Homer's belly bounced inside him as he waddled towards the door. "I'll be at Moe's," he hollered from the doorway, turning tail for the bar. When given the option to speak one on one with his son, he would take the cowards way out every time and flee from parental responsibilities–to the safety of a dank hole where miscreants would pat him on the back, assuring Homer he did his best. A few beers ensured his responsibilities became cloudy memories.

This left Bart sitting alone on the couch. Under different circumstances, he might have continued to sit there, but not tonight. No, tonight felt like pushing back against the depressive clouds forming in his head. A party was an order. A good mess left behind by a rager would sure show Homer.

Just as this idea popped into Bart's head, causing a faint smirk to come to his lips, three determined wraps on the back door sent him flying into the fireplace. Shaky. He took a breath, leaning against the mantle. Who the hell was that? He thought before creeping over to the window.

Standing outside was Jessica, who waved enthusiastically. Bart let her inside, and she pushed past. "Saw your dad leave. Nelson's bringing the keg."

"Guh?" Bart's confusion was worn on his face. He knew girls could read minds, but now he was a little scared. "Are you spying on me?" A normal teenage boy might have been thrilled to be visited in the night by a girl whose reputation as a slut was matched by her tight, revealing crop top and pants, but he knew such feelings were the work of the devil. Her silky raven-black hair and faux-bimbo persona doomed any boy foolish enough to follow her siren's call.

"Bugged your phone." Jessica clicked her tongue. She placed both hands on her hips. "Bart, this won't do at all. We'll need to move the couch. Put the speakers there." She pointed to the bay window. "Oh, a strobe light could be mounted there." Jessica snapped her fingers, fishing out her smart phone, tapping away on its screen. "I'll let Nelson know to bring the tools."

Bart stood behind her. "Hey, I wanted to throw a party. Not destroy the crap shack."

"Aww, come on Bart. I thought you were a rebel." Jessica continued her assessment of the living space. "We gotta trash this place. If it was my house, I'd make sure Tim had another nervous breakdown."

"Another?" He repeated aloud. Jessica somehow continued to set a new bar in scaring the hell out of Bart.

Seeing he still had reservations, she came over, placing an arm over his shoulder. "Barrrt. You trust me, right?"

"No."

"Well, how about this then… I've already invited Sherri and Terri. They are expecting a real Bart-patented rager."

Bart's demeanor shifted in an instant as he, no longer submerged in a morass of teenage apathy, bounced into an ever hope-filled drive of teenage romance. "Terri's coming?" Jessica's knowing smirk caused him to stutter out. "Cool. That's cool."

Jessica shook her head. "Now now. Don't go getting all awkward and sweaty." She gently blew some air into his ear and whispered. "Terri was really excited you might wear those skinny jeans. You know, she thinks you have a cute butt."

Bart shook the siren away, falling into mad pacing. "Oh!?" His heart clamored into his throat, doing a little dance in the middle of the room. "They are dirty. I could wash them, but then they'd take a while to dry."

"Snrk," Jessica laughed at his reaction. Boys were so easy to throw off balance. "She won't mind. Girls like her are so totally nose-blind." She pinched her nose to emphasize her point. "But please put on some deodorant."

He was already bounding up the stairs. "I will!"

She wasted no time getting on the phone. With her dad's credit card in hand, Jessica placed an order for three large pizzas and plenty of diet soda. Last but not least, she made a call to her favorite one-armed ne'er-do-well Herman. If anyone could get molly on such short notice, it would be him. She so totally loved to trash a house that was not hers.

Nelson arrived an hour later, rolling a keg inside on a red wagon. He even brought the plastic cups. Quite the gentleman.

While he and Jessica made the finishing touches on the downstairs, Bart took the time to style his hair. Primping in the mirror, he made certain to floss his teeth for the first time in nearly two weeks. If there was to be smooching, he intended to make a good impression.

