On Monday, I drive to school, picking up Nichole, Clyde, Craig and Bebe on the way. I don't mind being everyone's chauffer. Everyone but Craig can drive, though it doesn't matter because none of them can afford a car yet. The only reason I have one is because my parents have money. It was a gift on my sixteenth birthday. I was beyond grateful.

We all chatter mindlessly and soon enough I'm pulling into the parking lot. I grab the first space I see and we pile out, heading into the building.

Craig hasn't said a word and everyone has been avoiding the topic of the weekend. Thank God. I think that it's probably the last thing Craig wants to talk about.

We head to our lockers and walk to class. First period is Phys-Ed, which is Craig's least favourite subject. He's fit and he likes to run, but he doesn't like gym class. I think it's because he could care less about sports and all we do is play sports.

"You good?" I ask him as we head to the locker room.

"Fine," he says simply, shrugging a careless shoulder.

"Looking forward to being graded on how well we can throw a football?" I joke, but it doesn't stick.

Craig gives me an irritated look. I can understand why. I place for our high school's football team, so I guess the joke was tasteless.

I think Craig just hates team-based things. They frustrate him. You have to rely a lot on people who you might not like or even necessarily really know.

When I get to my locker, I pull my sweater off over my head. I kind of hate having PE first thing in the morning too. I always end up all sweaty before class.

I try to avoid the other jocks on account of the fact that I hate bro-ing out in the locker room. I know that the general attitude makes everyone else uncomfortable and that's enough for me to nix it completely. With Clyde being one of my best friends though, it's sometimes hard to avoid.

I'm not saying it's a bad thing, but he's pretty stereotypical. He's a jock dating a cheerleader. Him and Bebe have been on and off since the dawn of time. They're both just dramatic as hell.

Craig strips unceremoniously and throws on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt before walking out of the locker room. After changing out of my jeans and into my sweats, I do the same.

He's moody today. I'm not going to try and talk to him if he's going to be sour. I'll just wait until he's done moping over whatever the hell is bothering him. I would try to ask again, but it'd be pointless. He is rarely in the mood to talk. I'm still surprised he told me as much as he did yesterday.

He doesn't talk about his personal problems that much. Honestly, Craig doesn't talk about much of anything. He's a quiet guy – totally introverted.

It stresses me out frankly. Especially as someone who makes a point to know when and where to talk out his problems. I think it's important. Everyone has a hard time sooner or later. I just choose to surround myself with people who will support me and make sure I know how to use of the resource.

When Craig's not hanging out with us, he's hanging out with douchebags. People who would probably flip over and spill shit about him at the drop of the hat.

I guess when you're underage and addicted to booze and cigarettes that can be what happens. You hang out with seedy people because you're doing seedy shit.

"Pair off in twos!" our teacher tells us when we him the track. He's a big guy. Ex-marine. We try not to piss him off.

I can see Craig physically trying to disappear. It makes me want to laugh—good luck ghosting that dude.

"Tucker, what's your problem?" the teacher asks, calling him out in front of everyone.

He flushes and doesn't respond. He just kind of goes rigid. Before Craig has a fucking anxiety attack, I say, "Pair with me."

"Okay…" he agrees hoarsely.

Sometimes I feel like I don't know Craig at all. Sure, he's one of my best friends… but there are still a million things I don't know about him. I think he keeps the most important shit to himself. That's probably why he's constantly driving himself crazy. There's too much going on in his head and he doesn't let any of it escape. He has no release, no outlet, nothing of the sort. It isn't healthy, that's for damn sure.

We're doing relays. Great. Just because they're easy doesn't mean I have to like them. I just hate how competitive it makes the whole class, and how it singles out some poor kid and his partner instead of just letting an entire team fail.

Craig is fast though, so it works out. It's probably because he's the human equivalent of a beanpole. It doesn't take much practice or stamina to be able to move a body like that around.

I wouldn't have cared if we lost anyway—I'm saving my competitive nature for more important things. Real things, like college.

The kids to come in last turn out to be Butters and some boy I've never seen before in my life. I think it's crazy how you can go to school with the same people for four years and still see new faces on the regular.

Ah, well. To be expected. I think if we came in last, Craig would have had a mental breakdown in front of the class or something. Teachers rag on him a lot and I know it really bothers him, yet it still doesn't bother him enough for him to try harder. His average is probably a C- and I don't see that changing any time soon.

Sometimes I think he tries to get attention by failing. I don't know why he doesn't just do the opposite – get attention by succeeding. At least that way he isn't doing as much harm.

After gym class, we all change back into our regular clothes and head to next period. I have academic math, which I take with kids like Kyle and Wendy. I'm good at math, even though I don't particularly like it. I don't think many people do.

