Blindfold
Disclaimers: South Park is not mine. It is created by Matt and Trey and is owned by Comedy Central. VIVA LA CONSTRUCTION PAPER. Oh, and all the famous brands and whatevers mentioned here. Too lazy again to list them all.
Author's Notes: Yeah, sorry for the late update. A lot of things are going on, what with the PAASCU that is to be taking place by February, and so all the teachers are stressing and giving projects with deadlines next week so February would be free of everything. PAASCU is this event when all the best works of students are to be displayed in this place, every class will be observed, et cetera. Plus, the Fair is sometime in Feb as well, so all the clubs are preparing. I suggested that my club would dress as beatniks with the bongos and everything, and we're going to recite lyrics of a song poetically and beatnik-y. Like: "Oh baby, baby… I want you… to know…" XD Our moderator approved it. I got the idea from a book launch performance. It was the same thing, but without the beatnik costumes. It was funny.
Anyway, I tried my best to finish this long chapter about Craig's week. I even lost inspiration somewhere in the middle, and I'm not satisfied with most parts, but I really wanted to update soon for all of you. I even do home works during Lunch Time at school so I have a free night. I don't procrastinate anymore, which is great. My New Year's Resolution. Haha.
I apologize if this chapter isn't good. Please inform me of your views on this particular chapter. I could edit it before starting on the next chapter (Which I still have no idea how it would go)! Chapter Six might be much later than this chapter since January and February schedule is hectic and busy. Again, I'll try my best to post the next chapter before March. :)
I would also like to thank this particular reviewer that suggested a scene for me to put in. I'll do my best to add that in later chapters. Thanks!
Chapter Six: Bother
I went to Token's. Since Clyde was just doing community service—which was actually doing Token's chores—and Token was busy checking their project and at the same time making sure Clyde didn't mess up in cleaning, I decided to visit and probably help Clyde with his punishment. I didn't; I just watched his misery in slight amusement. I felt bad for him though—Token's house is massive. And as they always say: The bigger the house you can mess up, the bigger the mess to clean. Clyde asked me who exactly said that, and I answered 'Rich people. To their maids.' I pointed at him as I stated the latter and he cursed at me.
I've always wondered why rich bastards have to have big homes to live in when it's more than enough for them. Or maybe it just comes in a package. Like 'Oh jesus, I'm rich so I should buy that hot tub I saw at that store in the mall and other expensive crap and I should buy this mansion for me and put all my shit there and I don't care if I get lost in that big ass castle of mine cause every room will have everything that's necessary and I'm gonna quit my job cause I'm rich and all and I get to eat Turkey everyday and all that shit and hire hoes to keep me company and pay them lots so I could get lots and if I get bankrupt and lose everything I'm just gonna go kill myself cause there's nothing else to live for blah blah blah'. Thank god Token's family isn't like that. Or perhaps I'm overstating. But there's at least some truth in what I said.
It's no lie that I like Token's home. Who doesn't? It has everything a South Park kid would ever want. A game sphere, an Xbox, a wii, a PS, PS2, PS3 and other consoles that I haven't heard of; computers and laptops of different brands in every room; other toys that make it seem like he bought the whole of Toys'R'Us nationwide; and different kinds of rooms everywhere. It's like his house came out of a Sims game.
And I'm not a fag to have a knowledge about style and shit, but I like how every room has a different kind of theme: Asian, retro, Techno and whatnot.
Clyde and I always beg Token to hang out at his place, but he always turns us down. I don't get why he has to be so selfish, Clyde had said once. But I somehow get the reason: he didn't want people to be his friend because he's wealthy and fawn over all his possessions and not him. And I'm positive Token knows that Clyde and I like him for who he is. Same goes for Stan and those guys. Except Cartman perhaps. But still, you know.
Token gave me the freedom to roam around his home, provided that I don't mess his parents' and his room, and the rooms Clyde already fixed. He didn't want to keep Clyde as his slave for long. I asked about the possibility of me breaking or misplacing something that would take him ages to find again, and he said that he doesn't care and he could always buy another one of whatever that may be if it's really important. He is fully aware of how broke I am right now and didn't want to burden me any further. Token's really a nice guy—just doesn't care enough about most things.
