CHAPTER ONE:
'cuz it's getting kind of quiet
in my city ahead
it takes a teen age riot
to get me out of bed right now
🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆
you have a heart to heart with your disturbing looking guidance counselor, and unfortunately meet the people you'll be stuck with all year.
"i don't know if you're aware, but you have a reputation," the guidance counselor you were unfortunate enough to be cursed with sternly said. he kept his nimble fingers tapping away on the keyboard while his wrinkles made him look like a vintage leather couch. "m'kay?"
"okay." there you sat, in the too-small plastic chair in front of his desk.
"see, your grades are... fine. uh, they could use some improvement."
you cough a bit into your fist.
"for example, your Spanish grade... that's no bueno."
"mr. mackey, why am i here?" you raised a brow.
mr. mackey, the man of the hour, looked taken aback but not surprised. "well... i've gotten reports from your fellow classmates that you- well, you're a mean kid."
"that's- that's why i'm in here?"
"that's right."
silence enters the room and its awkward presence makes you sweat. big beady eyes bore into you as you try to make up an escape plan. the too-small plastic chair leaves you with a revelation, there's no way out.
you laugh a little, more for yourself, "okay?"
mr. mackey sighs, it seems as though he's given up when he holds his head in his hands.
clearing your throat, "to be fair, maybe my reputation isn't a big deal. i'm not supposed to care what people think, right?"
you start to notice mr. mackey tugged at the last few hair follicles he has remaining.
"my grades! they need improving! i'll just focus on my grades from now on, yeah?" you're getting nervous.
mr. mackey starts muttering to himself.
"am i mean? am i that mean? i- i just don't see why some people are upset—"
as soon as those words flew out of your mouth, mr. mackey swiftly rummaged through a file cabinet in his desk. then, he pulled out a stack of papers, all color coordinated, to each grade.
"in sixth grade, you created an Instagram 'tea spill' account and had five families pull their children out of your school. seventh grade, it was you who told everyone about a secret pool party in the woods which ended up being an empty kiddie pool and twenty of your classmates went missing for thirty-six hours."
"oh, at least they found them right?"
mr. mackey sent a glare, then continued. "in the eighth grade, that's when you put posters everywhere in town, warning about the rapture coming from 'ANTIFA', which in turn caused five-million dollars in damages."
"okay, that one was funny, it was like doomsday, but for hicks."
mr. mackey cleared his throat.
"sorry."
"ninth grade, you made a fake Grindr account for kevin stoley because, quote and quote, the closet was clearly invisible."
"i was clearly helping a friend!" you innocently smiled.
"no more talking."
"got it."
"alright, tenth grade, that was what i like to call the 'chicken incident'. we all know that one so no need to discuss more. oh, and uh, last year during homecoming you had joked that North Park's football coach was a pedophile, and if that were true then God would strike him down with lightning... and then it happened, twice."
"um, pause, how was that my fault?"
"i'm not sure... you, uh, took credit for it."
you frown and sigh, damn you from a year ago! "okay, well as you can see i've grown tamer over time! besides, there's nothing on my record for this year."
"oh, there is."
"what...?"
that's when he pulls out the surprise he's been waiting for: screenshots from your twitter. you don't have many followers online so to see your tweets printed out and used against you, mind-blowing.
"as you can see here, you said: 'all these South Park freaks piss me off. go to the deepest pits of hell for me."
you stare at the printed screenshot, then laugh a little. "maybe i was having a bad day!"
"a bad day? okay, two days later: 'i think without my earbuds i would've killed myself off if i had to go to South Park High every. single. fucking. day."
"mr. mackey, haven't you ever been to school?"
"yes, i went to school to become a teacher." he proceeds to look at you like a dead fish.
"haha, well, you would know that it's fucking hell." whatever shred of politeness you had dissipated the more you stayed in his old carpet smelled office.
"yes, i know that, and it's well—" mr. mackey takes off his glasses and sets them down on his desk. "i think you're a good kid. while, you don't like this town, the people living in it, the one thing i don't want you to do is to become cynical."
now it's your turn to be surprised. what? an adult actually being sincere in giving advice?
