Falling

9

"Yeah, yeah, can I go to school now?" Oof, that's never been said out loud. Wait, fuck that, that's never been said or thought of at all.

"You need to understand that this is unreasonable, Stanely," my mom says, continuing the conversation rather than letting me leave.

"What? C's are still passing."

"Right, and they're fine if you have one. But not if you have them in three different classes; oh, and let's not forget about your D in Spanish."

I sigh as I roll my eyes at my father's stupidity, "Are you just going to ignore that I have A's in my other three classes?"

My mom was about to speak before my dad beat her to the punch. Great, why can't he just be mute? "They're hardly classes, young man."

I move my hand to pinch my nose as my eyes lay shut, "Art, choir, and creative writing are real classes."

Thankfully, this time my mom spoke, "Yes, they are—"

"But—"

"They are," oh no, she's gonna say i— "But," yup, "Having those good grades will still be looked past if you don't fix your other four, especially that Spanish grade young man."

"Uhuh, great, I got to go," I turn to the door, beginning to open it.

"Hey, this isn't over, Stan."

"Yes, but I must be going. I'm losing precious learning time as we speak," I roll my eyes once more before leaving the house while ignoring the last few words spat before I shut the thing.

I sigh as I get up on my bike. I know people say, " Oh, you must cherish your parents," and all that shit; and sure, it's true, but that doesn't change the fact that things would be a lot easier if they weren't around during this time in my life. They really only cause more stress and don't take an ounce of it off.

But I'm sure they believe they're doing wonders by paying for my therapy. But there are two significant flaws in that thought; one, they aren't actually doing the work to help me, and two, that shit show really lives up to its name. Well, my name for it. It does literal shit for me. Hence the name shit show.

The ride to school felt shorter than usual, which I didn't appreciate since now that I've arrived at this hell hole, I have to live through an extra-long day of classes. You know, since it's Thursday. I don't care what anyone else says about this day because no matter what, it will always be Friday's disappointing sibling.

It's just that extra day between you and Friday that nobody asked for. But, that being said, it's still better than Tuesday. Ugh, don't get me started on that fucking day.

I walk to our usual meeting spot in front of Kyles's locker. We meet in front of the redheads because he's the only one out of the bunch of us that actually uses it. Cartman believes we should change our meeting location to his locker. But, what else is new?

The only person by the locker at the moment is Kenny. This is typically how it goes. Kenny and I get here first, well, to our meeting spot, that is. Kyle always gets to school the earliest but always spends that extra time studying, practicing basketball, or checking in with a teacher. And obviously, Cartman is the last to arrive; thank God for that, too, because I don't think I could handle any extra time with that fatass.

"Hey, Ken," I say, causing the blonde to look up from his phone. The boy was wearing his typical outfit, today being a black V-neck, with ripped jeans and black converse. Obviously topped off with the parka.

"Hey, Stan," my friend said before looking back at his phone. I know something is up because he never sticks his face in his phone during a time for a potential conversation unless it's serious.