I just try to numb myself into it. Memorize the formulas, do well on the tests. It's easy.

.

.

At the end of the day I head to our usual meeting spot in the school's parking lot. I also drive everyone home on days when there aren't after school activities. Clyde, Bebe, and Nichole are waiting patiently, but Craig is nowhere to be seen.

"Where is he?" I ask, a little irritated that he's holding everyone up.

"Detention," Clyde says, rolling his eyes. "He cussed out our physics teacher for giving him a hard time over some of the homework that was due today. I guess he didn't turn it in."

"Of course not," I say sarcastically. "I mean why would he? We all know homework is worthless."

"Preach," Bebe giggles, and Clyde chuckles along with her.

Ugh, gross.

Whatever. Fuck it. I'm not going to wait for that little shit to get out of detention. "All right, hop in," I say as we all pile into my car.

One by one I drive everyone home. They all talk about more mindless stuff – what happened during the day, gossip, rumors, all that typical high school shit. I'm not really one for gossiping. I just try to stick to the facts. You can't really trust what you hear through the grapevine.

Soon, it's just me and Nichole alone in the car.

"What's up?" she asks me.

"Not much," I tell her.

"Liar," she calls me out.

I smile to myself. She still knows me best – probably better than everyone else. We used to date. It didn't last, but it was good while it did. Now we're just friends and it's better this way.

"Yeah, maybe," I consider. "Craig is stressing me out a bit lately."

"What's he doing now?" she pries expectantly.

Everyone knows he's high-maintenance. It's not really a secret. It's just a basic fact.

"He's acting really clingy and dependent," I say. "Not really sure why. I know he's always like that, but I feel like it's just progressing and getting more severe."

"Hm…" Nichole muses. "Have you tried to talk to him about it?"

"He got kind of defensive and pissy," I tell her. "He was all right a little while later and he tried telling me how he felt, but I didn't really get it…"

"Craig is pretty sensitive," Nichole notes. "He's always been that way. He takes things so, so, so personally. Then he gets defensive."

"Yeah," I chuckle, agreeing. "That's him to a T… I still don't really get why he's like that, though."

"Me neither," Nichole says. "Maybe it's just the kind of person he is – submissive by nature, someone who wants to be taken care of."

"Eh, maybe…" I wrinkle my nose at that, not really understanding why someone would want to be totally dependent on another person.

Soon enough, we pull into her driveway and I tell her I'll see her tomorrow.

"Chin up," she says with a smile before getting out of her car. I wave at her before she heads inside and then I head home.

.

.

Not even two hours later, there's a firm knock at my door. I open up to find Craig, looking bitter and cold.

"Hi?" I say uncomfortably as he lets himself in.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" he snaps, kicking off his wet shoes.

"Um, why did you get detention?" I retort.

He gives me a nasty look but doesn't respond, practically ripping his jacket off his body and trying to hang it up but letting it fall to the floor.

"I had to walk two miles in the snow!"

"And yet you came here instead of going home," I grumble, picking up his coat.

He looks unamused.

"I'm just saying—" I continue, "You live a lot closer to the school than I do."

Again, no response. Instead, he just stares me down in the doorway. He looks like he's waiting for me to make the next move.

I let out a sigh, waving him further into the house. I put my hands on his cheeks. "You're fucking freezing," I say.

"Yeah, well…" he trails off.

"Are you all right?" I ask him, releasing him.

"Fine," he says simply and vaguely.

I don't argue with that. I don't bother prying any further.

"Well, come on," I say, nodding for him to follow me into the kitchen. I stand over the counter and put on the kettle.

I know Craig likes tea. He likes it plain, with no sugar. He likes it to steep for a while so the water soaks up as much of the leaves as it can. I think he likes the bitter tastes. I decide to make chamomile. Hopefully it'll just make him tired and he'll go home or something.

He sits quietly at the table, not saying a word. His hands are on his lap and he's staring down, looking like he wants to sink into himself.

"So what happened with the teacher?" I ask finally.

Craig stares up at me stubbornly. "She was being an asshole."

"For wanting you to turn your homework in?"

"Not just that. She always hassles me. Just me. You know who else doesn't turn their homework in? Kenny. Cartman. Clyde half the time!" he says, frustrated. "She just singles me out!"

"She probably knows you have more potential than you're giving yourself credit for," I suggest.

"Yeah, right." He rolls his eyes.

"I mean it," I insist. "I think you're smarter than you realize you are. Teachers always hone in on that kind of thing."

"Well even if I am it's not their job to try to prove it! I get that they're trying to be the hero and be the one teacher that gets through to me, but it's honestly just obnoxious!"