"i see potential in you. i think a lot of people lack drive and ambition, and i see a person who stops at nothing sitting right in front of me."
for some reason, being complimented like this makes you tense up.
"and the one thing that makes you different is that! don't be like the goths who don't see meaning in anything, or don't lose sight of yourself. i see how you carry yourself with your uh- uh- aesthetics and uh- piercings, and that's great! just... what am i trying to say? give this place a chance. you might think there's nothing here, but there's always something you can learn about from your environment. just look for it!"
you stay silent, as you look a little lost in thought.
"i don't think you're a mean kid, you're a good kid, it's just time to start acting like it, m'kay?"
you can't help but look away and scrunch your face. you think the man in front of you hit a soft spot, and to fight against the fear of vulnerability was to leave. so you grab your bag and thank him.
just as you were about to leave he speaks up again, "by the way, you're assigned to help with the anti-bullying committee."
you turn to look at him, distrust laced your face, "what?!"
"n- not my doing! it was pc principal's... i'll just email all the info you need to you, m'kay?" mr. mackey raised his hands in defense.
"ah, okay. sorry." you're back to looking relaxed, in a daze. "uh... have a nice day mr. mackey." with that you were gone.
passing by was mr. garrison who almost choked on his coffee mid-sip. then, his erratic eyes land on mr. mackey. "did they just leave your office without cursing you out?"
mr. mackey on the other hand had all of his nerves leave his body, he practically melted like jelly on his desk.
"i need a raise."
wandering the halls after the last bell rang was a bit more difficult than usual. it was wednesday, which meant practically every club's meeting was happening today, right now. so you expected it to be nearly impossible to find the anti-bullying committee with a hundred other people also running around like chickens without heads.
pfft, that reminds you of the 'chicken incident'.
you had a tight grip on your phone, reading the email sent to you over and over. "room 344..." you muttered to yourself. you thought about how small a town is, the high school is uncomfortably huge.
it also didn't help that you didn't really have anyone to ask for directions. one look at you and some people speed walk away, is it ever that serious?
past the wing for video production, you end up at the emptiest part of the school, but a room awaits you. room 344.
this is probably how you get yourself killed.
you knock once, then twice. it's weird to get no response, even though you were told the club would be operational today. although a part of you was determined, it's either death or detention with mr. slave.
"uh! sorry we are closed today!" you hear a gruff but whiny voice from behind the door. so you knock again. "ay! fuck off! we're not helping your pussy ass today!"
"cartman?" it was a half-hearted guess, which turned out to be true when that tubby kid you always knew slightly opened the door.
all you could see was his eye, "who's asking?"
to say you were weirded out wasn't enough, god, why did you even listen to mr. mackey in the first place?! "uhh... pc principal assigned me to join the anti-bullying committee. i'm supposed to help you guys out... and stuff..."
you could hear a chipper and familiar voice speak behind cartman, "oh! like a slave?"
"why would you say that?!" another person speaks up, they sound like they're annoyed with the world at all times.
cartman shushed the group, then returned to speak to you at the door.
"help us out huh? hmmm... help us with anything right?"
you paused, "i have fucking standards."
"okay! goddamn... fucking asshole, can't you just make one promise?"
"what?" you were so done with this.
"bring us two bags of cheesy poofs... a two-liter coke... and donuts for every meeting. we get very hungry."
the voice from before started laughing, "it's just you who's hungry, fatass!"
cartman quickly slams the door in your face, and screeches, "shut the fuck up, you stupid fucking jew!"
"someone get me out of here," you scream inside your head, yet god refuses to hear you.
then, this time the door opens all the way. you get to see the entirety of the committee, and how the club room resembles more of a man cave. cartman's face is one beaming with kindness you've never seen before.
"does that sound like a good deal?"
a lot is going through your head, and you're trying to see if spending ten dollars every wednesday to feed a pig was worth the school staff not being on your ass for once. you look to cartman, who's practically glowing angelically, and the man cave that desperately needs a vacuum. you look deep inside your mind and realize, there's no escape from your fate of doom.
"yeah, sure, whatever."
author's note:
yay, i'm done! i need
to speed up the story... too
slow for my liking ><