Some more info about POV's and time frames: So we've seen both Kenny's and Kyle's perspectives in the last two Now chapters. I've always liked first person best because you can truly take on the voice of the character you're writing. You can really convey their mannerisms, personality, and thought process effectively - or at least more so than in third person. The narrative style of each character changes depending on the time frame, more so Kyle's than Kenny's. Because of that, Kyle will seem to think more in depth and logically before anything has happened (Then) than he will in any of few Now chapters where he'll be narrating (I'll say it now, Now will mostly be Kenny's thing, while Then will be roughly equal with slightly more of Kyle's POV).

Kenny and Kyle also have different maturity levels, particularly at the beginning, so their POV's will narrated differently even though they're the same age. I also think it's important to note that, just like everybody focuses more on either the past, present, or future, so do Kyle and Kenny. Kenny looks back a lot, while Kyle's got more of a present or future mindset, also affecting the narrating styles. Also, on character traits: Kenny is more of a perceptive kind of guy and thinks more within himself than anything, wheras Kyle's more to-the-point and delves on the obvious around him. That should be made obvious at this point. Any major questions that come up while reading a Then chapter will be answered in Now chapters. The information will keep adding up, little by little, and hopefully (or so I plan) will make as complete a story as if it had been narrated chronologically from beginning to end. I tend to write a lot when I write authors notes.

00

Then

Kyle: twelve years old, seventh grade

00

I hold the piece of paper in my shaking hands, my stomach twisting in knots as it had been since we got our report cards at school earlier today. I couldn't pay attention the whole of today because this piece of paper was the only thing on my mind. Christ, you'd think they could have waited until last period to hand out what would be to several kids a sure notice of future grounding. Me, though, I can't stop staring at that horrible letter to the right of "Science 7." I can hear Cartman and Kenny arguing in the background over Pepsi or something gay like that, but it's not really registering in my mind. As always, though, the argument escalates and delves into unrelated territory, and the rising voices are harder to ignore.

"At least my mom didn't walk out on me!"

"Shut the hell up, you fat fuck! At least my dad's not my mom!"

"Oh, yes Kenny. I'm so jealous of your alcoholic dad. Please, take me in so I can savor the wonders of your family. Ow! That hurt, buttfucker!"

My ears are ringing with the noise of the two hitting each other and the bus driver yelling something in Spanish at them. Why do they always pull this shit? And why can't the day be over already? I squeeze my eyes shut, and then feel somebody touch my shoulder.

"Kyle, aren't you supposed to tell Cartman he's an asshole or something for talking about Kenny's mom?" I open my eyes and look at Stan, then look back at my report card. Stan frowns and looks worriedly at the white paper. "Dude, are you still on about that thing? So you failed a class, big deal. You'll be grounded for two weeks, tops."

I shake my head frantically and wave the paper in the air, as if it would make the magnitude of it clearer to him. Stan never gets this stuff. Yeah, since he's never failed a class in his life. Stupid Mr. B Average. "You don't understand, Stan. I've never failed a class. Ever since we started middle school, my grades are getting worse, I can't stop fighting with my parents, and my mom won't stop fucking nagging at me for every little thing I do wrong. I don't get half the things in my classes, I don't know what the fuck to do anymore. You remember last year when I got a C in math?" Stan nods his head. "I'd never seen my mom so pissed. She was going on about how disappointed she was for a month afterward. This isn't even a C, this is a freakin' D!"

Stan bit his lip in thought, glancing down at the report card again. He took it from me and folded it neatly in half, stuffing it in the front pocket of my backpack as if trying to force it out of my mind, force it into hiding somewhere. "You're not gonna fix anything my worrying this much about it. Your mom's probably just on the menopause or something. It'll get better, dude." I didn't believe him, and I'm sure my face shows it. He sighs and rolls his eyes, slinging his arm over my shoulder. "Hey, just tell your mom you're having trouble concentrating in class. Maybe she'll go easy on you."

I snort. Even if that could work, I wouldn't tell my mom anything like that. She already threatened anger management on me, but telling her anything about the weird stuff I've been feeling lately would probably make her commit me or something.

"Hey! Look at Stan, he's got his arm wrapped around Kyle! Fags!"

