"So, apparently some of your friends over in the Drama department are performing a play."

I turn to face Gueermo, my mind scrambling to figure out why he felt to need to bring this up when I was supposed to be trying out for a solo. I'm the one who should be making noise, not him.

"Um... yes, I hear they do that a lot."

"Why they aren't performing a musical is beyond me, but, alas, it isn't my decision." His tone grows dramatic and his eyes wander far into the distance. Sure warning signs that Gueermo has an ulterior motive and he wants to use me for whatever his scheme is.

I'm not gonna have it — time to reel this gay fish back in before he takes me for a ride. "...I thought this was about a solo?"

"In a way, yes, in a way. Are you planning to audition for this play?"

Oh yeah, he wants something and it's pretty clear that there's no way he's going to just drop the subject. But I know playing dumb is the best move I can make right now. "Um... I've thought about it and all, but, I mean, I have work and practice and homework—"

"What if I let you... shall I say... skip practice whenever you need to go to their rehearsal — that is, granted, if you get the part." He has his fingers neatly knitted together and his voice adopts that tone Cartman's gets whenever he feels the need to work persuasive magic to get what he wants. Gueermo's almost as good as Fatass, too. The word "skip" has me totally enchanted.

"Uh... wow. Um..."

"But, you have to do me the smallest of favors when you do."

"Uh...?"

And here's the catch.

"Check to see if they're not tampering with our set pieces. Or our costumes. And if they aren't tampering... well... you people already have an inherent desire to vandalize public property."

"...You people?"

"Poor people. White trash. Violent alcoholic ruffians."

The spell is breaking faster than my parents' condoms. "What if I say no?"

"Well... I'll simply have to let the Admissions Board at Brigham Young know about your other extracurricular activities..."

"Like...?" He can't possibly know about my side business. He hasn't got shit on me.

"Particular illegal substances you may or may not have on your person at this very moment?"

What the hell. This man is a necromancer and I'm a fucking cursed newborn offering to his twisted God.

But I won't go down without a fight — at least, I won't go down without making this worth my while. It's time to counter his black bribery with my black market street smarts. "And what if I do accept? Will I get a solo? And not the extra high notes in the middle of 'Kiss The Girl?' 'Cause I swear to God, if it's one of those again, I'm not doing shit for you."

"What about... 'You've Got a Friend in Me?'"

"No, please, anything but Randy Newman."

"Fine..." He looks at his list of potential Disney songs to perform this year. (Of course this year's theme is Disney; that mouse has inadvertently killed me once and he's somehow gotten a taste for causing me misery, I'll bet) "'God Help the Outcasts?'"

"Is that supposed to be a joke? Everyone knows the only good song from Hunchback is 'Hellfire' and that's, like, an octave lower than my range." Admittedly, Damien may have slanted my opinion on the matter, but it sounded legit and that was good enough for bartering with Gueermo.

"Damn..." He goes back to his list until he points at a song and says, "Ah! 'I'll Make a Man Out of You,' and that's my final offer."

Resisting the urge to make a joke out of that song title, I stick my hand out for him to shake and reply, "Okay. Deal." How can I say no to Donny Osmond? He may be Mormon and Mormons may be against most of the things I hold dear in this world (drugs, pre-marital sex, caffeine) but they're so damn nice about it I don't really mind their occasional tut-tuts at my behavior. And they sing well. Besides, I'm about to live an entire state of Mormons after high school. Maybe.

He turns and leads me with an amicable pat on my shoulder. "Good." As we head towards the door, I feel him slip something small into my hoodie pocket. "I'm glad we've come to an understanding, McCormick."

The puzzled look on my face is only met with a quiet "Shh."

So maybe Gueermo is a little more street savvy than I thought. He can do more than pull a devil rabbit out of a hat.

I wait until Gueermo's out of sight before reaching inside my hoodie and feeling what exactly it is that he put in there. I already have a strong suspicion as to what it is, though.

And my suspicion is right.

It's money.

Still, I don't know what kind of bill it is. And pulling it out in the middle of the hallway — especially if it happens to be a big bill — is a giant rookie mistake.

So I find the nearest bathroom, lock myself in the Handicapped stall, promptly pull the cash out of my pocket, and hold it up to the light above me.

Benjamin Franklin triumphantly stares down at me, as does his watermark.

Dude.

—

"You can't possibly think of actually doing this."

I've waited until lunch to spill everything to Stan and Kyle — seeing as the cafeteria is probably the only place in the entire school that I can guarantee you won't be overheard — and Kyle is all too ready to give me his opinion.

"Okay, then how the fuck am I going to get out of this shithole otherwise?" I take a sip of my water. "He's gonna fucking narc on me if I flake out. One word from him and it's goodbye, college." Then I say what's really bothering me. "And, like, what if he does something to Karen?"

"Report him!" Kyle gives his nearly frozen peaches an extra vicious stab. "Go to the office! No, fuck that, go to the cops, dude!"