"Craig, don't you want to do something with your life?" I ask him. "Don't you want to go to university?"

"No," he says flatly.

"Then, what?" I continue to question him. "What do you want to do with yourself when you graduate?"

"If I even graduate," he mumbles. "I don't fucking know. I'll just get a mundane job or something."

"That won't make you happy," I tell him.

"It might!" he argues, getting defensive.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I turn around when the kettle starts to scream. I grab two cups from the cupboard and two tea bags before pouring the water.

"Listen," I start again, walking towards the kitchen table, "I just want you to be happy." I set the cups down and sit across from him, waiting for him to respond. For a while, he's quiet. He simply stares down into his cup, letting the steam rise up into his face.

I mean what I said. I want him to be happy. I want all my friends to be happy, but with Craig it's different. When Clyde or Jason fucks up I know they'll get their own life back on track. But with Craig—who knows what he'll do. He could just drop off the face of the earth any day and I would never know what happened to him. I don't trust him.

I get scared he'll be the type of guy who will look back on his life in his 40s and wish he'd done more. It's scarier to think of the alternative.

Craig picks up his tea and takes a sip even though I know it's still scalding hot. I wonder if he wants me to stop him.

"Dude," I say quietly.

He sets his tea back down. I have no idea why he's like this.

He doesn't react at all. He just takes another sip. He looks like he's fucking dead on the inside. His eyes look so empty and sad. I feel so fucking sorry for him.

"Craig," I say his name, wanting him to acknowledge me so I know he isn't completely out of it. "Dude, talk to me. What's going on in your head?"

"I don't know…" he responds in a hoarse voice.

I stare at him as he stares away – off into empty space and as far away from me as possible.

Maybe he really doesn't know how he's feeling. Maybe he's feeling too much and he doesn't know how to compartmentalize it all.

"You scare me sometimes," I decide to admit to him. "When you get like this… I'm not saying it in a bad way… but I'm concerned."

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I know. You've told me."

"I care about you," I reiterate.

"Yeah," he repeats himself, voice cracking. He lets out a breath, staring back down into his cup again.

We sit for a while, drinking our tea and not talking.

"Will you take me home?" Craig asks suddenly, setting his cup down on the table. "I don't know why I came here."

"Uh, sure," I oblige. "Are you okay?"

He nods, but I'm unconvinced. Still, I don't pry, and grab his mug off the table and set it in the sink.

After Craig gathers his things, we go out to the car and sit while the engine warms up. I fiddle with the radio, but there's nothing good playing, so I turn it off again.

"Why don't you come over this week and we'll do our homework together?" I offer.

"Okay," he replies quickly, which surprises me. For someone who hates having people check in on him so much, that's incredibly compliant. "I just have an essay I need to get done," he continues, "I hate the book and don't want to finish it."

"Okay," I say with a smile. "I can help you out, if you want."

He nods his head.

Me and Craig aren't in the same English class. He takes regular English with the rest of the guys, while I take advanced with keeners like Kyle Broflovski.

"What's the book?" I ask him.

"Some Shakespeare shit," he says with a shrug. "I hate that guy."

"Ah," I give a long nod. "Well, I'm pretty good with Shakespeare, so I can definitely lend a hand."

He nods again, seeming a little happier than he was mere minutes ago. "It's like reading another language…"

"Yeah," I chuckle. "Old English can be tough. It kind of helps to read it out loud, believe it or not."

"Really?"

"Yeah," I say before deciding to pull out of the driveway. It's warm enough in the car by now. "They're plays," I tell him, "So they're meant to be acted out. The way they teach them in school doesn't work well for most people, so you're not alone at least."

He nods, but looks disinterested, so I end the lesson there.

Craig doesn't live that far my house—about a twenty minute walk—and I still can't figure out why he thought it necessary to trek all the way over instead of just going home after school. Was he trying to prove something to me? I have no idea. He was obviously mad that I hadn't waited after school, but I don't understand how showing up at my house unannounced was supposed to teach me that. I wonder if he just needed an excuse to be upset. I wouldn't be surprised.

Some minutes later, I'm pulling into his driveway. He hesitates for a minute, putting his hand on the door handle, but not opening it.

"What's up?" I ask.

He lets out a sigh and then shakes his head. "Um… Nothing, thanks for the drive."

With that, he gets out, shutting the car door behind himself. I watch him walk up the stairs to his house. A second later, he disappears inside. Once I know he's safe, I pull out of the driveway.

Craig is a fucking mystery, but I do feel like I'm getting somewhere with him. I feel like I'm at least beginning to understand some of the little things. Then again, maybe I still have it all wrong. I don't know.