"Oyes, cabron! Te dije que te sentaras!"

Stan retreats his arm just as the bus screeches to a halt and I, along with a handful of other people, hit the back of the seat in front. I glare at Cartman as I rub my aching cheek and see Stan pick himself off the floor. Mr. Martinez drags Cartman to the front by the scruff of the neck and pushes him out the door, taking off at ungodly speeds again seconds later. Laughter echoes through the bus and I see Kenny making faces out the emergency exit as Cartman tries running after the bus. Naturally, he's too fat and stops to catch his breath just short of a block after getting kicked out. "Serves him right." I hear Kenny say to Craig while snickering.

The whole Cartman fiasco keeps us entertained until the bus drops Stan, Kenny and I off. We say goodbye as Kenny and Stan go right while I go left. Eventually, the distance makes Kenny and Stan's excited chatter die off. I yawn and drag my feet at a slow pace, bumping every mailbox I pass with my hand and putting down the handle of all the ones that have it up just for the sake of doing something. Dammit, I'm so tired. It's barely three thirty and I could just drop dead in the snow. You'd think I was seventy or something. I seriously hate school. There's too much stuff to do, we get out too late, and my history teacher smells like tuna. Who's great idea was it to have public schooling that sucked so much ass? And what's up with the letter grades, man? I can't help but think about my failing grade again. Shit, what was I supposed to tell my parents? Maybe I could just not tell them and wait until they pick my report card up in the mail on Saturday. Wait, that'd probably make things worse, wouldn't it? God dammit, middle school sucks so bad. Maybe I could break it to them -

"Oomph!"

"Fucking Jew. My dead grandma walks faster than you." I hate Cartman so much. I really, really do. I spit out some snow that somehow ended up in my mouth and pick myself up off the ground. After so many years though, I suppose his asshole nature can't be helped. We've all just learned to deal with it as a sort of curse that is bestowed upon us until we manage to get the hell away from this backwards town. I mean, he kind of won't leave us alone anymore.

"I thought you were ditched eight blocks back. How the hell did your fat ass get here so fast?"

"That's how slow you were walking. And don't call me fat, fucker."

I roll my eyes, dust the snow off my pants and keep walking, wincing slightly at what feels like a bruise forming where Cartman's elbow dug into me when he inexplicably tackled me. "Ugh, whatever. Just get the hell away from me."

"Ooh, PMSing Jew, have we? Still crying over your stupid grades?"

"Dammit Cartman, haven't you pissed off enough people today?!" I shoot at him, thankful we're almost at my house so I can ditch the fatass.

"What's wrong, Kahl? Gonna go have a little break-down in the handicap stall again?"

I stop walking and my eyes widen. Is it getting hard to breathe or something? "I-I don't know what you're talking about, f-fatass."

"Yeah right, Kahl. I heard you in the bathroom the other day during third period. At first I thought you were jacking off, but then I saw you freaking out on the floor and you couldn't even remember how to breathe. It was so fucking funny, Kahl. I thought you were gonna die."

I unfreeze and run towards him, tackling him to the snow and grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. "You fat fucking bastard, you've no idea what you saw!" I scream at him, narrowing my eyes. "Wait a second... why were you looking in the stall when you thought I was jacking off?" Before he could wipe that deer-in-the-headlights look off his face and give an answer, I hear my front door open. Ike is standing there and pointing behind him, making odd facial expressions. Awesome, I'm in trouble before I even get in. There's a chance that this could be bad enough to soften the report card blow, but it's a long-shot. If I'd done something really bad lately, I'd probably remember. I feel Ike pat me on the arm before he climbs the stairs and sits at the top of them, waiting to see how the whole thing will play out. Nosy little bastard.

My heart starts hammering in my chest when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around and see my mom standing there with a frown on her face. Great, it's going to be a long one. I sit down shakily on the couch and wait for her to chew me out. "Kyle, I got an interesting call from Ms. Foster, today." The school counselor? The vice principal usually calls our parents when we pull shit. Unless... no, Cartman can't have told. Right? He would wait until seeing me completely paranoid over it before telling. Oh, fuck, I'm about to go into cardiac arrest or something. "She says you've got an interesting report card to show us this quarter." Hold on, the counselor handles the grades? Thank God. I'd rather argue failing science and barely passing math than I would explaining anything else that might reach Ms. Foster's oversized ears.

