan in general, but I've always wanted to run my hand over the bulge I know resides beneath his loose pants and long shirts. I started fanaticizing about it in the movie theater last summer. I never actually went along with instinct, but I can't say that would be true today if Kyle and Cartman hadn't been there.
He catches my subtle intention now and shoots me a dirty look. I smile and wave.
I look back up at Butters and catch his eye again. He doesn't snap his eyes away like he did the first time, but casually looks over to Tweek and nudges his side.
"Ah!" Tweek jumps.
"Shh!" Butters hiss-whispers, then glances at the teacher. Noting the cost clear, he then leans into Tweek and whispers to him. Tweek bites all of his nails as he listens.
"Oh, Jesus!" He finally exclaims. "Oh, God!"
He accepts a small, folded piece of paper from Butters, twitches as he looks toward the teacher, and with another whispered encouragement from Butters, hurriedly moves into the empty seat in front of him and two seats over from me. I stare at him as he leans far over to hand it to me.
"What's that?" I whisper.
"Ah! God, Here! Just take it!" He tosses it at me and hightails it back to his desk, slamming his knee into his chair and letting out a yelp as he does so.
The entire class seems to take a deep breath and hold it as the teacher turns around to examine us. Extreme note-passing, bubble gum chewing, and insulting doodles of teachers have been erupting silently behind her. One wrong movement could mean the difference between going back to those activities as soon as her back is toward us again, or being sent to the field to run laps as punishment for the rest of the period; whether or not any of us have gym next.
Her eyes pause on Tweek, who's shaking so violently in his seat I'm tempted to put a cup of ice and fruit in his lap and make a smoothie. Blender boy's eye twitches and he munches harder on his nails. The teacher simply smiles at him reassuringly and asks if he's okay.
"Gah! I am, I just- oh, Jesus!" He looks at me.
I glare.
She tells him it's alright, and he can step out for a minute if he needs to. Not only is she a math teacher, but also a certified counselor. She has a weak spot for freak outs like Tweek. We all exhale our pent-up breaths and go back to not listening to her when she faces the blackboard and begins babbling about numbers and equations again.
I stare down at the neatly folded, light blue stationary I'm clutching and scratch my head thoughtfully, even though I can barely feel it through the orange material. I look at Butters just in time to see him avert his attention from me and down at his desktop. He fiddles with his chewed up pencil and I open his note.
Stop looking at me.
My forehead scrunches in confusion, then anger. My icy glance slices back to him. He's still playing with his pencil, head downward with an extremely annoyed look on his normally pleasant face. My fingers crunch into the paper. Stan slips "our" note onto my desk again. I'm too pre-occupied to care at the moment, and instead write a bold, black; FUCK YOU! across Butters note. My hands tremble as I fold it into a classic paper airplane with an especially sharp front end. With a quick glance at the teacher, I hurl it toward the little shit's head and hit dead on.
"Ow." I hear him groan.
It would be cute if I didn't want to rip his nuts off with my dirty, gutter- boy hands.
He rubs his palm against the abused spot on his head and then unfolds the note. His eyes widen and his jaw drops slightly, giving me a sense of satisfaction. I'm just about to open Stan's note when I hear Butters crumble the paper into a tight ball and attempt at hitting me in the head. Instead, it flies right passed me.
I peek over at him again. His arms are folded tightly across his chest and his lip is protruding out in an open pout. Now, Butters isn't usually mean to people, and when he is, it's completely childish. He demonstrates this now by sticking his tongue out at me.
My hand cracks against my desk loudly as I lurch from my chair, more than eager to beat the ever loving crap out of him. Unfortunately, the noise grabs the attention of every living thing in the room and just as I grasp the front of his shirt, I feel arms encircle my waist from behind.
"Whoa, whoa, Dude! What the hell?"
It all happens so fast, I'll never know how Stan got to me so quickly.
"What on Earth is going on!" The teacher demands.
I remain silent, seething fiercely as Stan pulls me away, but I keep eye contact with my prey, mouthing deadly threats. He looks almost as terrified as Tweek, who made a break for it and was now literally in Craig's lap, teeth chattering like the wined- up toys you can buy at Halloween. Apparently, he also possesses the gift to travel at the speed of light. There's no other way to explain how he got from his desk and clear across the room to Craig's without anyone noticing.
"Mr. McKormick," The teacher spits. "I wont tolerate any outburst in the middle of my class."
"What about the beginning?" Clyde asks, sending everyone besides Tweek, Butters, Stan and I into a round of laughter. The sad thing is, I think he was serious when he asked.
"Extremely amusing." She replies in a clipped tone before diverting her full attention back to me. "If you can't behave, the both of you are going straight to the field to run laps."
"Damnit, Kenny, be cool." Stan whispers in my ear.
I jerk violently out of his grasp, my eyes narrowed on Butters as I sit back down. He's smashing his knuckles together fearfully.