I listened to one of his iPods, leafed through some comic books, checked out his games, got food from his fridge, and I even did a self-photoshoot with his camera. Oh, he'll be surprised by all the pictures of me invading the memory space. And mind you, I'm not that vain a person. I'm just hell bored, and my face is gorgeous.
After I checked all the rooms, I think, I got lost. It took me an hour or so to find my way back. It was about 6 in the evening and Clyde had done all Token's chores right before Token's parents came back from work, and Clyde and I stayed over for dinner. Clyde had to leave after that, but I stayed and played games with Token. He asked me what I did the whole day and I told him about my ride to Middle Park and back, the project making and the picture taking. He didn't really care about my day except the part about my self-photoshoot and said that he'll check it out in his computer and maybe send it all to Depressed Kids Society. I flipped him off.
I went home sometime around 9 and slept. The next day was Sunday and no hell way was I going to attend Sunday Mass. Our family didn't really respect that ritual, so it's pretty obvious where we would all land. Not like you didn't figure that out yet. I don't need to know stories about Jesus Christ—I'm not an avid non-fiction fan. Plus, wouldn't that be invading his personal space? Having numerous write about his life from when he was still in Mary's womb down to when that bastard Pilot nailed him to a cross? If I wanted to hear about his life, I would go up to him and ask him myself, and I would be precise. Meaning that I wouldn't ask him 'Hey Jesus, tell me a random story about you', but 'Hey Jesus, tell me about a time when you were almost a victim of pedophilia' or something like that. I want interesting stories. Not about some dumb round up of guys to be his fanboys and all that crap.
I spent the whole day playing Tekken, surfing the internet and sleeping. I hate Sundays the most because it's family time for all my friends, and my family would rather spend time with pigs rather than each other. Not like we aren't spending time with pigs already. And since I don't want to spend all my savings, I didn't want to head to the arcade. I didn't want to head to the mall either because I absolutely detest window shopping. Makes me envious of Token, you know?
And so, I have mixed feelings when today came. I don't know whether to be relieved to actually have something to do, or be pissed off at another fucking school day with Spaz and all the other bitchfuckers that are the teachers.
But it turns out that it's just another boring day. There aren't any partner or group activities during the first two subjects, Clyde always has the talking stick during Recess—the only time when it's just the three of us hanging out in school—and I have no interest in hearing about what happened ages ago in History. Now it's Music class.
Truth be told, Music is one of my least favored subjects, despite my obsession with it. The reasons are mainly because I don't sing and because I don't play any instrument at all. The only times I like Music are when I listen to the girl's performances. I remember when they sang this medley of Hot Stuff once. Women always have to be gifted with these kind of stuff. When it's us guys, it's really weird.
Some of the best ones in my class that are guys, in my opinion, are Stan, Kyle and, surprisingly, Cartman. Teacher thinks Gregory's great. I think he's hyperventilating and singing at the same time. And I bet Token's great too, but I wouldn't know—he isn't in my class. I think all black guys are great singers. That's how they always are in movies and TV shows.
What sucks is that we have to practice singing Christmas songs since it would be December a few weeks from now. And I hate singing Christmas carols the most.
Spaz just can't sing for his life. Period. I even slapped his mouth really hard that he fell over his chair and bit his lip accidentally when I got annoyed by his voice. The teacher scolded me, but didn't send me to the Counselor when I really wanted to so I could skip this singing shit. She probably knew I needed an excuse and so she made me stay. That bitch.
What seems to be the longest hour an a half of my life ends with the Lunch Bell and my sigh of relief. I go to the Lunch Room with Stan, Kyle and Cartman where we meet Kenny, Clyde and Token already seated at our table. We take our usual seats and Token waves a CD at my face, together with an envelope thick with what I believe are my pictures from Saturday. They take a look at some of my pictures and laugh their asses off. I smirk and flip them off.
"Oh jesus, Craig!" Kenny says in between breaths. "Your facial expressions…are priceless!"
The stock gets handed over to me and I stare at my silly faces. I told them that it was done out of boredom and that it was actually kind of fun. I informed them that I've never owned a camera before, so I made most of the opportunity. Then Token offers to give me his black Sony Cybershot, the camera I used, as an early Christmas present. The whole table erupts in approval, as if they were Craig. Kenny and Clyde even ask for pictures of me in exchange for money or food or any of the necessities in my life. Even sex, Kenny says. I punch his face in annoyance, but said "Sure." to their offer (but not to the sex one, mind you).
