Blindfold

Disclaimers: I do not own anything related to this series.

Author's Notes: Summer time! Which means I have more time to upload chapters. ;) Sorry that I haven't been posting South Park stories as I used to, considering that I had discovered a new fandom last November. But that doesn't mean I had given up on this, oh no. So don't you fret. :D I hope I don't disappoint you with this. :(

Also, credits to Buttersthedancingqueen for providing me an idea for this chapter ages ago. :D

Chapter Thirteen: From Friends, We Are Enemies

As usual, because Clyde bitched at me, my locker isn't graced by his smug, assholic presence. It isn't much of a surprise to me that he managed to get Token to avoid me too. That inseparable pair. No matter how much they fight and punch each other's noses, they'll still pull themselves together and eat at the same lunch table like their arguments were things that come and pass. Somehow, I get the feeling I'm that sort of friend whom they can throw away at one point, but then fawn over the next. Yup, my insatiable existence. Maybe now I know how Kenny's replacements when he died for a long period of time suffered the abandonment once he came back.

I don't expect any less of them, of course. Back in kindergarten, I remember, Clyde had taken Token's favorite banana pie when he thought Token wasn't looking. So, to get back at him, Token had placed an earthworm down Clyde's shorts which resulted to a scrawny kid fistfight and a fit of wails from Clyde when Token poked his side which amused the latter greatly. The next day, they became fast friends. Where do I come in, you ask? I was the one who had encouraged Clyde, albeit unintentionally, to steal with my mention of how delicious Token's food always were, and I had told Token that Clyde hated earthworms as a sort of trivia I thought wouldn't be quite an issue to share. I did these even though I had no idea about either of them. From then on, they talked to me at random intervals until they decided to hang out with me when—and they were good in making it seem they liked me for me at that time—I started involuntarily climbing up the social ladder.

It's fine with me, anyway, if they hang out with me because of my notoriety. But they have no right to fuck me off after I do something unappealing to them. And what gives them the balls of crawling back to me and 'pardoning' me like I've committed such a horrible crime? Hey, douchebags, instead of lecturing me with your high holy shit, why don't you tell the world of your parsimony and women invading?

After getting my morning books, I slam my locker door shut, turning on the heels of my Vans and striding forward. This was done in a span of two seconds.

Two seconds is all it takes for some righteous bastard to collide his body to mine.

"Holy sh—" He repels and falls on his ass and I scowl at him. "Watch where you're fucking going, clitface!"

His eyes momentarily meet mine before scrambling to his feet to save his ass. I watch him run, a snicker escaping my curved up mouth that didn't take long to drop when, from the distance, I see three figures pushing a familiar scrawny blond towards the restroom.

I momentarily catch my breath. "It must be Butters."

"JESUS—GAH!"

Sweet mother of—

My feet subconsciously start moving forward before I could even pause to rethink my course of action. Not even, at least, how I'm actually on my way to save a Spaz in distress, no matter how fucked up that is and sounds.

I push through the crowd, yelling profanities here and there alongside harsh shoves and pushes. When I reach the door of the restroom, I hear Tweek's deafening screeches followed by the sound of splashing water and laughter. I charge inside and ball my hands to fists at the sight of three shitbags crowding around a toilet bowl. Without pausing to think, I instantly grab the collar of the nearest guy and throw a hard punch on his face. The other two, alarmed, started attacking me, but they have no fucking idea what they've gotten themselves into.

The guy at my left raises his fist to punch me, but I easily beat him to it, smashing his nose before jabbing the other guy at his stomach. The two double over, and I sense the first one coming right at me. I turn around and grab his shirt just in time and hurl him to the wall.

"Holy shit, that guy's insane!" I hear one of them say. I walk towards him and crouch down to grab his arm, twisting it behind his back until he screams in pain.

"No one—" I seethe, emphasizing the first two words, "—no one messes with—" I pause, "—Spaz but me. You got that?"

