Chapter Three

When Craig got home, nobody said anything about how he should have told them where he was going. He entered into the living room, saw his dad, and slouched, not wanting to say hello but not knowing what else to say.

"We almost started dinner without you," his dad said.

"Sorry," Craig said. "Just let me put my backpack upstairs."

"All right. Hurry up."

Craig trudged up the stairs to his room and threw his backpack, still stuffed with his various belongings, onto the floor.

There wasn't any point in thinking about it anymore. There wasn't anything he could do about it. It didn't even affect him. So, forget about it.

He grabbed his phone off the dresser, left his room, and went down to the kitchen. His parents and sister were all waiting. There was a pot of chili on the stove. Not Craig's favorite food, but it was okay. Not that he was hungry anyway.

"Hi, Craig," his mom said. "Don't go over Tweek's without telling us where you're going, okay?"

"Okay. Sorry." Craig hopped onto his chair and got his phone.

"Don't play with that thing while we're eating," his dad said.

"Just give me a second. I promised Tweek I'd text him when I got home."

He opened up his texts and saw the billions of texts Tweek had yelled at him for not answering after school:

—hey! how was red racer?

—hey are you there?

—are you getting these?

—craig is something wrong?

—are you okay?

—are you mad at me?

—its okay if youre mad at me pls just reply

—craig please

Craig sighed and typed out, hey tweek. made it home. having dinner now. Then he turned off his screen and dropped the phone into his coat pocket before his dad could tell him to put it away again.

"So how was school, kids?" his mom asked.

Craig literally couldn't remember anything that happened at school. He barely even remembered that he had been to school. After a moment of concentration, he eventually remembered his conversation with Mr. Mackey and that his stomach hurt, but he didn't have anything to share about that.

Tricia told some boring story about something she learned in her first grade class. Craig didn't listen. He reached for the dish of oyster crackers and crushed one at a time between his fingers, then let the crumbs drop onto his bowl of chili.

"Craig, what about you?" his mom asked.

"It was okay."

That was the only thing Craig said during the entire rest of the meal, unless you count the "oops," he mumbled after accidentally bumping his sister's plate while reaching for the salt. His parents spent the meal talking about how his Aunt Liz in Minnesota had broken her hip and how expensive it would be to get the dishwasher fixed.

Craig ate about half his bowl of chili very slowly, and then he asked to be excused.

"All right," his mom said, but he thought she was looking at him a little suspiciously. "Have you done your homework yet?"

"No," Craig said. He hadn't been planning on going to school the next day, or ever again.

"Okay, you'd better go finish it up, then."

She didn't yell at him about it. Craig appreciated that.

Craig pushed his chair back from the table, hopped off it, and took his empty cup and silverware to the kitchen sink.

"Dad, want the rest of my chili?" he asked, which was the customary solution to leftovers.

"Sure," his dad said.

Craig scooted the half-full bowl over to him without making eye contact. Then he went back to his room.

He closed his bedroom door behind himself and sighed. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to do his homework when he couldn't remember anything the teacher had said in class that day.

He opened his backpack to look for his binder and immediately was reminded that he had dumped out all his school stuff to fit all his valued belongings. He didn't want to think about unpacking everything yet, so he zipped it back up, clothes and precious objects still inside. He spotted his binder on the floor, grabbed it, and brought it to his bed with him.

He opened it and found a grammar worksheet, so apparently that's what he was supposed to do. Or at least one of the things he was supposed to do.

Rewrite the following sentences with the correct capitalization, the worksheet said.

Why did they always make them rewrite the whole thing instead of just fixing the one letter that was wrong? It was a waste of time.

He sighed (again), grabbed a pencil, and started on the first problem.

Someone knocked on the door. "Craig, honey?"

Craig raised his head. "Yeah, Mom?"

She opened the door. "Is something the matter?" she asked.

Craig looked back down at his homework. "No."

"You seemed upset."

Well, yeah. He didn't know how to reply to that, so he didn't.

She came into the room and sat down on the bed next to him. He still kept his gaze on his homework. "Did something happen between you and Tweek?" she asked.

Craig jerked his head back up. "No."

"Okay," she said. "Then what is it?"

He didn't answer.

She scooted closer to him on the bed, put a hand on his left shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. She stayed there.

Go away, Craig thought about saying. Or maybe he could just silently remove her arm from his shoulders and she would get the idea.

But he didn't do either.

"Did you see that pillow dad's planning on selling?" he asked.

"Oh, the dakimakura?" she sounded calm, but maybe a little confused. "The one he got in the mail is just a prototype. He's planning on selling a lot of them, actually."

"But did you actually see it?" Craig asked.

"Yes," she said.

"And it didn't seem weird to you at all?"

She smiled at him. "Oh, honey, dakimakuras are a cultural thing. They're only drawings."

"Drawings of me. In my pajamas."

Her smile faded and she removed her arm from his back. "Wait, did you see the other side of the pillow?"

"What?"