Since Token gave me a soft copy, I let them do what they want with the stock of pictures that were printed. I told them payments would be tomorrow and the succeeding days until it satisfies the number of pictures they got.
"If these get in the School Paper without my knowing, I'll beat the hell out of all of you until you piss blood and crap your insides, got that?" I say.
They consider this and erupt in laughter once again. I roll my eyes, flip them off and leave ahead of them to get my Biology book from my locker.
Nothing interesting again during Biology. It ticks me off that we have to have that hell of a subject everyday of our school life this year. It would have been nice if my teacher isn't that asshole, but no. Biology sucks, and that's that.
The following subject is Guidance. It's this weekly subject that I really despise. As if my counseling with Mr. Mackey isn't enough. All the teacher talks about is emotions and personality and all that faggotry. Not all the tests to know more about oneself is true and accurate. What if you take a test that measures your emotional quotient and something happened to you that day that made you feel like shit and you answer your exam based on your current situation? And when you receive your results you'd be What the fuck? I'm not Emo! Why the hell is everything 'Very Low'?
And so Guidance is a waste of our time.
Right now, we're talking about Trust and Loyalty to others and oneself. Another bullcrap to learn.
"To test your Trust capability, we have this activity I'm sure all of you are familiar with. As a demonstration, I'd like to call…" She trails off and looks around the silent class. I sigh because I just know she's going to call—
"How about Craig and Tweek?"
…us.
I stand up, flip her off and stride to the front of the class, crossing my arms and glaring at the floor.
Spaz, having been surprised by his name being called, stands up and stumbles to the floor, screeching and twitching violently. The class chuckles as he makes his way messily to my side.
The teacher purses her lip and says to the class: "This is called Catch Me, wherein Partner A stands on a chair or a table or any elevated area while Partner B stays below him to catch him as Partner A drops himself backwards." I cringe and glare at Spaz. "You. Up."
He twitches and grabs the side of the table, shaking and staring at it with horror. "Ngh! I-I don't want t-to! It's too high! I'll fall even before I get up and then I'll break my neck and blood will shoot out of my nose and ears and OH GOD!!!" He shrieks.
I curl my hands into tight balls and scowl at him. "Well, we all would like that to happen and hopefully you die in an instant so get up there or I'll break your neck myself!"
He squeaks and climbs up the table quickly, then stands up slowly to avoid falling over. I roll my eyes and stretch my hands forward, staring at him expectantly. He looks over to the teacher with mercy, but she keeps her watch on me and says: "Let's see if you're incompetent to Trust, Craig."
I flip her off and stare back at Spaz. He glances down at me with hesitation and I smirk. "Don't worry, Blondie; I'll catch you." The class snickers and Spaz gulps. He looks forward, stretches his arms sideward, ready to fall. And I furrow my eyebrows in bewilderment. He fucking knows what I would do to him, and yet he stays there, ready for me to 'catch' him. He should have saved himself and pleaded to the teacher for him not to do it because I'm Craig and he's the Spaz.
I humph and wait. I hear him sigh and he starts to collapse backwards to me. I bite my lip and jump backwards quickly, watching him hit the floor with a loud thud head first. He groans and stays lying there. The teacher screams and heads towards Spaz, checking his state.
"He's lost consciousness!" The teacher says.
The class laughs and I stay standing in my spot, staring at the lifeless body on the floor.
"Someone get him to the Nurse's office!" She looks around and calls a random name. "Token!"
Token furrows his eyebrows as the class turns towards him. He thinks for a moment, sighs and accepts. The class watches Token silently as he carries him and walks out the door.
The teacher looks at me with a disapproving look, shakes her head and tells me to go sit back down. I do so in silence, ignoring everyone's amused stares.
"All right, uhm…can someone else show how to do it correctly?" The teacher asks.
Kenny shoots his arm up in eagerness. The teacher nods at him and he stands up, grabs Butter's hand and heads to the front of the class.