"Dude, let's get the fuck out of here!" He whimpers as I let him go, and I watch in triumph as the three scramble out of my sight.

Breathing heavily, I drop to knees and turn to Tweek who was now cowering beside the toilet bowl, drenched in piss water and mumbling incoherently. I pat his thigh. "Hey," I start shaking him to get his attention. "Hey, get up. They're gone."

His body twitches, and he slowly rises up, wiping the drool, snot or whatever on his face with the back of his jacket sleeve. He stares at me with his big, red, puffy eyes, twitching and sniffling in fixed intervals.

I snort. "You can't seriously be crying over a swirly."

He grabs onto random areas of his hair and groans, resisting the urge to break into sobs. I drop to my ass from my kneeling position and wince. "Jesus, it smells like shit in here." I notice Tweek trembling more. I cast a sideways glance and roll my eyes. "You gotta go home."

"What?" He shrieks loud enough to overpower the bell for first period. I quickly stick my index finger in my ear. "Scream again in my ear and I'll stick your head back down that cesspool."

"I can't go home! GAH! I-I-I can't miss English—ERG! Exams are c-coming up and—ACK!—I'll fail! I don't want to fail! OH JESUS! I DON'T WANT TO BE A FAILU—"

At times like these, if I was the same Craig Tucker as I was about a month or so ago, I would be slamming his head against the sink, saying, "Too late, you're already a failure!" or something much cooler than that.

But, like some sick twist of fate, I end up merely shoving his shoulder, telling him, "Walking around the school with a bruise on your face and a bleeding lip is one thing. Going to class like you got shat on by a genetically mutated man-bear-pig is totally fucked up."

He whimpers as he brings his palms to his face and bends down to his knees. Even from the muffled sound, I manage to make out, "I can't go home—GAH!—I don't want to go home!"

I throw my head back in annoyance. I bring my hand up and shake my sleeve down to reveal my watch. With a sigh, I bring it down. "My parents aren't home."

He stops shaking.

I turn my head to him. "Want to go to my place?"

~.::.~

I think I dozed off while waiting for him to come out of the shower. It seemed like a painfully long wait on my very comfortable bed that I couldn't exactly help myself. I wake up to the sound of Tweek calling my name and panicking.

I yawn and bury my face against my soft pillow. "What?" I murmur.

"I don't have underpants."

With a groan, I push myself off the bed and walk towards my dresser as I wipe the crud out of my eye. Opening the drawer, I take out the first underwear that I find and throw it at his direction. I hope it wasn't the Red Racer ones.

After failing to catch them, crouching down to retrieve them, having them fall again, then picking them up, he quickly slams the door shut. I sit again on the edge of my bed and wait, drumming my fingers on the mattress and humming the theme song of some obnoxious TV ad.

The doorknob clicks, and the door creaks as he slowly exited the bathroom. I had lent him a deep red shirt that I had grown out of and my green shorts which he seems to be pulling up due to its size compared to his stick figure.

He looks from his shorts to me with a pained expression.

I stand up. "Wait here," I say before heading out the room to where dad sleeps. I pick the lock and barge inside, looking around for his wardrobe. I step over crumpled papers and sheets on the floor, kicking porn magazines out of my way. I accidentally tip his garbage bin over and am about to leave it lying there when I pause and part my lips to scoff at the sight of its contents.

I kneel down and pick up a photo that had fallen out, clicking my tongue as I stare at the faces of four people, three of which feigning happiness for the sake of the portrait. I look thoughtfully at one face who kept his expression blank and, for a moment as I look at his eyes, quite sad.

I shake my head and fold it to put it in my pants pocket. I continue my search for the dresser and, once I find it, grab a random tie and bolt out of the room.

When I head back to Tweek, he had already given up trying to hold his shorts up which now hung below his waistline and turned his attention to the CDs in my room. Damnit, I had given him Red Racer underpants.