I laugh nervously and dig my report card out of my backpack. "Uh, yeah. Interesting is one way to put it," I choke out as I hold out the piece of paper. She takes it and looks it over, not really looking surprised. They must've told her everything that was on that thing. I don't know whether or not I'm relieved that I don't have to tell her myself. Before I can say anything else, she takes a seat to my left, my grades still in her hand, and looks at me accusingly before continuing.

"She says you haven't been paying attention in class. Your teachers have complained. Ms. Foster called because she's surprised that you've fallen behind so much, given your elementary school records. I can't say I haven't been just as surprised as her. Do you mind telling me what's so important that you couldn't keep your mind on your studies, Kyle?"

"Mom, I've been -"

"Maybe you've been hanging out with your friends too much, Kyle? You need to concentrate on your studies -"

"I haven't hung out with the guys in, like, two weeks mom. I've been trying to catch up on my school stuff, I swear -"

"Don't interrupt me Kyle! And why do you need to catch up in the first -"

"You interrupt me, why the hell can't I interrupt you?!" I yell indignantly. I'm so tired of her hypocrisy. Why won't she ever let me get a fucking word in?

"Don't use that tone with me, Kyle! Now, you're grounded for two weeks! Use that time to sit down with some books and study. Think about your future for once. Your bad habits aren't going to get you anywhere." I dig the nails of my right hand into my left wrist, clawing at it and squeezing it in an attempt to not scream my head off.

"I've been studying, mom! I'm trying, I swear! I can't fucking try any harder!" Deeper. Don't scream, don't yell. Try and breathe. My head hurts so bad right now. I'm so tired, I just want to lie in bed. I want to be alone.

"Watch your language, Kyle! Just you wait until your father hears about this! You used to be such a good boy, what the heck has happened to you?"

Bite your lip, just try to calm down. Swallow the lump in your throat, don't lose your head. "Yeah, yeah, I know I've been fu - messing up. I'm sorry, okay! But you've got to believe me, I'm trying! You're being unfair, it's like you're not even listening to me!"

"How am I being unfair, Kyle?! You got a D in science, a C in math, and the only A's you get anymore are in Language Arts. You used to barely get any B's, and I find it hard to believe you're honestly trying the way this looks!"

Shut up, shut up, shut up. "Dammit, mom, why won't you just believe me? You're not listening to me, you never do! I really am trying -"

"No, Kyle. I know you, and I know that this is not you."

"WELL, MAYBE YOU DON'T KNOW ME AT ALL!" She looks taken aback by the loudness of my voice, Honestly, I am too. I'm so fucking mad right now, though. And apparently yelling is the only way to get her to shut up and actually listen to me. I stand up and hope to God I'm not crying from the sheer frustration. I'm unsteady on my feet and can feel myself shaking. I don't want to argue anymore. "JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!!" My throat stings and with that, I fling my backpack over my shoulder and stomp up the stairs, ignoring Ike as he calls out my name. I carelessly throw my backpack on the floor, slam the door and lock it. My breathing is harsh and labored. My chest hurts so bad right now. I look down at my aching wrist and notice I accidentally dug my nails in too much. I roll my sleeve up and press at the red punctures with my thumb.

I hate her so fucking much. She is such a bitch. I can't believe she's not up here right now, trying to tear my door down or something. It's all her fault, everything's her fault. No, that's not true; if it wasn't for me fucking up, I probably wouldn't be in this mess all the time. I can't even do anything anymore. I choke back a sob and wipe the angry tears violently off my cheeks. I clutch my stomach and slide down the door to the floor, bringing my knees up to my chest. I hate school, I hate my parents, I hate Cartman. I hate everything.

I take a sharp, gasping breath and clutch my stomach harder, my hands shaking and trembling. I can't control my temper, the trembling, nothing. I'm trying as hard as I can to keep my cool, but I can't - can't even breathe anymore. I feel like I'm - like I'm dying or something. Fuck, I can't do this anymore. It- it's too much, I want it all to stop. I hate these freak episodes, too.