A/N: Well, wouldn't ya know! I forgot to put up a disclaimer! Ok, so I'll put it now:
I DON'T OWN THE PEEPZ IN THIS STORY! (If I did, believe me Kenny would actually matter and Cartman would be the new Kenny. But noooo, I don't, so sue me and your ass is mine! Yeah, right, like someone would actually sue me for some stupid shit like this! HA!)
A/N/N: Yup, I'm trying to experiment with story plots other than just humor. I read my SSBM story after being away from it for a good few months and almost died laughing, so now, time to try and make a tragic drama out of-
Someone. Pffft, like I'd tell you!
EDIT 8/31/05 7:30 P.M. fixed spacing issues chapters 1-3
They all gathered in the lobby, schedules in hand.
"Goddamn it! I've got gym first block every other fucking day! Son of a bitch!" Cartman complained.
"Dude, so do I," Stan told him.
"W-well, I like my schedule!" Butters grinned, staring down at the scrap of paper.
"No one cares, Butters," Kyle said, uninterested. "Stan, what period do you have study hall?"
"Fifth. You?"
"Shit. I've got study hall first period. But maybe I could sneak out of Spanish and see you."
"Kenny, you haven't said much. Say something, dammit!" Stan demanded.
"Yeah! I'd better have study hall with someone I know!"
"Or what?" Kenny asked, jokingly, as always.
"Or… I don't know. So, do you have study hall with me?"
"No… but what period do you have science?"
"Seventh."
"Me, too."
"I-I've got science seventh period, too, you g-guys!" Butters announced.
Stan rolled his eyes at Kyle again. "Whoopee!" he said sarcastically.
"Hey," Kenny started in Butters' defense, but the bell rang and a herd of fourteen and fifteen year olds started towards their first period classes.
Kenny went down the hall towards the art room, Kyle towards the study hall room, Cartman and Stan towards the gym, and Butters to algebra.
Kenny finally made it to the art room. He figured that art was his safest bet, seeing as how he'd probably be killed in seconds in autobody or welding. However, the art room looked pretty sinister, too.
There were two huge gray cabinets on his right; he knew they'd fall on him and crush him if he walked by them. The tables were crunched together, with chairs gathered around them like a fight was going on. He knew he'd trip on one and fall on a pencil and die. In all of the corners were huge piles of boxes filled with he didn't know what, and a paper cutter on one of the teetering piles. He knew that he'd trip over one of the boxes when someone was about to cut some paper and get his head chopped off. When he looked up, the ceiling tiles were painted with many different culture icons, bands, and pretty pictures. He knew that he'd be under the painting that would fall and give him a major aortic paper cut, and he'd die…
"Why, hello!" The familiar sweet voice jumped him. Turning, he saw the pretty blond woman with the nonexistent ass. "I'm the art teacher, Mrs. Wagnall. What's your name?"
"Kenny. Uh, McCormick."
"How do you do, Kenny?"
"Ok, I guess." He smiled back at her, feeling instantly better.
Kyle meekly peered inside the study hall room. He frowned at Pip, the only person in the room.
"Hey, Frenchie, where's the teacher?" Kyle snorted.
Pip's eyes narrowed but he answered all the same. "She's gone to the powder room."
"'Powder room.'" Kyle sat in the conjoined desk and chair twins farthest away from Pip. A few seconds of hateful science later, the study hall monitor returned.
"'Allo. I vill be teacher today. Tomorrow different," the redheaded woman said in a heavy Russian accent.
Kyle stared at one of the white walls, thinking. Goddamn it. I had to get stuck with this loser, and a teacher who I don't even understand. This sucks so much ass.
"Who here is 'Kyle?'" She wondered, pronouncing his name wrong.
"I am."
"Marvelous. Vendy, she is not here yet?"
"You mean Wendy?" Pip confirmed.
"Yes. Vendy."
At that same moment, Wendy and Bebe sauntered in, giving Kyle even more of a reason to hate study hall.
Like he knew she would, Bebe sat next to Kyle, grinning both stupidly and seductively at him. Sighing, he buried his head in his arms. When he felt her playfully taking off his trademark hat, he knew twenty-five minutes was going to drag on forever.
"Hello and welcome to gym class," the gym teacher greeted, staring up at the bored freshmen scattered amongst the bleachers. He glanced at the list of rules and felt dizzied. Being just over twenty and not caring much for long speeches, especially about rules, he summarized them all quickly. "Alright. This classis easy. Just change up, do something physically active, and we'll all be cool. Any questions?"
