Chapter Four: Chill Pill
Word Count: 683
Warnings: Randy Being a Jerk (that's about it)
The next day wasn't much better, but it was a little, and Randy was thankful for that much. The girls were still obnoxious, but there were less of them following him around. Howard actually had to be used as a shield so he could get away from the girls and get his ninja suit out. The guys didn't back down any from the day before, but he subtly used a ninja move or two to avoid most of that, and, by the end of the day, he had a ringing in his ears, and a permanent frown, but he was still feeling better than yesterday.
'Okay, maybe that's a lie,' he thought, 'but if I can trick myself into believing it, it could be true…'
"I don't see what you're so mad about," Howard grumbled, sliding his backpack off and dumping its contents into his locker. "I mean, if I was you—"
"But you're not, are you, Howard?" Randy glared down at him. "You're not me, so you don't know how I feel about all this, and yet you still continue to act like everything is just peachy! Which it's not!"
Howard frowned,
"Cunningham, you need to take a chill pill," he told him. "If you don't stop freakin' out and start chillin' out, your head's gonna explode or something! Just calm down—"
"I AM CALM!" Randy shouted back. After, he blinked. Howard had a point there, too. If he just got worked up about this, it would only get worse. He just needed to chill out and clear his head.
'Yeah, like that'll be easy…' He internally groaned.
"Would you be willing to give up Ultra-Midweek-Game Night so I could go home and try to chill out?" He asked sorely.
Howard looked appalled,
"What?!" He cried, "Y-you can't bail on Ultra-Midweek-Game Night!" He grabbed Cunningham by the arms, pulling him down to eye-level.
"Video games are the perfect cure for this, Cunningham."
Randy rolled his eyes, but winced when he did. What he really needed right now was some ibuprofen and a cold soda. He didn't think playing Grave Punchers and listening to Howard ramble on about stupid junk at a loud level was the greatest way to relieve his headache.
He shrugged away from his best friend,
"Sorry, buddy. You'll just have to find something else to do for tonight."
Howard grumbled, pulling his now-empty bag over his shoulder and walking away.
'Well, that went well,' Randy thought.
"Is there anything that'll fix this? Even something that could help just a little?" Randy asked. He stared down at the book on the floor. The Nomicon had nothing for him, just like he'd guessed.
"Like, maybe…I don't know," he continued, "some kind of simple riddle that tells me how to make everyone stop treating me like a complete shoob?"
Still nothing.
"Aaauuuggghhhhh!" He cried out, falling back onto the floor. "I give up! What's the point anymore?!"
A ringing went off in his ear, but when he glanced over, he realized it was his phone. He sighed, picking it up.
"Hey, buddy, just wanted to let you know…" Howard started, pausing to listen to someone in the background. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. So, Heidi says she couldn't find a match for the note from her yearbook, or something. She said that it must be another freshman, so she'll try to find out by tomorrow."
Randy groaned,
"Could you try explaining to her that I really don't care who wrote it?"
Howard laughed,
"Yeah, right! Like she'd actually listen to ME!"
"Ugghhhh…"
Howard sighed,
"Dude, you'll find out tomorrow and then this mess'll be over. Just think about that."
"Oh, right," Randy remarked sarcastically, "I completely forgot that I can just bypass the confrontation with this person and pretend your sister didn't make a huge, honkin' deal out of it!"
He pulled his hand down his face. He didn't want to know this person, and he didn't want to deal with them, regardless of their intentions. He'd had enough.