I clear my throat to catch his attention, and he turns around, almost dropping my D-Sides album. I pull on the neck tie in opposite directions and show it to him. "Here." I throw the tie to his direction and plop down to my bed as I watch him fumble with it. After countless of failures in putting the end of the tie through a loophole, I put a finger through one and pull him closer to me. He squeaks in surprise and I snatch the tie from his hand. "You can never do anything on your own, can't you?" A month ago, I would have meant it with much malice. Now, it's all just light banter. Unexpectedly.

After knotting the tie, I tug on the sides of the shorts lightly to ensure its security. "Better?" I ask, breaking into a grin.

He fiddles with the tie for a while before lifting his head to look at me, "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" I cock my head to the side and I realize what he meant. "Well, that's what they all want, right? For you and I to 'make amends?' Plus, the sooner they'll see how I've proven them wrong, the sooner we can both go back to our normal lives earning back custody of our freewill." I lean back and draw a deep sigh.

He twitches and takes a seat beside me. "Thanks. ERG!"

"No problem."

"I'll r-return your underpants ton-night."

I lift my eyebrows. "You can give them back tomorrow. I don't c—"

"NO!" He screamed, grabbing my sleeve causing our heads to bump. I put my hand to the area of the impact and groan. "Fucking hell—what?"

"The-The underpants gn-gnomes! SWEET JESUS! They'll steal your underpants if you don't get them tonight! They always, always steal underpants! GAH!"

I roll my eyes. I cannot believe the guy still believes in that shit he's been bitching on endlessly since eleven years ago.

"—and they don't even have a step two! WHAT IS THIS INSANITY?! ARGH! And Stan and Kyle and Kenny and Cartman all saw it and how could they have forgo—"

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I take it out, lying on my bed and letting him continue his rambling. The sender reads '1 new message: Token' and I raise my eyebrows in slight surprise.

You and your highly caffeinated responsibility weren't in class? the message says.

we wud b if i ddnt gve sht abt my etrnl prtnr smelin lyk sht, I text back.

"—stuff and my therapists all hate me because—ACK!—they think I'm more fucked up than the judge who always screams in So You Think You Can Dance on crack and—"

Obnoxious beeping sound.

What?

nothn. y r u txtng me?

"—and then they made me drink decaf—GAH!—how could they have given me DECAF?! It's the—ERG!—most revolting—"

2nd period. Go back to school. People are wondering.

n dat maix clyde mor pisd. ryt

"—Happy Fluffy Bunny-Bun Time! ARGH! They won't believe me unless they find their underwear gone and they'll be sorry they laughed at Britney Spears when the press took pictures of her—"

Clyde's just sensitive. He doesn't like it when his friends leave him or something.

or mayb clydes got his panties tyd up in nots al d tym. cuz of d undrpnts noms

"—and the cheese! OH GOD! Conspiracies, I tell you! Conspiracies that brainwash every hapless soul in this godforsaken town—"

Because of what?

nothn

"—real and no one believes—"

Anyway, forget Clyde. Go back to school, man.

"—the time and OH GOD THE PRESSURE—"

"Shut up."

"What?!"

"Shut up."

"NNG! Okay."

I hit send.

fine

~.::.~

"Do you remember the plan?" I ask him as we stand in front of the school doors.

"ACK! Pressure…" He answers, stretching the hem of his jacket that perfectly hides the shirt I lent him to avoid any more bitching from my so-called good buddy.

I roll my eyes. "Just go in, tell the teacher you had a toilet accident, ran home crying and changed your clothes. Leave out anything with me in it, or I'll really make you smell like you got shat on by a genetically mutated man-bear-pig." I pause, then quickly realize that he's wearing my clothes. "Nevermind. I'll just break your jaw."

He bites his lip and pulls on his hair, nodding incessantly.

"Awesome," I smack his shoulder as lightly as I could. "See you after Recess, Tweekie-boy."