A cloud of deodorant trailed him out of the bathroom. While its heavy stench could poison a small animal or two, Bart thought it smelt like success. With some luck, he aimed to get a little tongue. If there was one way to chase away his sense of inadequacy, it was through inconsolable horn-doggedness.

Sliding down the banister, he found his friends had converted his living room into a proper club. A black light showered them in a bluish hue. Soon, heavy bass music rattled the walls of the house as their classmates filtered in. Nelson split off early. Francine, a tree of a girl with well-defined thighs billowing out from beneath her basketball shorts, was his drug of choice. Their mutual love for welling on nerds meant they had plenty to discuss between swapping spit.

Jessica left when engulfed by a fawning crowd of boys of all ages. In only a few minutes, she had them waiting on her hand and foot, while she pretended they scarcely existed. Which left Bart, all put together, leaning alone against his mom's good china cabinet. Beer was out of the question, even if it might calm his anxiety. Watching Homer destroy his liver had convinced Bart to stick with more herbal remedies.

Standing there alone, Bart grappled with a disquieting notion. 742 was a house, not his home anymore. It had stopped being a home a long, long time ago. His parents rarely remembered who he was unless he did something they deemed wrong. Grief crept into his stomach when Bart thought of his deceased grandfather, a man who appreciated his spirit. Gumption was the wrinkled old Abe's word of choice.

Bart's art. Gumption. His excitement about driving a car. Gumption. And most meaningful of all, his love of ballet. Something Homer had mocked and his mom dismissed, Abe called gumption. It takes gumption to do something so fruity.

Bart was about to slip out, guessing Sherri and Terri had decided not to come, when a pair of knocks echoed off the front door. He dashed over, throwing it open. Standing before him, Sherri and Terri were as pale as ghost in the moonlight. Identical twins. They could not have been more different in his discerning eyes.

Sherri, on Bart's left, gave off an air of maturity. Perhaps because she was twenty seconds older. Her expressions of self were more subdued. A pink t-shirt, matching bow and blue Dolfins. Terri, his crush going on several years, once garbed similar to her sister, was now a blinding testament to what a bad attitude and scissors could do to clothing.

Belts and spikes galore. A dark orange tee, with a picture of Baphomet printed on it. Her black jeans sliced to pieces, meant he could see her perfect porcelain legs underneath. Bart realized he might have a better chance at holding a conversation if he went blind.

"Hiii, Barrrt," they said in unison, waving in one singular motion.

"Duhhh." Bart drooled, staring at them.

"Sorry, we are late. Terri had to do her hair again," Sherri explained, playfully nudging her sister, who giggled covering her face.

"I ran out of hairspray," Terri said.

Bart believed it. Terri's helmet hair was the talk of the school. Ostentation as ever, it sported a gaudy silver streak across her fringe as a last ditch effort to shout to the world. Hey! I am Terri Mackleberry and don't you forget it!

Jessica appeared from the ether. "Bart! Invite them in!" Her command was heeded, and he stepped out of the way. She wormed between the sisters, bumping Terri away as she linked arms with Sherri. "Come on, my delicious Elderberry. I am soooo tired of listening to boys talk about their dicks."

"Wai—" Bart tried to speak, but they had already vanished into the kitchen. Leaving him with Terri, who looked about as mortified as he was to be alone. "Uh, you want some beer?" He asked, pointing to the keg.

Terri sniggered. "You don't have to liquor me up; I already think you are cute."

"What? No, it's not like that." Bart's cool factor evaporated in an instant. "I just figured… It's a party, ya know? That's what people do."

"Hmm, maybe I could be persuaded. Although I am already of loose morals, so who knows what might happen after a few drinks." She playfully pushed his arm. Her eyes were firmly locked on his lower-half. It was a battle to avoid reenacting her favorite pastime as a suffering of Victorian-era wasting sickness..

Bart gulped, finding her a clean cup. He poured her some ice-cold Duff and handed it off as they staked a claim near the fireplace. Terri took a sip, grimacing. "Mm. It is beer alright."

"No good?"