Cartman raised his hand.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Teacher, I was wondering, does this class suck ad much ass as I've heard?
"Well, it sucks as much ass as you want it to suck. Now everyone tell me your names and something about yourself. Who wants to go first?"
A long pause followed.
"Anyone?"
….
"No one?"
….
"Okay, I'll start with you, blue shirt." He pointed at Stan. "What's your name, what do you like?"
"Uh, I'm Stan Marsh and, uh, I don't know."
"You're a hippie!" Cartman catcalled.
"Shut your mouth, fatass!" Stan retaliated immediately.
The teacher smiled, trying not to laugh. "Finally, some life out of you guys! Well, then, 'fatass,' what's your name, what do you like to do?"
"I'm- AY! I'm not fat-"
"You're 'big-boned,'" Craig laughed, mocking Cartman's distinctly deep voice.
"AY! Shut up!"
Stan drifted off the rest of class, but he knew that a huge argument had happened. It disturbed his perverted reveries about Wendy.
It was going to be a long day.
The math teacher paced around the room.
"My name is Mr. Knowles. I think you will all be pleased that you took algebra I."
Butters sat attentively in his seat, while Jimmy, beside him, fell asleep.
Hesitantly, Butters raised his hand. "S-sir? A-are you a good teacher?"
"I don't know… I guess you'll have to figure that out for yourself over the course of this year, um…"
"B-Butters. My name's B-Butters."
"Ok, B-Butters, what's your real name? I'm serious; what kind of parents would name a kid 'Butters?'"
"M-my real name's Leopold, sir. Please call me B-Butters."
"Really? Well then, Butters, what's the square root of 552?"
"Um, s-sir, I don't-"
"Don't Kn-know?" he mocked Butters' still boyish voice and stuttering problem. "Find out!" He threw a calculator on Butters' desk.
Jimmy awoke with a start. "School's out? YAY!" He ran as fast as he could with his crutches to the door.
"No, school isn't out. Go sit down." Jimmy obeyed, disappointed. "'B-Butters,' did you f-find out y-yet?" Mr. Knowles growled, standing over Butters as the fair-haired boy tried desperately to work the big, geeky calculator.
"Mr. Knowles, s-sir, this thing has s-so many buttons-"
"God, You are such a moron!" Mr. Knowles snatched the device, then began pressing buttons fervently. "Butters, go write this up on the board."
Butters walked up to the board, taking the calculator from the teacher as he passed. He picked up a marker and looked at the big calculator in his hand. He began to write, as neatly as he could, 'I AM A HOPELESS MEMBER OF A HOPELESS GENERATION' on the white board.
Finished, he turned, teary-eyed, back to the class. This day was going to suck. First period always decided it all.
"How was school, son?" Kenny's mom asked when Kenny got home. She was sitting in their ratty living room chair, screwing in a loose bolt on some sort of electrical thing. Kenny knew it wasn't theirs; they only had a TV and that was too precious for them to tamper with.
"Lookie what I found on the take or leave pile at the dump! It's a microwave, honey, tonight we eat like kings!" She smiled at him and he grinned back. Just then, Kevin busted through the door. "How was your day, Kevin?"
He mumbled something incoherently and shot upstairs to his room. Shaking her head, she returned to the microwave, frowning. Out in the kitchen, Kenny's dad was getting increasingly more belligerent. At what, Kenny didn't know, but wasn't going to stick around to find out. When he was up in his room, he could hear the contents of his already broken home being smashed.
Without even thinking about it, he ran back downstairs and out the door.
"Kyle, do you have any home work?" Sheila asked the second Kyle walked through the door.
"No, mom, they never give us homework on the first day. Can I go over to Stan's?"
"Sure, Buhbie. Just don't do anything funny!"
"Like what?" Kyle asked, confused.
"Oh, I don't know. But you do know that it's ok to have feelings for-"
"Mom! Sick, Stan and I aren't like that!" Kyle angrily slammed the front door. He knew that his mom and Stan's mom had the hots for each other, but not him and Stan. Never! He didn't like Stan that way; Stan didn't like him that way.
At least, he hoped not.
Alright. Finally.
This chapter was a bitch to type. Just so you all know.
BTW, the calculator that Butters tries to use is a TI-83 Plus calculator. If you've seen one of those, you'll know why Butters got confused. Those fuckers are hand-held computers!
This is my lame attempt at a cliffhanger. I might have the next chappy up by next week. If not, then I either got carpel tunnel or forgot.
After this chapter it gets better. Whoa, yes, it does….. J