He turns his head towards me with a scandalized expression before darting through the doors as fast as he could. I blink and raise my eyebrows, before shrugging and taking a seat beside the steps.

"Social networking sites are for conformists." I hear a voice say.

"I agree," another voice says. "The world will go on a downward spiral with people liking and commenting and re-everything-ing like a mass of technology-driven zombies."

"And people expressing emotions through symbols?" Another voice pipes in. "Soon, society will become like androids communicating in ways we'll never understand because it's too conformist."

"I hate bugs," another says.

I rise from my seat and go round the corner, only peeking to see who they were. I find the Goth Kids at their usual spot, smoking and complaining how life is so conformist and all that shit that makes them a walking paradox. After constant shifts of Stan to Raven and back to Stan, we've managed to collect more information about this sad group than we've cared to know. For one, the tall goth went by the name of Edgar, the small one by Solace, and the red-streaked one by Rue. Only this piece of knowledge stuck in our brains because, as I said, we don't really care much about the rest.

"You know what else is conformist?" Rue asks, flipping his bangs out of his face. "Love."

The other three murmur their signs of approval.

"It's love that brainwashed Raven into becoming a confused and hapless soul," Henrietta remarks, "having to live his life as a conformist football jock."

"We do poem readings," Edgar says slowly, "and he speaks of heartbreak and sorrow and the lost sense of meaning. It's too conformist."

"Love is the paradigm of conformity," Rue concludes, raising his cup as high as he cared to bring. "But I know exactly what blinds Raven into thinking he's conformist."

I turn away and slide down the wall to my ass, closing my eyes and resting my head on the cold wet surface, still eavesdropping on their conversation.

"I blame the ho he used to be with."

"Being obsessed with her is so conformist."

"You know what's equally as conformist? Hating her for breaking his heart. How conformist can she make Raven be?"

"That's why I prefer to stay neutral."

"I'll get a drag to that."

A pause.

"Now, let us quote Edgar Allan Poe's 'Spirits of the Dead.'"

"Thy soul shall find itself alone—"

"'Mid dark thoughts of the gre…tone—"

"Not one…the…pry—"

"In…hour…cy—"

I didn't hear the rest amidst the loud ringing of the Recess Bell and my thoughts scrambling in my mind, formulating a genius plan for my Kris Kringle.

~.::.~

"So," Token starts when he sees me walk towards him. "Where were you when he came?"

"Who?" I ask, almost forgetting about the early morning hoopla. "Oh, you mean Tweek?"

"Yes," he answers simply.

"You said people were talking," I reply. "Don't you think they would talk more if I came in to class with him?"

"Hmm, you're right there."

"No one noticed, right?" I frown, afraid of the possibility of Tweek slipping the details out of his mouth.

"Well," Token starts. "When he came in, the teacher demanded an explanation for his tardiness, and Tweek started stammering his excuse, but we only got to understanding that a toilet was involved before he started screaming about the pressure." He put a finger to his ear for emphasis. "I swear; it was like meeting the muse for 'The Scream' portrait."

I subconsciously roll my eyes, but felt the sides of my lips twitch upward into a highly amused and relieved smile. I had expected so from Tweek. I wasn't much for lying, either. Only when I'm answering a significant batch of questions from the teachers about my parents. It brings me back to that time at the Lunch Table wherein we lost a bet against Cartman just because I refused to lie and said I haven't gotten laid.

"So, setting aside my freak relations," I say, kicking a stone on the snow-covered pavement of our usual Recess spot, "should I begin to wonder why you're here talking to me?"

"I don't represent Clyde in any way you think," he reasons, which doesn't quite convince me.

"Really?" I raise a dubious eyebrow.

He nods. "Really."

"So you don't care?"

"I guess not."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

I break into a half-grin and place a hand on his shoulder. "You're great, man. I wouldn't normally want to boost your already inflated ego, but this I gotta say. And I mean it."