"Since when the fuck have they done anything?" I pause to take a bite out of my chicken sandwich. "I mean, it's a wonder they don't all come into work every day with their underwear on their heads screaming, 'Help! The sun's gone out! We're all gonna die!'"

Stan snorts at the last bit, which prompts Kyle to turn from his lunch and face him. "What do you think about this?"

"Uh..." He stirs his peas around for a moment while Kyle waits for him to spit out whatever he's going to say. And knowing Stan, he's going to say something stupid, like his honest opinion. "I mean, it sucks and stuff, but... it's not really our problem, dude."

Hoo, boy. Way to shove some sand up that vagina — Stan's in the doghouse now.

"What do you mean, 'it's not our problem?'" Kyle shouts. "Of course it is! Why do you think he came to us? We're, like, his moral compass!"

"You're his moral compass." Stan looks the other way before he starts to mutter, "You're everyone's moral compass—"

"Well, somebody has to be! If I wasn't here, you'd still be drunk off your ass and—"

"Um, guys?" I interrupt their couples' squabble. "Not helping."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Um..." Stan tries to come up with something to get himself back into Kyle's good graces. "What about you lie to him?"

"What?"

Stan's eyes light up and I know he's actually got a really solid idea. "Tell him there's no amount of screwing up you can do because they already suck so bad." He points his fork at me. "Tell him the drama kids can't act worth a shit and that fact alone is going to drive everyone away from seeing their show."

"Hmm..." I wonder. "Maybe. Are you guys even going to this thing tomorrow?"

"Sure, I guess," Stan shrugs. "'S'not like I have anything better to do."

"Um, homework?" Kyle condescendingly suggests before turning back to me. "Becca really wants to go on Wednesday since Jazz Band got cancelled, but I dunno. I think I might just try out for one of the extras or something." He pauses. "My parents are already worried I have too many distractions as it is."

"But admissions boards eat that shit up, you know. The more extracurriculars, the better. It's not like they're going to suddenly change their mind and say 'you can't go to our school' if you're Villager Number One in some little play." Besides, if Stan and Kyle are in the show with me, it'll give me more time to hang out with them and maybe Craig can find out firsthand they're not the giant assholes he thinks they are. He hasn't really hung out with them since sixth grade, when he decided they (and Cartman) were the singular causes of unnecessary bullshit in his life and quit inviting them to all his sleepovers and whatnot. (I still think he's only halfway decent to me 'cause a. I'm his dealer and b. Karen spends more time at his house than our own.) "So Drama's not really a big distraction. And if Becca's there with you, even better. Tell 'em it's three birds, one stone."

"I think they were talking about Becca as my main distraction."

Oh. "Dude."

Immediately, Kyle goes into "ranting" mode. Oh, brother. "I know. And, like, her parents already sent Chicago a check and everything."

So Kyle's been obsessed with getting into Northwestern ever since he and his parents visited his uncle in Illinois last summer. And now that he's gotten an early admission he pushed Stan into sending a tape to Notre Dame so they'd at least be within 150 miles of each other if he were accepted. But Stan, on the other hand, has absolutely no idea what he wants to do with his life, and the fact that everyone he knows is so fixated on graduating and "starting the next chapter of our lives" isn't really helping.

Kyle pushes his tray forward a little and puts his chin in his hands. "They can't expect me to just break up with her. I mean, we've been going out for, like, two and a half years. That's like fifty in high school time."

"I don't really know what to say, man," I shrug.

"Yeah, I know you don't. I'm just venting, I guess." Kyle looks down at his watch. "Hey, I'm gonna go to the library. I'll... I'll see you guys in class." He takes his tray over to the trashcan near the door and shows his Hall Pass to the Algebra teacher (who has surprisingly nice tits) guarding the exit.

I notice that Stan's looking a little down at Kyle's departure, so I attempt to change the subject. "So, like..." I look around trying to find something to talk about, and somehow the aforementioned Algebra teacher makes me think of something I haven't mentioned to anyone since it happened. "I ran into Bebe a couple days ago."

"Oh..." his eyes get a little wide. "Jeez."

"Yeaaah..."

"Was this before or after she hung up on you?" he asks.

"It was... I think it was Thursday when it happened, so after?"

"Ah," he nods. "I bet that was interesting."

"Oh, definitely." I finish the rest of my water. "The best part was when she told me to go fuck myself."

"As if you don't already do that enough," Stan says with a chuckle.

"Hey, at least I'm not thinking about my best friend while I'm doing it," I retort. "Straight and taken best friend, I might add."

"Will you shut up?" he whispers. "People can hear you!"

"It's crowded in here, dude, and everyone's too busy stuffing their faces and talking about, like..." I try to think of some random piece of gossip I may have heard the two girls who sit in front of me chatter on about in English, but I was trying to jot down the teacher's notes on Faulkner to distract myself from dwelling on this Gueermo business in class, so nothing immediately pops up in my head. "Lady Gaga... or something. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, nobody fucking cares enough to eavesdrop."