"It's fine, but I don't think I'll need it tonight." There was a twinkle in her romantic, dark eyes. Terri placed it on the mantle. "Your folks out of town?"

"Nah, Homer's drinking himself to death, as usual. Mom took Lisa and Maggie to brainiac camp." Bart kicked at the carpet. "Ya know. For kids with a future."

"Eh. The future is lame. When I turn eighteen, I am so out of this stinkberg."

A girl after his own heart. Bart laughed. "Same. Gonna live in a van and sell bootleg DVDs."

"I love men of ambition." Terri placed her foot over his. "Would there be room for another in this hypothetical van?"

"Sure dude. What about Sherri?"

"She's one of them kids with a future. I don't think she'll mind if we split for a while." Terri's perfume smelled like roses, and much like his cologne, fought a losing war against the grime built up over weeks of teenage laziness. "Look!" She jingled a thick nose ring in her septum. "I got a new one. Waddya think?"

Bart's mouth moved before his brain fired off the appropriate synapses. "I think you have a pretty nose. I want to draw it sometime."

He turned red. Terri found herself at a loss for words. "That's…" She blushed as well, touching her nose. "You really think so?"

"Yes. Haven't you noticed? Everyone in this town looks the same." Bart motioned vaguely at the rest of their peers. "But I could find you in a crowd just by looking for your nose."

"Eheheh. Well if I am ever lost at the mall, I'll hope your nose sensing abilities are up to par." Not one to let awkwardness to dominate their conversation, Terri reached forward, placing a hand on his hip. "Hey. Maybe we can go somewhere quieter so you find out what makes me Terri."

She pulled closer. Bart's heart went from thump-thump. To an erratic thump… thump-thump-thump. He felt light-headed. "That sounds … fun. We offer the finest in closet privacy here in the Simpson adobe."

"Ooo. How romantic."

They made for the foyer's closet. Their dreams of romantic misadventures and humorous misunderstandings fell apart whence upon opening the door. They found Sherri and Jessica locked together in a passionate state of undress, possibly thanks to no fear of unplanned pregnancy. Coming up from Sherri's breasts for air, Jessica stared blankly at Bart and Terri. "Umm. You guys mind?"

"Sorry!" Bart and Terri stammered, shutting the door.

"Uhh, there is always the treehouse." He offered in a delirious panic now.

"No tree house, Simpson!" Nelson shouted, his voice floating down from outside and through the walls. "We're busy!"

Terri cocked her head. "How can we hear him?" She decided it was best not to think too hard. "You do have a bedroom, right Bart? It might be a bit roomy, but I think we can make it work."

"Whoa. That's a great idea."

They went upstairs only for their romantic plans to be once again dashed by a cloud of smoke filling the air, coming from Lisa's room. Bart groaned. "Oh, for the love—" He banged on his sister's bedroom door. "Hey dickweeds! The bong stays in the tree house!" He pushed inside, then froze in place.

Terri, curious, stood on her tip-toes, peaking over his shoulder. Homer sat on the bed, bong in both hands, having come back from drinking at some point during the evening. Nearby, melting into a giant beanbag chair, Police Chief Wiggum of all people chowed down on a bag of chips. Her jaw dropped. "No way! Is this some kind of bad fanfiction?!" She thought about the idea. "I should totally write it. Old men are always do numbers online."

Homer sputtered, choking as the marijuana burned his throat. "H-hey boy. Sweet party." His red-rimmed eyes, no doubt produced by the cross fade he was swimming in, drifted over to Terri, who peered back. He burst into uncontrollable giggles. "Heehee. Who's the clown boy?"

"Hey, oaf. Want to hear a joke?" Terri's eyes became a glare. "I'm looking at him." Her barb was enough to cause Wiggum to snort, wheezing, as he shoveled another round of chips down his gullet.

Bart placed an arm around her waist. "Uh, Homer. This is Terri. She's my friend." He glanced at her. "And muse."