He shrugs. "I guess I realize that it doesn't really matter to me."

"Yeah," I say. "You only care about things that revolve around you."

"Exactly."

I chuckle, and he smiles as well.

"What the fuck is this?"

We turn around and see Clyde storming towards our direction, giving me a pointed glare. "What are you doing here?"

"Sand in your vagina, Clyde?" I say, quirking an eyebrow.

He ignores me and looks at Token. "What's he doing here?"

Token sighs. "Clyde, I wish you'd stop being such a drama queen."

Clyde's face reddens in embarrassment and anger. "Screw this! You're both turning on me!"

"No one is turning on you, Clyde," Token assures him, rolling his eyes.

"Then why are you with him?" Clyde yells. "I thought you were my friend!"

"If you've forgotten," Token gestures towards me, "Craig's our friend too."

Clyde glares back at me. "He isn't, now that he's being all chummy with the freakzoid." He crosses his arms in a defensive manner. "He doesn't need to hang out with us anymore."

"Why do you care anyway?" I ask. "He's never done anything to you."

He grimaces and replies through gritted teeth. "Your confusing behavior pisses me off. About a month ago, you were writhing in pain and wanted to commit suicide because there was no other way when you were told to spend every fucking moment of your school life with that guy. You used to punch me whenever I say his name and now you're saying it like it's your favorite word. You used to bang your head incessantly on your fucking locker whenever a single thought passes in your mind that has something to do with Tweek, and now you're all cool with it?"

I stare at him, undeniably guilty for everything he has mentioned. But, sadly, I remain unnerved. "Apparently, yes." I reply in a blunt manner.

"YOU ARE SUCH A FUCKING ASSHOLE!" He screams, getting ready to punch the crap out of me.

"Clyde!" Token yells, restraining him from any physical harm directed towards me. "This is completely insane!" He pushes Clyde away, taking his stand between the two of us. "Normally, it would be Clyde and I screaming our lungs out and Craig doing the lousy job of peacemaking and, Jesus Christ, you two haven't acted this way towards each other since we all became best friends!"

Clyde and I continue glaring at each other.

Token continues, "Are we just going to let Craig hanging out with Tweek ruin this bond that we share?"

"Oh, who's the drama queen now?" Clyde remarks, glancing towards Token.

"Clyde, I swear to God—"

"Why are you so upset about this anyway?" I ask again. "Are you jealous or something? Tell me why you're acting like such a douche ever since I stopped complaining about Tweek!"

He grumbles and crosses his arms once again. "Craig," he says slowly. "No one fucks someone over for more than half his life and then becomes all buddy-buddy with him in a span of one month. That's inhuman and jackassery at its finest."

"If anything, it's something to be rejoiced, Clyde," I retort. "Isn't this the whole point of Mr. Garrison's fucked up plan? To get me to stop trying to get Tweek piss blood out of his dick? Now that we're coming to terms, those wretched retards have nothing to say against me anymore other than my bad flipping off habit and all other shit that doesn't involve Tweek!"

"You are the stupidest asshole I've ever met," he says in a hushed tone. "And I don't want anything to do with you right now." He turns away sniffing and storms off, taking his dramatic atmosphere with him.

"Clyde!" Token calls out in exasperation.

"Fuck off, Token! Go hang with Craig for all I care!"

The silence between Token and I disturbs us both and we look at each other in uncertainty.

"This is fucked up, man," I finally say.

"Whatever." He waves his hand in the air, closing his eyes. "You guys should just deal with your own shit. This is giving me such a headache."

And with that, I watch my other best friend turn his back and walk away. And for a moment, I feel guilty for dragging Token into this argument between Clyde and I, and for tearing, perhaps, the 'inseparable pair' apart. I start wondering whether Token's as pissed off at me now as Clyde is, and it's all because of this issue involving me hanging out with Tweek which, in itself, is totally innocent.