"Fine," he says, continuing in the same low volume. "But like you've never been sexually attracted to any of your friends, Mr. I-would-totally-fuck-Craig—"

"Okay, first of all, his bone structure is flawless." Stan snorts again, so I add, "Don't even try to deny it, dude; bro's got some major facial symmetry goin' on up there."

"And your point is...?"

I roll my eyes and continue. "Secondly, you were the one who hit on him that one time—"

"I did not!" he says too defensively for me to believe him.

"You don't even remember that night! But whatever the hell you said, you threw up on his shoes afterward and I couldn't get the stench out of my car for two weeks 'cause he was my designated driver—"

"Did it ever occur that you might have puked?"

"I don't puke when I drink, man. And I know what your puke smells like — Jameson and unrequited love."

"Oh, come on, I don't love Kyle—"

"Bullshit."

"I — I just think he's... attractive. Can't I find someone attractive without wanting to marry them?"

"Of course you can. But in this case..." I pretend to give the matter some thought. "Nah, you guys're pretty much married already."

"Right. Wow, I totally get why you wanna go to BYU now!" he says, having a mock epiphany. "You wanna marry Tammy and Riley and Porsche and Bebe, too!"

"Don't forget Stacy," I add.

His eyes grow wide and he sputters out, "So... so those rumors are—?"

"NO, dipshit! Have you even seen her older brother?"

"Seen him? Dude, try being on Varsity with him for two years. The guy's a walking aggravated assault charge waiting to happen."

I snort, but don't really have anything to add to that absolute perfect description of Steve "The Boulder" Anderson.

We sit there, finishing the last of our lunches for a couple of minutes, until I remember why I brought up Stacy in the first place.

"We did have Home Ec together, though."

"Hoh? Woh'r yoo—" Stan holds up a finger and swallows the overly large bite of pizza in his mouth. "Wait, Stacy or Steve?"

"Stacy. Homegirl makes some bangin' cheddar bay biscuits, so I'm not crossing her off the list of Potential Polygamist Harem members just yet."

He nods and snickers before his upper body pops up in realization. "Oh! Dude! Dude!"

"What?"

"I just remembered what I was gonna ask you in class earlier."

"Uh, okay. Shoot."

"What was the thing you were going to tell me that day Bebe hung up on you?"

Oh, so it's now The Day My Not-Ex Hung Up On Me instead of The Day I Found Out Cartman And Shelly Had A One-Night Stand Which Cartman Killed Me For Almost Blabbing To Her Brother About Like Any Decent Friend Would. Okay. Awesome.

"I, uh..." I usually tell it like it is when it comes to stuff like this, but something in me isn't letting the words come out.

It's not your place to tell him, says a tiny voice inside my head. Blackmail Cartman into doing it. Just don't personally disrupt Stan's good mood.

No, dude, Cartman'll probably make some kind of deal with Chthulu and kill me off permanently if I try blackmail, another voice replies. Tell him. Tell Stan. Bad things happen when good people do nothing.

A third voice enters the fray. Since when in the hell am I a good person?

"Oh, I was just gonna tell you how awesome the Mass Effect 3 demo was," I lie.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"I know, right? Eight more days, man. You gonna get it?"

"I dunno. I mean, it was great, but I'll probably just end up buying it when the price drops some. Like... Black Friday?"

"But that's so long from now."

"Eh, I'll just go over to your house and play it. I'm sure as hell not going back to Fatass'."

"What'd he do this time?" Stan asks.

"Oh, y'know. Calling me white trash. Trying to kill me."

"The usual."

"Yeah, and I just got fucking tired of it, is all. Oh, I can't wait 'til the Air Force Academy rejects him so he can spend the rest of his life eating Cheesy Poofs on his Mehm'scouch and staying the fuck out of our way."

"Maybe he'll take up Terrance and Phillip fanfiction," he says, barely containing his laughter.

"Holy shit."

Our uncontrollable snorting is cut short by the bell to go back to class.

As we go to put our lunch trays in the trash can, Stan turns around and asks, "Hey, what time're those auditions, again?"

"I think they're at 3:30, but I can't remember for sure. I'm gonna have to ask Craig again in seventh." A mischievous grin creeps up on my face as I add, "Unless you want to ask him—"

"Aw, hell no."

"That's what I thought."

A/N: yay, i'm finally done with this chapter! i guess. i might make some more changes if i think of anything, but for the most part i'm satisfied. at least more than i was with the SPBB edition.

so this is the end of part 1, and chapter 7 marks the beginning of march. i'm skipping over the regular auditions and going straight into the callbacks, since mostly everyone (read: cartman and wendy) auditioned on different days. i'm trying not to make wendy's POV ~*All About Da Candy*~ but it's incredibly tough. her and bebe's friendship is going to have a bit of a rift in the next couple of chapters, though, so that's always fun. oh, and butters finally makes an appearance! i love the guy but i've had such a hard time figuring out where he comes into the story. but okay enough with the rambling. thanks for reading, dudes.