She giggled, pawing his chest. Homer did not quite follow, squinting in his buzzed state. "A girl… That is your friend?" He tried to put two and two together. "Who are you fooling, boy? No girl would like you! You're a loser!"

Chief Wiggum joined in on the bullying. "Yeah, Simpson. The only kind of girl that'd be interested in you is spending tonight down in Juvenile hall."

Bart made a fist, but Terri took it in both hands, speaking up instead. "Like you two would know how I feel!" With the grace of a viper, honed over years of giving other girls eating disorders, Terri lashed out with venom. "Homer. You only beat on Bart because deep down, you know not a single person can ever love you. I give it another year before Marge leaves you to rot." She looked to Wiggum. "And the murderous pig with a badge. I hear they have to special make your uniform upstate out of old military parachutes."

A tense silence overtook the room. Aside from the trance music pounding from downstairs, no one said anything. Homer's face softened as stuttered out a weak apology. "Son, you know I was only kidding, right?"

"Hard to tell sometimes, Homer."

"No, really. Boy, when I had you, I was terrified. Now, though, I am so glad to know I'll always have at least one kid at home."

Bart stepped forward, finding his voice. "You are wrong! Once I graduate, I'm going to be a dancer!"

Homer broke into laughter again, his rolls of fat shaking along with the bed from gizzard to gullet. His discolored teeth, rotting from years of alcoholism and neglect, peeked through his lips. "Sure! And I was going to run a bowling alley!"

"Hey… Homer." Bart got right in his father's face. Despite the odorous stench of Homer's decaying soul, Bart kept his nerve. "Like it or not, I am the future and you… you! Well, I have already forgotten you." He did not need to elaborate, turning on his heel and taking the stairs two at a time.

Terri, though, had one last thing to say. "You know, Mister Simpson, you just aren't a very good person, let alone a father." She jabbed a finger in the men's general direction. "Bart's right, you know. Both of you will soon be dead, and I don't think anyone will weep."

Bart huffed in the chilly night air, riding the high inherent to standing up for himself. He kicked the mailbox, but realized there was no anger to disperse. For once in his life, he felt like a man. Terri joined him. She was still determined for their first time to be magical, despite the interference from the cosmos. Sliding both arms under his shoulders, she held Bart close. "If you are the future… Do you think I have a place in it?"

Her question caused Bart to touch her hands. "I don't know. Do you have what it takes to ride with the Bartman?"

"I'd prefer to ride the Bartman."

Her forwardness caused Bart pause. "Ah…" He looked over at the beaten down pink Plymouth sitting in the driveway. The keys were still in the ignition. "Wanna blow this joint?"

"I'd rather blow the…"

He laughed. "Keep it in your pants, will you? I just had a traumatic moment."

"I have a thing for boys with daddy issues." Terri bumped him with her hip. "Or do you not want to find out what makes me and Sherri different?" Bart did not need to be told twice. He swooced right into the driver's seat through the side window.

Lake Springfield provided the refuge from the world both sought so desperately. There under the twinkling stars, in front of the glistening ripples of water and in the stained back seat of the Simpson family car; Bart and Terri shared experienced an intense, exhausting but most importantly physical joining. His good-nature could diffuse all the awkwardness which came with the performance inherent to sex. Their first challenge came with Terri's belts, and it took Bart a solid five minutes to unbuckle each one. The whole time, Terri cackled like a woman possessed. Although when finally got down to business, her laughs became giggles, then soft moans.

Running her fingers through his hair, she curled her toe. Sure, in Terri's fantasies, Bart tended to be at the very least showered and she did not need to tell him where his attention was needed most. But once he understood, he knew exactly what to do. She tensed, clenching her thighs around his head and, upon realizing Bart might keep going, patted him. "My… turn."

They tried to swap but had to stop, cause her leg was still shaking. After a short water break, it was Bart looking down at her as she fumbled with his belt buckle. Her eyes widened upon seeing the one and only Bartman in the flesh. "You good, dude?" Bart asked.

