One more old one for the archive:
Title: Wuthering Heights
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5,500
Summary: Butters is pregnant with twins that none of his partners are willing to take credit for. He's also homeless and alone on his birthday. Along comes Craig, the last person he'd expect sympathy from.
Butters had to catch an Express bus back toward Aurora so he could get on the three o’clock to North Park and then hopefully catch the four o’clock shuttle to the youth crisis center, and it wasn’t until he had to work all this out, timing-wise, that he noticed on the scrolling clock thing at the bus station that it wasn’t just two fifteen in the afternoon on a Tuesday, it was also September 11, his seventeenth birthday. He put his hand on his enormous stomach and gave his unborn twins a rub. At least he wasn’t celebrating alone this year.
“Well, fellas,” he said, though he had a suspicion that the technician at Planned Parenthood was wrong and that one of his twins was actually a girl, “At least you won’t get born on a real sad day like I was.” He supposed it was still possible that his babies would be born on Halloween, but he’d never really believed his dad about that being Satan’s birthday.
The bus wasn’t due for another five minutes, so he waddled over to a bench to have a seat. He was breathless when he sat down, and he fished around in his canvas bag until he’d found the water he’d rationed for the trip. Only the clinic in Denver had facilities for boy patients, and he’d had to take the day off from school. He dug out his Chemistry book so he could study while he waited, but he couldn’t seem to get himself to pay attention, and pretty soon his eyes were welling up. It was just that he was real tired, and his hormones were all out of whack, and the technician at the clinic had asked him so gently if he was sure he didn’t have anyone to call for a ride.
He supposed he could have called Kenny, though Kenny would have shown up in a bad mood and would have been all silent on the drive back to South Park the way he was last time. Clyde had started screening Butters’ calls after he found out about the twins, and Eric was always too busy to do him a favor, even though the babies might be his. They might be Clyde’s or Kenny’s, too, and, given the whorish habits that got him into this situation, Butters sometimes wondered if the twins had different fathers, though he was pretty sure that was scientifically impossible, or at least real unlikely. Either way, he had three people who used to call him up an awful lot, but now they didn’t want to ‘get involved,’ because they were all sure that this wasn’t their fault. Kenny was the most sympathetic and would help out if he could, but he had his own problems, such as paying the bills at the McCormick household. It wasn’t like Butters wanted to move in there, or to Eric’s house, or even Clyde’s, but he’d really appreciate a gosh darn helping hand once in a while, especially since he he’d given up so many afternoons to help those three with their wiener-related burdens last summer.
The bus arrived and Butters struggled up the stairs, gripping the handlebars on the way. He’d gained almost forty pounds and his stomach had grown unwieldy by his sixth month. Now he was in his eighth, and his doctors were cautioning that soon he’d probably be on bed rest. Butters wasn’t sure how that would work, but he suspected he’d have to take some sort of leave of absence from school and apply for a special needs exception at the youth crisis center, where he’d been living since his parents found out that he wasn’t just getting fat. He was kicked out for refusing to sign the twins over to an adoption agency before the poor things were even born. He just wanted to be able to hold them and take care of them for a little while, and if they seemed to like being with him he sorta wanted to keep them forever, though he didn’t see how he could.
He could barely wedge himself into a bus seat, the handicapped ones being taken by some old folks, and almost as soon as he sat down he was tipping into a restless sleep, his head leaning against the window. His back hurt all the time and he hadn’t been sleeping well at night. Eric often told him he looked like shit at school. Butters really didn’t appreciate that, considering that Eric might be to blame for all this, but Eric insisted that he was infertile due to ginger blood or something like that. Clyde, likewise, cited his medical problems as the reason he probably wasn’t the father. It was true that he only had one ball, but it was kind of on the large side. Butters didn’t really give a hoot which of them was the father, anyway. They’d all turned out to be lousy friends when the going got tough, and he didn’t want that kind of example set for the twins.
At Aurora he woke just in time to not miss his stop, and people gave him dirty looks as he slowly made his way down the aisle, holding everybody else up. He said he was sorry and tried to move faster, but he kept getting stuck, which was embarrassing. He was near tears by the time he made his way down the stairs, and he told himself to stop being silly. His babies were healthy, and he really had nothing to cry about. They were going to be such a joy, cuddly and cute, and they’d love him forever no matter what!
Butters was sobbing as he dropped onto a bench that had enough free space to accommodate his significantly inflated ass. He was so tired he couldn’t think straight, that was all, and it made him sad how it started to get dark at four o’clock during this time of year. He wanted it to be summer again, when he was light on his feet, carefree, and in high demand among his three boyfriends, who maybe didn’t call themselves his boyfriends exactly but certainly answered his text messages when he told them he was available. Everything had been so fun. He’d known it was wrong, too, but he’d never dreamed this could happen.
The bus ride from Aurora to North Park was brief, but he missed the crisis center shuttle due to traffic. The next one wouldn’t come for three hours, and he was so hungry, dreaming of the community meal, the garlic mashed potatoes that the daily menu had promised when he left that morning for his checkup. He decided he’d rather spend an hour walking than three waiting and set off for South Park.