I rest the side of my face on my left palm as I watch Butters climb to the top of the teacher's desk glancing at Kenny. Kenny gives him a reassuring look and outstretches his arms. Butters takes a deep breath, lifts his arms sideward and falls backwards. For me, it happens all too quickly as Ken catches Butters and steps his right foot rearward to support the weight. Butters flutters his eyes open and looks up at Kenny. Kenny grins widely and says: "Looks like you can count on me to catch you when you're falling, babe." He winks as Butters tosses his head sideward in confusion.
The teacher applauds them, and so does the rest of the class. I glance towards the teacher and catch her staring at me. I avert my eyes after flipping her off.
~.::.~
"It's just like carrying a basketful of laundry," I hear Token say.
I turn around and spot Token and Clyde heading towards my direction, having a conversation.
"That light?" Clyde questions, raising an eyebrow. Token nods.
As they reach me, Clyde says: "Hey Craig, words of advice?"
I look at Token and think. "Burn your shirt."
Token rolls his eyes and Clyde laughs.
"Do you want to claim your camera now, Craig?" Token asks.
"What? Without wrapping paper and a greeting card? Come on, Token. It's a gift. Be more Christmassy." I chuckle.
"What about me, Token?" Clyde pouts. "No gift for your super best friend in the world?!"
"Jesus Christ, Clyde!" Token yells, covering Clyde's face with the palm of his hand.
"Cmn, Tkn!" Clyde muffled. I curve my lips upward an amusement.
"I'm going to go on ahead," I tell them. "See you tomorrow."
"Bye," the two say in unison, then proceeds with their small quarrel.
I arrive home in about 15 minutes and I stare at the parked Honda Civic outside our driveway. Definitely not ours, unless Dad bought a new one. I swing open our front door and find a woman in her early 30's seated on our couch. She stares at me and stands. "You must be Ruby's older brother."
I furrow my eyebrows. "If this is something about a charity drive…"
"Oh no! I'm Marie's mother. Marie is Ruby's friend. She asked if she could stay over at our place while your parents are gone. She also mentioned that you were staying at your friends, so she really needed to stay at our home." She tosses her head to the side and asks: "She didn't tell you?"
I furrow my eyebrow and shrug. I head towards the kitchen and check my IP project. Still a bit soft, but dry patches are evident here and there. I walk back to the living room and yell: "Ruby! Hurry the hell up!"
I hear hurrying footsteps and soon, my eyes fall upon a red head with her luggage, and a brown haired girl right behind her. She looks at me with a scowl. I sneer. "Jesus Christ, Ruby, could have told me you're gonna stay there the whole week!"
She sticks her tongue out and hands her bag to Rie's mom.
"Let's go girls," she says to the both of them, glancing worriedly towards me. Yeah, I get bad first impressions when it comes to adults.
Ruby spins around and smiles innocently. "Bye, Craig!"
"Yeah, bye shrimp," I say, tousling her pigtailed hair, flipping her off where that old woman won't be able to see. She returns the gesture, and leaves.
I sigh and bury my hands in my Hoddie pockets. Now I have to suffer in the silence of my home. Great.
Ruby's…a bitch. We like to torture each other, just like other siblings with huge age gaps. Nevertheless, we engage in conversations, rant and rave, and talk about our parents—yep, just like ordinary siblings. Only that happens just rarely. We've got our own lives to deal with. She doesn't know much about me, and I have no idea what goes on in her girly life. Not so much like ordinary siblings.
If I would know any better, I'd say Dad favors her more than he does with me. And mom just hates both of us equally. My guess is because of the hair. I don't know why—it's the only similarity Ruby and Dad share. And usually, with parents like mine, they'd favor people with at least one similar trait as them. And this leads me to an unsolved puzzle in my life: Why do I have black hair?
I get this inkling that mom used to be black-haired, but dyed her hair because of some reason. I even did the Punnett Square just to prove this presumption. It would be entirely impossible for me to have black hair if mom's a natural blondie. This doesn't even pass as a case for Multiple Alleles! (This lesson I listened to, out of curiosity for said mystery)
Well, whatever. I'm thinking random things again.
I drop myself on my bed with the unmade sheets and reminisce on this day that is ending. And I can't help but wonder why Spaz dropped himself backwards.