Stan casts me a pleading look, but I ignore him. As the teacher proceeds with the lesson, he tosses back another note.
Are you okay? Kyle's the one who usually leaps and attacks unsuspecting victims, not you.
I breath deeply and write back.
I'll tell you about it later.
This must satisfy him, because he never writes back.
It takes all my effort not to look at Butters again. And I'm not doing it just because he told me not to, I'm doing it because I honestly don't think I can keep my ass planted in my seat if I do. He's pissed me off in a way no one has been able to in a very long time. I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming, and stomp the heal of my shoe onto the floor. It crunches on something under the desk. It's not until I retrieve it that I realize it's mine and Stan's previous note. I open it without anything hitting me this time. He's drawn a thick line through my last equation.
Stan + Kyle equals Jewish - cum showers. (You don't even need the beer)
Underneath it he wrote:
Stan+ Kyle equals love. (We don't even need the cum- showers)
Something in me breaks. The anger vanishes and I'm left with that deep buzz off alone. The note is squeezed into my fist, releasing my last bit of anger. Then I burry my face in my arms.
Suddenly I feel like lowest form of asshole.
------------------------------------------------
The part of the day I've been dreading most comes way too soon; Gym. Surprisingly, it's not because of the usual reasons. I'm lazy, most sports sucks ass, and anyone would want to ditch if a short, loud woman with more muscles than a champion body builder were your coach. I think she's a dyke.
No. I know she's a dyke. And a bitch.
But that doesn't worry me. The part that worries me is Wendy. A lot of times we're grouped into pairs of two for this reason or that, and we're always together. There isn't a golden, unbreakable rule saying we have to stay paired together, but I know in my heart that we will be.
I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears as I walk out onto the field. There's a physical fitness test today. I'm the exact opposite of enthusiastic. Last year, I not only had the energy of a turtle during hibernation, but my pull- up ratio was a grand total of six. Of course, I hadn't eaten in two days or slept at all the night before. I figure I'm more well off this year, but I still don't like to think about it.
Wendy smiles and waves at me before trudging over. "Hi, Kenny."
I smile back. "Hey."
"Ready for another forty minutes of hell?"
"As ready as I'll ever be."
We chuckle and link our arms together as we listen to the coach preach about the importance of fitness and that we should treat our bodies like a car.
Right, and I'm sure she'd like to ride every single one of us. Or at least the female half of us.
No matter how much I hate her, I always like when she takes a long time to lecture us. Wendy takes this time to lean her head against my shoulder and her fingers glide over my palm and wrist to the sensitive bend in my elbow, then back down.
As she does it today I feel like I'm going to fall asleep. This isn't a surprise at all. Our night and day relationship is as different as night and day themselves. It always has been. So while during the night time we went from cuddle buddies, to lovers, to queen bitch and king of pathetic; During daylight hours we've remained friends and gym partners.
I rest my head up against hers and close my eyes as the sensations travel across my skin. I feel myself start to drift to sleep when the coach yells; "Now get your asses moving!"
I'm not an athlete, and I don't want to be one. Considering that, I think I do extremely well on everything except push ups. The coach is a different story entirely. She thinks we all did pathetic. While she goes to cool off before her next class, we're sentenced to sit-ups until the bell rings.
Try to imagine what it's like; the only girl I ever came close to loving, wearing short gym shorts and lying on the ground while I hold her ankles down for leverage. My eyes drift between her thighs. I can feel my body temperature begin to rise steadily and my blood flowing to lower regions.
I shift uncomfortably.
The sound of a loud exhale draws my attention back to her face. Her arms are outstretched beside her. And all I can think about is the way it feels to be inside of her.
"Okay," She breaths. "Your turn."
I don't budge.
"Kenny?"
I want to kiss her. I want to feel her arms around me.
"Wendy-"
"Please, don't."
She already knows what I want to say. Why won't she let me talk about it? Why won't she give me a reason if she can't give me her love?
"Let me up." She demands this.
"Wendy, pleaseā¦" I move my hands from her ankles and secure them on each side of her, sliding through her raised knee's and pining her down with my own body.
Both of us are breathing hard and deep, staring at each other silently.
"Wendy-"
"No!" She shrieks.
The other students have already left for the showers early. We're all that's left.
She squeezes her eyes tightly closed so she doesn't have to look at me. Instead of arguing, I lower my head and brush my lips across her eyelids. First one side, then the other. When I lift my head and look at her, tears are streaming down her cheeks. I feel my head lowering, slower this time, until my forehead touches hers. I close my eyes, rub my nose on one side of hers and kiss her cheek. It's not until I move to sit up that I notice she's clutching my shirt tightly, holding me down against her. I don't know what she wants from me, and I feel like I'll break down in sobs if I don't stop acting like such a damn pussy. I don't want to leave her like this, but the only thing that gives me enough courage is the fact that next time I see her, it will be like this never happened at all.
I kiss her gingerly on the lips and then walk away.
-BratChild3
