It was nearly four o'clock in the afternoon when Craig reached the front door of the McCormick household. The handle was wobbly, the doorbell long out of service; the frame shook when he knocked. He took a step back as the door swung open and a small girl stood in the entry.

"Are you here for Kenny?" she asked. She was about his sister's age but much smaller. He knew Kenny had two siblings, Karen and Kevin, though he wasn't sure where he learned this. He could only assume this was Karen.

Craig nodded in reply.

"I think he has some friends over," Karen said, leading him up to a door made of beaten wood and plastered with posters of Playboy models and NASCAR drivers.

When Karen skipped away, Craig made the mistake of creaking the door open slightly, just enough to see clearly into the bedroom. And he could attest to the fact that, yes, Kenny McCormick most definitely had some friends over. Very good friends, in fact.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, instinctively taking a step back and then closing the door behind him very slowly, so as to not draw attention to himself. Jesus Christ. He'd gotten out of there so fast that he hadn't been able to count the amount of girls, but there were more than enough of them.

Craig had taken a seat on the floor, propping himself up against a wall which he had deemed much too thin, not nearly soundproof enough, when Kenny emerged about fifteen minutes later. He counted four girls that followed him. Craig couldn't figure why, but this made him uncomfortable – maybe it was the atmosphere of the McCormick's home, or the fact that he felt slightly voyeuristic, or just the simple knowledge that there was human contact happening, which he had never liked. He didn't care what those girls did with their bodies. All bizarre fascination aside, he didn't care what Kenny did, either. Still, he was bothered. He took a step into the room, now free of girls and sex, without saying anything. Kenny followed behind him.

He didn't want to sit anywhere after what he'd just seen, especially on the bed, so he remained standing. His eyes were glued to the floor

"That's disgusting," was all Craig said. It wasn't with the intention of hurting anybody, necessarily, but his eyes were so cold, he easily could have. Kenny feigned sorrow.

"Oh, Craig, you're breaking my heart."

He stepped over various pieces of trash – old ripped magazines and dirty clothes – in a desperate search of their goddamned project. He tried his best to block out anything Kenny was saying, but he wasn't proving successful.

"Why're you so angry? Are you jealous?"

And, of course, Craig rolled his eyes, because the idea sounded ridiculous to him. He knelt down and uncovered the doll beneath a few beer cans and a very large bra. He grimaced, but picked up the baby regardless, and suddenly Kenny was in his face again.

"Okay, just let me ask: are you jealous of me or them?"

Craig focused himself on doing a quick check of the baby. It had all of its limbs, thankfully, and besides a few spots of dirt, it was generally okay. He'd never cared about school projects, but he was supposed to care about this one and so he was going to do a good job. That's just how he was. If he was going to put time into something, he figured he may as well do a good job. Kenny's questions were simple background noise, static, and he responded deadpan and automatically.

Craig did something that shocked Kenny. He asked, grey eyes narrowed, "Who do you think I'm jealous of?"

And without a second of hesitation, a grin plastered to his face, Kenny answered, "Them."

Craig didn't know what Kenny was expecting from the conversation, but he decided to end the fun there. Kenny knew full well what he expected and he had to admit that he was disappointed in the change of topic.

"So what do we have to do for this project?"

"I dunno,"

"You're the one who wants to do it."

Kenny shrugged. "Sorry, I guess."

Without looking up from the baby he was now crouched on the floor holding, Craig flipped him off.

"Hey! Don't flip me off, Tucker."

"How are you supposed to pass this fucking project if you don't know what to do?"

"I dunno," Kenny repeated. "I'm no good at this stuff."

The baby doll began to cry and Craig nearly threw it onto the ground.

"Oh my God," Craig groaned, "it makes noise. Why is it making noise."

"It does that a lot. Gimme it."

Craig tossed it across the room and Kenny leaned forward to catch it in his arms. He rocked it back and forth and the crying got quieter. Then he started to talk again, very quietly.

"Yeah, so, pretty much, it just cries like every hour or so." He eyed the baby, which had now stopped completely, and carefully set it down on the bed next to him. "Or when it gets moved around a lot or if stuff gets loud. There's a sensor in it or something," he shrugged. "Fucking technology. I don't get it. It's not even like a real baby, it doesn't eat or play or nothin', just cries."

Craig still didn't know why he had to be here, so he was still less than pleasant.

"Wait," Craig interrupted, his voice monotone as usual. "So I came all the way over here on a Friday afternoon," he paused, narrowing his eyes, "to walk in on your creepy sex party," another pause for emphasis, "and for you to tell me that our baby doll cries."

"You know, Craig Tucker, I think that's the most I've ever heard you say in one go!"

"Not what I asked."

"I'm just trying to lighten the mood."

"I don't care."

Kenny pouted. "You know what? You really are an asshole, Craig."

Craig didn't even think to protest. He just nodded, stood up from the ground, and said, "Yup." Sixteen years old and if he knew one thing about himself it was that he was an asshole.

There were a few long moments of silence where Kenny's face twisted into an expression of complete bewilderment and Craig stared onward. Kenny was the one to speak first. "You're not even gonna argue with me?"

"No."

For a second, there was a mischievous spark in Kenny's eyes, a promise of something interesting to come, and Craig only cocked his head in question. He pushed it to the back of his mind and dismissed the thought, turning his attention back to the project.

"So," Craig said, wanting to break the silence that had settled again. "We can just switch days. I'll take it tonight, you take it tomorrow."

Kenny shrugged, a sort of disappointment in the gesture. "No parent stuff?"

"What," the word wasn't a question – it was a statement, a remark, if anything.

"Don't ask. Just – just do it, okay? What're you doing Saturday?"

"Nothing…important, I guess."

"You're mine then, Tucker!" His face lit up, teeth showing behind a smirk, and Craig shrugged.

There was something, Craig thought as he walked home that night, baby doll squeezed under his arm like a football, there was something off about Kenny.

It seemed, sometimes, that he wasn't completely a part of the earth; he smiled like he knew something that no one else did, and nobody cared to ask just what that was. Craig thought he ought to do the same, and he'd been trying, but it wouldn't leave him alone.

He collapsed onto his bed, careful to place to baby next to him without setting it off. He thought of the weird picture he'd found just the other day – an orange blur of sorts, distorted amongst heavy rain. He tried to remember what he was doing the night he took it.

Two days ago. Tuesday night. It was raining – no, pouring. It had been a thunderstorm, and he was at his window for something. Something important.

There was the thunder, a dusty windowsill, an orange jacket soaked in rainwater…bright lights, no, headlights, and a horn. A car, a deafening sound, screeching wheels on slippery asphalt, and blood, so much blood, a flash, a click, and a boy in the street, alone, in the middle of it all, hidden in orange, bleeding, crying for help –

The baby began to wail, shattering Craig's deep thought. With a sigh, he leaned over to pick it up.