~.::.~
Tuesday.
Another boring day that I don't care to relate. Oh, but I should mention how annoyed I was this morning when I spotted Spaz. Looks like he hasn't died yet. Darn. All he got for treatment was a bandage around his forehead. I punched him in the gut because of that.
Patience, Craig. Good things come to those who wait.
Great way to start this uninteresting day. And as I said, I won't narrate it at all.
Except Arts. And this is how it goes:
The teacher begins talking shit about Self-Portraits and how they are very unreliable sources when you are to research on how the artist looked like. She goes on about how the artist could be conceited and paint him or herself beautifully, when in truth, that one is ugly. And so, she says, we must have other people who will honestly paint ourselves. She tells us to pick our partners (It's a given who I'm stuck with) and to choose who would be partner A and partner B.
"You're B, Bitch," I tell Spaz, and he flinches. Then I frown when I tell myself 'You're A, asshole.' "I'm A for awesome," I answer back audibly.
"All right, Partner A, claim your canvases here."
The canvas is small, almost the size of a ¼ Illustration board. Once I get back to my seat, the teacher continues: "Partner A, you have to sketch Partner B." I cringe and glare at Spaz. He twitches and stutters. We face our seats together and I cross my legs to serve as support for my canvas.
"Maybe when I'm done with it, you'll finally realize you look like shit," I tell the Spaz in a husky whisper.
"Partner B, you must maintain good posture and avoid moving around so Partner A wouldn't have a hard time sketching you." The teacher says, and I roll my eyes. "That's entirely impossible when it's Spaz," I comment.
"Partner A, you must get all the features right. Do as I say: move B's head around until you get the side you want to sketch."
I lean forward and, with my pencil, lift his head up so we're almost of eye level. He twitches and I seethe: "Don't fucking move."
"Make sure the hair is neat and isn't covering B's face."
Again, with the pencil end I fix his messy hair, moving it to the sides and—sheesh, his eyes bring shame to Pandas all around the world!
"And now, start sketching! Make sure to get all his features right. The shape of the face, the hair, the size of the eyes, the shape of the nose, the lips…"
I grunt and start drawing. I smirk as I draw random lines and zigzags for his crap hair. It's just too messed up to be drawn correctly. I'm not that much of an artist, and if this turns our hideous, then I have outdone myself.
I scratch the back of my neck and stare at Spaz's face. Eyes…
I draw two big circles.
"Very funny, Craig," I hear from behind me. I look and see Ms. Arts picking up an eraser from her pocket. "Do this activity seriously, Tucker." She hands me the pink rubber and erase the circles I have drawn earlier.
"Concentrate: Look at his eyes and copy it right," she tells me. "Oh, and don't include the dressing around his head." I roll my eyes and secretly flip her off. I stare at Spaz and he starts twitching and shrieking.
"Hold still! Goddamnit, Spaz!" I grab his chin and hold it in place. His eyes are screwed shut to avoid 'the evil look in my eyes' as Stan puts it. "Open your eyes," I demand.
He slowly flutters it open and stares back at me trembling. His eyes are wide, no doubt about that. There are dark circles around his them too. And his pupils are slightly smaller than normal. And brown…
Coffee colored. When you add the cream. Either that's by coincidence or fate I don't care to question. I'd like to think that he drinks too much that it started affecting his eye color. I wonder if I cut him open, would he bleed coffee instead of crimson? That's another Freak factor I would like to know. But I find it weird: Blonds usually have blue eyes right? Take Kenny and Butters. Spaz's eyes are rather unique for his 'kind'… And rather smooth looking. Oh, no—his eyes are just watery.
I personally don't like coffee, unless I add a spoonful of creamer and sugar to the cup. Coffee's best sweet for me. That's why I don't mind being offered a cup—just remember to give me a jar of creamer and sugar! Even by staring at Spaz's eyes make me crave for a saccharine cup.
Spaz's nose is quite short in length and isn't at all sharp, hook-like nor wide. It's as small as a nose could possibly be and closely resembles that of an 8-year-old—as if it never developed since we fought. The tip is actually rosy, due to the cold perhaps. Just by staring at it makes you feel like playing 'Got your Nose', but knowing Spaz, I wouldn't want my eardrums to explode. He's even more naïve than Butters or Pip.