"Um, yeah. Snrk … Guess I didn't expect it to big as big as my forearm." An exaggeration to be sure, but caught in the moment, she was a bit intimidated. Her words were all Bart really needed to hear, though, and he was raring to go in no time.

When she climbed on top, it was Bart's turn to laugh, as she made herself comfortable. "I guess I have always liked ice cream with a Terri on top."

The mood shattered. Terri fought to stop from smiling before collapsing into his embrace. "Ah!" She gently slapped at his chest. "Why do you gotta be so funny?! This is why I fell in love with you!"

She clinched. Bart cocked his head. "You love me?"

"Uh, duh. Always have. Why else would I waste so much time teasing you?" She tried to save face, but her concentration was shattered and she stared at him with big pleading eyes.

Bart reached up, placing his hand on her cheek. His thumb stroked her nose. "You really are so pretty." He shifted, moving his hips, prompting a squeak to escape her lips. "Hey, Terri. You are in luck cause I love you too."

"Good, cause I'd hate to throw you in the lake."

"No, I am serious, dude. When this is done … can I draw you?" Bart asked, still tracing the lines which comprised her most prominent feature. "Cause I can see what makes Terri Mackleberry different from Sherri as clear as day."

Terri's answer was to nibble on his neck, relaxing as she fell into the rhythm of their intimate dance. Not that there was much left for them to do and when their waltz finished, she rolled off him but too not far. Taking a breath, Terri fished two joints from somewhere in the tangles of her hair. "See, I knew sticking out ballet would be good for you."

Seeing the joints, Bart considered dropping a proposal right then and there, but decided his heart could not take it. "How bout it? Can I draw you?"

"Now?" She lit the tip of the joint, inhaling deeply as she snuggled against him. "We don't even have paper.

Bart leaned over, sliding a notebook out from underneath the driver's seat. "Sure we do. Homer is always buying random junk." He found a half-chewed pencil as well.

Terri smiled. "Okay. Let's see what you can do." While he scratched away at a piece of paper, she ran a finger across her bare leg. "You know what this means, right?"

"What?"

"We're going to prove everyone wrong."

Bart, erased a line, squinted at her in the moonlight, then followed up with three quick strokes. "Oh, yeah? How so?"

"First. We're going to graduate." Terri took another pull. "And by that, I mean, I am going to make sure you graduate. Then we are so out of Springfield."

"Sounds like a plan." Had it been up to him, they could have left right then, but for the first time Bart felt inspired to try because someone believed he could. "Let's go to New York. Homer would never go there again in a million years."

"Perfect. I got some aunties over around Rhode Island. They will help us out."

Bart stayed silent, finishing his sketch with an intensity of focus she had never seen before. When done, he tore the page out of the notebook, handing it to her. "Here."

Terri took it gingerly. There she was, in graphite. Not in the likeness of Sherri at all. He had made certain to emphasize the somberness of Terri's face. The bags underneath her eyes. The minor imperfections she thought her foundation concealed. A zit on her nose and a wisp of hair on her upper lip. But most of all, on that page, Bart captured her. He captured Terri Mackleberry as she was a person. A girl with hopes and dreams for her future.

She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. Instead, Terri crawled over and kissed him deeply on the lips. She brought his hands to her breasts, exhaling as she put her forehead against his. "We will do it. Everyone in this town will know our names one day."

They remained embraced for hours afterwards, watching the lake's water as it rippled in the breeze. When the sun rose above the treeline, Bart and Terri dressed in silence and her drove her home.

Junior and senior came as soon as they went. While Bart and Terri shared a magical prom night together, it is a story which had little baring on Bart's life compared to the morning after graduation. In the pinkish hue of a rising sun, he threw together a duffel bag of essentials. Clothes, Krusty Doll, bong and a pack of gum. The essentials. Committed, he slung it over his shoulder and crept down the stairs. If he lingered, he did not do so for long. As the last sight he took in was of an engorged Homer passed out on the couch, snoring in front of an infomercial. Which hardened Bart's resolve further. Full of nervous anxiety, he walked right out 742's front door. Out of the Simpsons forever and never felt compelled to utter a word.