And the whole thing just leaves me more confused than ever.

~.::.~

The next few subjects go on in a drag, with me staring into space and reflecting on what had happened with Clyde, Token and I. And every time I think about it, I always give a sideways glance towards Tweek, wondering how spending time with him caused such havoc in my friendship with the only two people I can stay sane with. And for a moment, I think about ignoring him in case that would help me recover from this disturbed feeling inside me.

But it was during Lunch Time when the tension grew stronger.

Stan and those guys had their eyes fixed on us with confusion and disbelief as Clyde, Token and I refused to speak with each other let alone look or touch each other, only concentrating on the food on our trays.

"Unbelievable," Cartman finally mutters. "The holy trinity has finally gotten on each other's nerves."

"Can it, fatass," I sneer at him.

"Good classic school drama," Kenny chuckles. "Is this the clichéd love triangle they always have to put in every telenovela?"

"What's a telenovela?" Kyle asks him.

"Soap opera, my dear Jew-boy," Kenny answers.

"What kind of word is telenovela?" Stan remarks with a raised eyebrow.

Kenny shrugs. "My teacher's Latin American." He sighs dreamily. "And, damn, is she one hot MILF."

Stan rolls his eyes, but frowns at the state of me and the other two. In an attempt to lighten the mood, he says, "So, how are you guys coming along with your Kris Kringle?"

This catches the attention of the whole table; Clyde, Token and I included.

"I thought you hated the idea of us hyping up the normal gift-giving to something that opposed it?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Still hating it."

"It's only been three days, though," Token comments.

"Yeah," Kyle nods, "but you could've at least thought of a plan. What are you smiling at fatass?"

"Ah," Cartman grins broader, "nothing that you should worry your little kosher-inflated ass about, Kahl."

"Cartman, I swear to God, if you do something so unforgivable—"

"Relax, Kahl! Your wrinkles are showing!"

"Yeah, well, your buttcrack is showing from that gigantic ass of yours!"

"Ay!"

While the whole Jew-vs-Fatass scene goes on, the rest of us continue our conversation.

"Have you thought of something, Craig?" Stan turns towards me.

I shrug in nonchalance. "Yeah, but it's pretty sloppy. Just thought of it a while ago."

"While you were making out with your spazzy boyfriend in the washroom?" Clyde sneers in a soft voice that only Token can hear and I barely. I look his way and grunt. "Something on your mind, Clyde?"

He ignores me and looks at Stan and Kenny. "Mine's pretty elaborate, otherwise fucking brilliant. How about you guys?"

Kenny shrugs. "I put the pro in procrastinate. I'll just make it up as I go." He smirks at Clyde. "But I'm 100% sure my ingenuity will pawn yours completely, o petty disciple of mine."

Clyde laughs. "Don't I know it? No one can compare to you, Kenny."

"Damn straight!" Kenny bangs his fists on the table for emphasis. He then turns to Token and says, "What about you, Token ol' buddy?"

Token mimics my earlier shrug. "It's a hard one."

I chuckle. "Of course; you've gotta plan out the entire thing perfectly before sending out your workers to do the act, don't you?"

He glares at me, and for a moment, we all wonder if he would shove his food aside and throttle me, but when he asks me in a menacing low voice, "How did you know?" we all knew he was kidding around.

"Elementary, my dear Watson," I quote.

"People like you should stay ignorant, Craig," he says, his seriousness almost faltering, "or you would just find yourself paper-mached to the school wall with a poster that states something utterly embarrassing you would just die."

The table was filled with silence as we all stared at Token.

"Oh, yeah," he says, "I can hire people to do that."

"Remind me to pray I'm not your victim," I mutter, breaking into a grin.

"Don't worry, Craig," he pats my shoulder. "For you, it'd be more special than that lame idea."

"Whoopee," I say in a sarcastic tone.

The screeching of a chair interrupts our banter, and at the corner of my eye I see Clyde walk away in a huff.