My eyes fall upon his lips now, trembling in either fright or normally. Soft pink lips he parts slightly, bites, purse and lick. I furrow my eyebrows in annoyance and tell him to 'make up your mind'. He blinks in confusion and stops playing with his lips, making them seem like a pout. I grunt and draw my observations. It takes me a while to have them perfect, much to my aggravation. As I finish, I draw two lines for his neck, then head back to his hair. I make the zigzags neater. Satisfied, I hold it up and marvel at it.
How ugly.
"I did it." I say smiling. "It looks so much like you. Like shit." I snicker as he downcasts his eyes. I sense a presence behind me, and I glace at whoever is there watching me and find my teacher looking thoughtfully at my work. "On the contrary, Craig Tucker, you've done a job well done. Marvelous portrait." She pats my shoulder and I stare at her back as she walks away in puzzle. Then I look back at Spaz, grin growing wider and I yell in triumph: "AHA! IT DOES LOOK LIKE SHIT!" I throw fits of laughter. "YOU HIDEOUS THING! I'M SO FUCKING AMAZING!" I don't even mind my classmates' questions as to what the hell is gone wrong in my head, nor the teacher's scolds nor Spaz's twitches and violent shaking in his seat. This is, by far, the best partner activity I have with Spaz. And I feel oh so great.
I didn't even flip the teacher off when I got sent to the Counselor. At least, I think I didn't. When I got there, it's the usual question and answer portion with the first infamous question to be: Did you flip a teacher off again? I don't know exactly, and I tell them this. Whenever the answer to question 1 is besides yes, he would ask for the reason why I'm here. I tell him vaguely about Arts, but make it a point to not make it seem like I'm hiding other things. I hate being questioned further about what took place. He then goes on with his sermon related to my so-called fault and why I should never do that again. Most of the time, I pretend to listen. No, actually, I pretend to listen all the time. And then he asks me if I understand, and I say yes, and after that he would tell me to leave and I would flip him off as I do.
But he didn't ask me to leave.
"So, Craig, how are things going with Tweek?" he asks, entwining his fingers together and placing them on his crossed legs.
I cross my arms and stare at him skeptically. "Well, what does it look like to you?"
He fans the air with his right hand as he says: "Don't worry, mmkay. The best things come to those who wait."
I furrow my eyebrows at this, mostly because I have said the not-so-exact line this morning when I saw Spaz. Not-so-exact because I have described the things as good, and Mackey described the things as best. But, I know, whatever we think that those things will be, it's undoubtedly the opposite of each other.
"Best for who exactly are these things you speak of?" I ask.
"You, obviously, mmkay."
I sneer and retort: "I'm not exactly a patient guy."
"You aren't exactly a truthful one either."
I furrow my eyebrows. What made him say that? For his information, I flip my teachers off when they irritate me, I hit people when they annoy me so much, I force my sister out of something so I could us it and the list could go on and on. All right, so maybe I am sort of tolerant, but only to the guys I always hang out with and not much to everybody else. For one, I've got close friends that don't spend time with me often, and I still ask them if they could. Also, I have lunch with Stan and those guys. Whoever sees their posse with mine are sure to wonder at how we're able to put up with fatass Cartman, Kyle's bitchiness, Kenny's NC-17 talk and Stan's pussiness. But Mackey couldn't possibly know this—unless he's speaking of the latter reason. Unless it's about Spaz. If patient in Mackey's dictionary means beating the shit out of annoying freaks (and the aforementioned things I have done that proves I'm not at all lenient), then I'm proud to say I am patient.
"Sure, whatever you say fathead," I tell him, standing up to signify that I have received enough lecture from him.
"Mmkay, Craig, you could leave," he tells me. I flip him off and walk out the always always I would be in a foul mood afterwards. As if the Office is a black hole that sucks away your exhilaration, leaving you as an empty shell of negativism. I hate that feeling. And I most especially hate it when he says things that make you think. As if I don't get much of that everyday.
Well, screw this. I'm eating my lunch.
~.::.~
Wednesday isn't any better than the previous days. To me, I regard my school days as one whole season of Survivor, and the prize I receive would be me graduating from the grade level and Summer (if you could call it that). And after 2 whole months comes the next season—shittier than before. How to get eliminated? Get expelled.