"Did you just see one side of it?" she repeated.

"There's something on the other side?" Craig asked.

"Yes," she said. "But never mind. It's not important."

"What's on the other side?" Craig's heart was beating a little faster.

"Don't worry about it; it's just another drawing."

Craig had already seen a nauseating number of those recently. "I looked at the pictures in the basement," he said. "Some of them seemed… bad."

"Oh, honey, you shouldn't look through those," his mom said. "You're not old enough."

Craig stared at her. "I'm not old enough to look at the drawings."

"Some things just aren't appropriate for kids your age," she said.

He continued to stare. "The drawings of me and Tweek aren't appropriate for kids our age."

"Some of them aren't. And they're not really you and Tweek; they're just drawings. Just promise me you won't go looking through them again, okay?"

"But why is Dad selling them?"

"It's his business now," she said. "He might start doing it fulltime."

Craig tensed. "What?"

"He has thousands of customers, and he's not just selling drawings anymore. He's expanding into dakis, keychains, stickers, lots of things. And you still haven't told me you won't look through his things anymore yet."

"I don't want to look through them. I don't want him selling pictures or pillows or anything of me, Mom."

His mom sighed. "They're only drawings, Craig."

"Stop saying that."

She gave him a look. "Don't get an attitude with me. Now, finish your homework. You should have gotten it done before dinner." She stood up off the bed and looked at him expectantly.

"Yes, ma'am," Craig grumbled.

Craig waited until her back was completely turned on him to flip her off. She still said, "I saw that," and closed the door curtly behind her.

Craig dropped his pencil.

Not even Mom was on his side.

He shoved his school folder off his lap and stood up. He needed to leave. He couldn't be in the same house with his parents, with everything in the basement, all the deliveries going out, all the websites on his dad's computer—he needed to leave. Even if he was just going to walk around in the cold until someone found him. How long would that take? A couple hours? Could he stay out all night?

Maybe he could. And then he'd be dragged back home and grounded. And then he'd have to stay in that house and couldn't even escape to hang out with his friends for a couple hours.

Craig began pacing back and forth across his room. Was there any way out?

The problem with his earlier plan (if it could even be called a plan) was that Mr. and Mrs. Tweak were inevitably going to tell his parents where he was. But what if they didn't know? What if he snuck into their house and just, like, hid under Tweek's bed or something, and Tweek could bring him food and he could sneak out to use the bathroom and…

Yeah, no. That was the stupidest idea ever. That could maybe work for a couple hours, but Craig wanted either to never step foot in his family's house again or to get as close to that goal as possible. No way Tweek's parents wouldn't notice an entire extra person living in their house.

Unless…

He grabbed his phone and wrote up a quick text: hey if i come to ur house in like 20 mins, can u let me in and not tell ur parents? it's really important

He waited.

What if the answer was no? Or what if he never replied? Or what if he wanted an explanation as to what "really important" meant?

Craig's phone buzzed with the reply: Sure, I guess so. But my parents go through my phone sometimes, so…

Craig rolled his eyes and replied, then just delete these messages. But he was in no position to be condescending, even in stating the obvious, so he sent another message: thank u so much, see u soon.

This was it.

He couldn't bring his phone; he already knew that. His parents had an app on it to track where he was, and even if he figured out how to disable it, his parents could just call the police and they could track him through it.

Craig deleted the last text conversation and tossed his phone onto his bed. He felt a twinge of regret at leaving it behind, but he didn't have a choice.

Could he take his bike? It would save time, but opening the garage door would probably be too loud. Not worth it.

He felt a bit of regret at that, too. It was a good bike.

He put on his backpack full of stuff, opened his door, and peered out into the rest of the house. The coast was clear. He'd just have to make a run for it and get out before anyone came along to ask him why he was going out again.

He rushed down the hall and down the stairs as quietly as he could. He grabbed the doorknob to the front door and pulled it open as smoothly as possible.

He exited the house and closed the door gently behind him.

No one came yelled at him to ask where he thought he was going, mister. Everything was quiet.

It was colder and darker than the last time he went out. Hopefully, he'd get this walk over with as quickly as possible. He crossed his lawn and started down the street, his heart pounding.

What if someone saw him? What if he got grounded? What if he was stuck in his house for weeks and his dad did end up quitting his job and working from home selling yaoi pictures fulltime?

Just keep walking, Craig.

After a few more minutes, he was almost there. His heartrate still hadn't slowed down.

He could still get caught. He could still get turned away at the door. Someone could still tell his parents.

Well, here we are.

Craig trudged up the walkway, went onto the front porch, and knocked softly on the door.

He waited there, clenching his cold, sweaty hands into fists.

The door slowly opened, halfway. "Hi, Craig."

"Hi, Token," Craig whispered. "Can I come in?"

Token nodded and opened the door wider. Craig stepped inside and looked around the mansion—big enough to hide in, surely?

"You have to hide me," Craig whispered. "Please. I promise it's important."