Terri was waiting for him atop an idling motorcycle, her terrifying mound of hair crushed beneath a helmet. She handed him another and Bart climbed on the back, saluting the house he never considered a home as they sped off together. A bittersweet freedom settled in his chest; his soul liberated at long last from its suburban prison. With each stop light and road sign, Bart felt another weighty chain rise into the sky. By the time they pulled onto the long 15 out of the state, he had he not been holding firm to Terri's waist, he would have floated away himself. Plenty of greasy food, cheap motels squatting in abandon buildings and scabies beckoned them.

Back at the Simpsons house, Marge had heard the engine fire outside and arrived at the window just long enough to see her son vanish forever. She stood there, silently staring at the pavement forever. As if she could will Bart to return by the sheer force of her guilt. However, he never did. So in silence she went downstairs and made breakfast, setting a plate for her sweet little man. Lisa and Maggie joined her, able to guess what had transpired. Their brother had been distant for some time; his absence came as a surprise to neither. Maggie even envied him and made a quiet resolution to do the same when she turned eighteen.

Homer, upon waking from his stupor, flew into a rage, ranting at the ghosts of the past. Ranting at himself in his own way, for he knew deep down it was his fault the Simpsons fell apart. His yelling became pleading when Marge broke a dish she was washing and told her girls to pack their bags. They would be staying at her sisters. At least that was how Lisa recalled the day their family fell apart in her presidential memoir. Of course, she took plenty of pages to inflate what an emotional shock it was for her to lose her big brother and how his absence shaped her into the woman she became. The final chapter, though, lingered on the death of her father, Homer. Who died of a cerebral hemorrhage on the floor of 742 Evergreen Terrace. Soaked in his own piss, unloved, alone with a failing liver, she speculated Homer's last word was a weak, croaking D'oh.

A vastly unpopular president at home, due to an imperialist policy of expansion in the Middle East, Lisa faded into obscurity, having been ousted by a political outsider promising to blow up the moon. Having accomplished all of her goals in a single term, Lisa was content she did not need a second and settled down back at Springfield with Nelson. Strange winds often send people to strange places. Lisa would reunite with the lost Simpson one fateful night in New York City. Where after giving a speech on women's rights, she came across a flier for a ballet performance of Don Quixote. Right on the front cover stood her brother in the lead. Rave reviews were plastered across its surface.

Curious, she decided to catch a show. Couldn't hurt, she thought. When the lights dimmed around her, Lisa found herself enraptured in a beautiful yet comedic journey with the roguish knight. Bart was the perfect choice for such a tale and she could not ignore the similarities in his struggle to carve a place for himself in the world. When it was over, Lisa clapped until her hands hurt, tears flooding her eyes. But afterwards, she was in for one final shock of the night. Lingering outside the venue, Lisa hoped to catch her brother before he left. If only to reconnect. To let him know Marge still mourned him or that Maggie was traveling abroad.

Yet when she caught sight of the floppy-haired nitwit, Lisa stayed quiet. Bart signed a fan's pamphlet, offered her words of encouragement about following her dreams, and descended the steps where he was beset once again. Terri came over, throwing her arms around Bart and smothering him with kisses. Lisa caught a few words of praise, but what came next shocked her. Two twin girls raced from the girls, tackling their grinning father to the ground. They wallowed over him, filling the parking lot with love and laughter. Their coral pink hair was a stunning combination of mother and father. The four were happy. Lisa smiled somberly. She had no right to intrude on their happiness. If Bart had not written the family of his marriage or children, nor attended his father's funeral, it was safe to conclude he found a family elsewhere.

Lisa watched them get in their car, then drive away, wandering if there would be a time her brother would reach out. It would take a shakily written letter from Marge only a few years later to bring Bart to Springfield again.