Now, there's what could be the most difficult challenge I must face and pass. And that is to survive being with Twitchy for all my school days. And every teacher is in on making me lose. But that won't come easy—I've been over-all champion of my own (version of the) game. I have my ways.
They should meet my close friend the Sandman. Because of him, I see and think less of Spaz (but in exchange, I dream of the extraordinary). But partner works are a different case. Sometimes I get to avoid much contact with him, and sometimes I have no choice but to converse or touch him.
The question is: Am I winning or losing?
"Are you listening to me, Craig?"
I glare towards my History teacher and then look down at the mountain of supplies I cradle on my arms. "Yeah."
"All right. The supplies closet is at the back of the Gym."
I groan and leave the classroom. This History teacher likes poking fun at me and I have no idea why. At least, in my opinion, she does. She always orders me to do this and that. She's just like that Biology teacher—girl version. Might as well arrange a wedding for these two and they would live their happy lives together ridiculing Craig Tucker. Oh god.
And what's she thinking—sending me to the Supplies Closet at the back of the gym? Nobody goes there. It's practically a danger magnet since behind the school it's the South Park Forest already. A rusting fence is what separates the school from the forest, but there is still a high possibility that whatever's in there would destroy the fence and enter our school grounds. We've been waiting for that since we saw a glimpse of a creature hiding amongst the trees when we were playing a game of tag back in 5th grade.
The supplies closet is the only supplies closet big enough to hold all the Gymnasium things, plus random stuff teachers from years back left there—which is precisely why Ms. History has things to be returned there. No one, not even teachers, dare to travel to that spot except for this crazy janitor who claims he fought during the war against the Germans and therefore, he says, he isn't afraid of petty creatures. He also happens to despise waiting, and since History extended for about 10 or 15 minutes, the janitor, who was supposed to return the materials for the teacher, wasn't outside the room anymore. And since she really likes me, she asked me to do it.
I arrive at the back of the Gym and swing the closet doors open quickly. I drop the things inside, close the doors and leave as swift as possible. I breathe out as I reach the front of the Gym and shove my hand inside my Hoodie pockets for a piece of paper. It's yellow with the title Borrower's Slip on the top. I have to hand this to the janitor guy who is…
Great. I have no fucking idea where the guy is.
Often, the first guess is the right guess. And so I enter the Gym. It's predictable anyway that he would be inside knowing that his position is the Janitor or Helper of the Gym. I scan the room for an old man. Not here—just Karatedo and Taekwondo members at opposite sides of the gym. I grunt and stare at the staircase leading up to the second floor—where the big Gym stuff are stored. I rise up the flight of steps and look around the second floor. I look around and wonder curiously at the way everything is arranged. The objects used for Track and Field encircle everything else which are placed at the center. I shrug and spot the janitor seated on a chair, arms crossed, legs spread wide open and head hanging low. I guess he's sleeping. I step forward to approach him but freeze in place as I hear a sigh from the other end of the floor. My head spins around and I stare upon a blond on his left knee, tying the shoelaces on his right shoe. I stare at him long enough to recognize the messy hair, the alabaster skin, and the slight shaking and discreet twitches. I scowl for a moment then soften my look. I step back a little to hide by the doorway and watch him rise to both his feet. He smoothens his creased South Park High PE shirt and looks at the janitor with an irresolute face. He twitches and shrieks involuntarily, waking the old man with a jolt. He grabs what I think is a stopwatch and yelled the GO signal. I look at Spaz and he begins running, leaping over the hurdles arranged in different distances from each other. And I finally realize that this is place is Spaz's own track oval. And I must admit: he's quite a fast runner. Must be the caffeine intake that doubles his performance.
I watch him for a few more seconds then emerge from the shadows to approach the old janitor. He looks at me with an inquisitive look and I show him the yellow paper. He stretches his arms toward me and I place it on his palm. I glance back at the Spaz running towards our direction and I sat down on the floor beside the janitor. Spaz keeps running with full concentration—this I know because he doesn't notice me watching. I furrow my eyebrows as I fathom what Spaz could be feeling at this very moment.