I glance at Token and sigh. "He'll get over it." Token can only shrug.

~.::.~

A series of raps on my bedroom door came as I was brushing my teeth to the chorus of an ACDC song. I spit the foam out and turn the radio off before attending to the impatient knocker. Unlocking the door and swinging it open, Ruby tells me in an annoyed tone, "There's someone at the door for you."

"A guy looking high on crack?"

"Terribly high."

"Coming," I half-yell, shoving Ruby aside and flipping the bird. I hear her click her tongue, and I can feel the intensity of her raised middle finger boring at the back of my head as she groans, "God, your choice of friends is so weird."

I swing the half-open door wider and see Tweek looking from left to right to left in apprehension. I cock my head to the side. "What are you doing here?"

He shrieks and almost slips on the doorstep hadn't I caught his arm in time. After composing himself—or, at least, trying to—he says, "I to-told you earlier that I would return your—GAH!—your underpants before the underpants gnomes—ERG!—get them."

I look around and find no other cars waiting than those of my neighbors. "You ran?" I ask.

He shakes his head furiously. "AUGH! That's way too dangerous, man! ACK! I might bump into people or-or slip on the pavement and get run over or—JESUS CHRIST!"

He hands over to me my Red Racer underwear from his sling bag. I thank him and he twitches.

"So how are you getting home?" I look around once again. "And you didn't exactly answer my previous question."

"My dad—ERG!—dropped me off here, but he has a meeting and he's late and—GAH!" He answers, grabbing a fistful of hair.

"Do you want me to walk you home?"

He yelps and grabs more hair. "No! I mean—NNG!—You don't want anyone to see me with you, right? ARGH! I mean, I know you don't want—I mean—" He continues stuttering, inserting his occasional screams in between.

I 'hmm'ed and realize that he's right. I glance at the side and see the Honda Civic parked in front of my house. I stare at it for a while before saying, "Wait here." I walk a few steps backward, calling out Ruby's name. She makes herself visible from the sofa and answers me.

"Is mom home?" I ask her.

"She just came half an hour ago. Why do you care?"

"Gonna use her car. Wonder if we could sneak in her room and spray sleeping gas?"

"I'd rather we use poison. And she's asleep. I heard 'Rainy Days and Mondays' playing in her room."

'Rainy Days and Mondays' is mom's nap song. The moment it starts playing, she's as lifeless as a log. The chances of waking her up amidst the 20 repetitions was almost zero to none.

I retrieve the car key from the key holder at the back of the door. "I'll be gone for a few minutes. Don't tell mom."

"If she doesn't find out first," she replies, saluting me with the Tucker trademark.

I do the same and close the door behind me. Tweek looks at me with confusion, and I flash a grin and the glistening car keys on my hand.

He stares at me, twitching.

I roll my eyes. "Don't look at me like that! I know how to drive—sort of."

A twitch.

"If I can ride a bike, I can drive a car," I say, walking past him towards the Civic. "I'm good with wheels." At least, that's what my ego would like to believe. When we both get in the car and buckle up, I ignite the engine, scratching my head at the controls.

More or less, we arrived at Tweek's home safely—if you ignored the near misses, the shouts of profanities aimed towards us, the abuse of beeps and Tweek spazzing and screaming during the entire length of the ride almost causing my ears to bleed.

We took a while to calm ourselves down and for Tweek to overcome his tensed state that refused to let go of the car seat he was embedding his nails on. When we go out of the car, Tweek keels towards his front door and bids me a shaky goodbye before slipping himself through the doorway and slamming the door shut.

Inside, I can hear him screaming at the top of his lungs, swearing to God Almighty that he'd use his legs and run instead of risking his life inside a dangerous vehicle that does nothing but increase danger rate and pollute the air, leading all humankind to its destruction.

I blink a few times before shrugging.

Further Author's Notes: Read and review please. :D