And I stifle a smile as I remember the same feeling I had when I was cycling towards Middle Park, the cool breeze blowing against my face and through my black hair. It's the feeling of serenity inside me and freedom all I want to be saved from.
This is Spaz's way of obtaining that.
"Poor kid, you know?"
I look at the old man and he continues: "Applied for Track and Field with a few other students a year or two his senior, and is constantly mocked and bullied. They didn't want to practice running with him. So I offered him this place to practice in during his club time. He isn't at all great at first, but then he started getting better and better until his Best Time is 5 minutes for 100 laps." He leans back toward his chair and breathes out. "This is his only escape from all the world's evil. I remember back when I was a soldier…" And then he continues on with his story, fake or real I don't care which.
I keep watching Spaz and, after 2 laps around, he looks at me, then does a double take with an anxious expression, and bumps on a hurdle, falling over with it. He groans and twitches violently, then gains courage to look at me. I stare at him for a few seconds, then stand up to leave. If Spaz and I are the same about this certain salvation we want to grasp, then he would, just like I would, want to be left in peace.
I walk home with an idle mind and nothing playing on my cassette tape of thoughts.
~.::.~
The next two days are very…odd. Not only have I been bothered by the fact that I compared myself with Spaz during that encounter last Wednesday, but I stopped sleeping during class hours. And yes, this is strange because I could if I have the will to, and today I just didn't have that motivation. I still despise Spaz, but suddenly, I have this feeling of hesitation when I want to flip him off or even oppress him. And this really gets on my nerves because I'm starting to hate him less by just a tiny bit. And that should never happen because I hate him and I would for all my days until I'm of legal age to commit illegal acts and kill him off. Or at least save me the trouble and die even before that. It just has to be that way. I refuse to lose.
Clyde and the others have constantly asked me if I'm all right. I didn't know what to tell them. So I shrug every time. I don't know what made them notice, actually. My mind has been clouded with random thoughts that I frequently don't hear people call my name the first few times until that one would shout it or bang his fist on my table or hit me in any part of my body.
Seriously, I have no idea what's going on with me. I try punching my own self, but that doesn't seem to work either.
And what confuses me the most is that I am staring down at the nervous blond, hands gripping tightly on his thermos and eyes shut tight. My right hand is curled into a fist and my left is clutching on the collar of his shirt. He just asked me a question, I think.
"Huh…?" I had said. I was deep in thought before that.
He had winced and repeated: "I n-need to s-s-see our Bi-Biology proje-ect." He had cleared his throat and twitched.
I had furrowed my eyebrows and stayed silent. And then I had questioned if it was a Friday today and he had nodded in reply. And I had said: "Not tonight. I've got club. And my parents and sis are coming home," And I had paused and contemplated. Then I had taken out a notebook from my locker, ripped a page out from it and wrote my home and cell phone number. I had handed it to him—not shoved—and he had taken it carefully. "Those are my numbers," I had told him. "Just contact me tomorrow when you're coming over." He had stared at it and nodded. And out of impulse, I had grabbed his shirt and shoved him against the lockers and had attempted to punch him.
And the puzzling part is… I couldn't do it. Like I'm frozen in this spot. I slowly lower my hand and let him go. I stare at him, then shake my head and leave him questioning me silently as I walk away.
Congratulations, I award this week as the weirdest week in my entire life thanks to Tw—Spaz.
Oh God.
Yep, weirdest week ever.
Further Author's Notes: LOL 'Pilot'. It's Pilate, Craig. But of course you wouldn't know nor care about that, you bad catholic you.
Oh Lord, I did everything to finish this long ass chapter. I don't even know if it's good or not. It's unbalanced. I'm half satisfied and half dissatisfied with this. Please tell me your views! Gah…I apologize if this chapter isn't any good!
Plus the way I ended it…I'm not all right with it. But this is the best I could give you so… Oh, and I kept debating with myself if I would have Craig almost call Tweek Tweek and not Spaz. Sigh… I really planned the scenes even before I wrote this chapter, and I really wanted it all to fit and blah blah blah…
Enough about my rants and raves. Review please. :D And again, I'm sorry. I PROMISE THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE MORE ORGANIZED AND UPDATED BEFORE MARCH. I'll try my best, really I will! -Shoots self-.