As soon as the last of the sunlight faded the cold set in hard, and Butters’ ears stung with it even as he sweltered inside his coat, trudging along at a glacial pace, the strap of his bag digging into his palm. He was beginning to doubt his decision to walk by the time he reached a gas station just a few blocks away, and he leaned against an old newspaper box to catch his breath. When a car pulled up at the mouth of the gas station’s driveway he assumed the driver was just checking to see if he could pull into traffic, hopefully not gawking at the panting pregnant boy in the meantime.
“What are you doing?” someone asked, and Butters looked up to see that the driver had rolled his window down. It was Craig Tucker.
“I’m - headed home,” Butters said. He tried to assume a dignified posture, but it was difficult with a stomach the size of a small moon.
“I thought you got kicked out,” Craig said. His car was kind of a junker, but Butters could feel the heat emanating from within it as Craig regarded him through the open window.
“I’m stayin’ at the teen center,” Butters said. He preferred to call it that, leaving off the word ‘crisis.’ “They normally got a shuttle that stops up the road at the bus thingie but I went and missed it.”
Craig started at him for a while, his mouth tight as if he was annoyed. Butters stared back, blinking, and he rested a hand on his stomach protectively, not sure what was going on.
“Get in,” Craig said. “I’ll give you a ride.”
“Oh - no, that’s alright, it’s no trouble.” Butters’ swollen feet were throbbing in his shoes and his nose was leaking from walking into the wind, but Craig was scary.
“Get in,” Craig said again. Butters did, sighing. Craig was too scary to disobey, and it felt good to sit down and get out of the cold.
“This sure is a nice car,” Butters said after a few minutes of awkward silence. Craig drove with both hands on the wheel, and he didn’t have any music playing.
“No, it’s not,” Craig said.
“Well. I think it is! I’d sure like to have my own car. Riding the bus has gotten kinda hard. Not that I mean to complain. It’s real nice that the city has buses for people who don’t have a car. I sure do appreciate it.”
“Why don’t you get Clyde to drive you around?” Craig asked. He seemed angry, narrowing his eyes at Butters. “Doesn’t he owe you?”
“Owe me for what?”
“Uh. Huh! That.” Craig looked down at Butters’ stomach. “I know you guys were screwing.”
“Oh, well.” Butters covered the twins with his hands, not wanting to expose them to such language. “Clyde and I aren’t really friends anymore.”
“He’s such a fucking asshole,” Craig said.
“Oh, geez,” Butters said, and he rubbed his stomach nervously.
“You’re not the first person he did this to, I’ll put it that way,” Craig said. He jerked his chin as if to flip some hair out of his face, though his hair was short. It had been long for a few years. Butters thought it looked better like this.
“Did - what to, what did Clyde do?” Butters asked.
“Fucked a baby into someone’s ass,” Craig said. He gave Butters a look that made him lean away slightly. “Mine, actually. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Oh!” Butters didn’t know what to say next and felt incredibly stupid. He could hear something that he thought might be Craig’s jaw clicking as he stared out at the road. “Gosh, Craig, I didn’t realize you had a baby!”
“I didn’t have a baby, Butters. I got it taken care of. Why haven’t you?” He seemed so disappointed that for a moment Butters thought he should apologize.
“Well, that just wasn’t - right for me, Craig,” Butters said, trying to sound firm and confident on this point. “But I guess it was the right thing for you, huh? That’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.” Butters was shocked that Craig was telling him this. They hadn’t spoken since around seventh grade, when Craig told Butters he had toilet paper stuck to his shoe.
“Whatever,” Craig said. “I think you’re stupid. You should at least sue Clyde for money.”
“I don’t think Clyde has any,” Butters said, his voice beginning to waver. “A-and it might not be his. There were some other, um, factors.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Craig said. “Well, get all the potential culprits together and make them take a paternity test. It’s the law, Butters. They’re responsible, even if they were underage.”
“Why are you lecturing me?” Butters asked. He started to cry, humiliated, and was afraid Craig would make him leave the car. “I spent the whole day just trying to get to and from a doctor’s appointment, I don’t have time to sue anybody!”
“Fine, whatever,” Craig said, grumbling. “Where’s this fucking teen center, anyway?”
Butters gave him directions, and for the rest of the ten minute drive neither of them spoke. Butters was sniffling, trying not to cry harder.
“It’s my birthday, you know,” Butters said as they pulled up to the curb outside the teen center.
“I know,” Craig said. He was staring at the teen center, frowning.
“You - you know my birthday?”
“Well, fuck, you had a birthday on September 11. Like I’m going to forget something that shitty. Speaking of shitty, this place looks like a real shit hole.”
“It’s not!” Butters said, though it kind of was. He worried about the roaches, because they might carry disease, and people teased him for being a hugely pregnant boy, and the mashed potatoes were a little runny. Craig was eying Butters’ belly when Butters looked over at him.
“How can people just - I mean, you’re so pathetic,” Craig said. Butters scrabbled for the door handle, holding down a sob that came out as a buried whine. “Hey - wait,” Craig said. He reached over to take Butters’ wrist. “I meant, how can people just leave you alone when you’re like this?”
“I don’t know,” Butters said. He was crying, but he wanted to scream, to thrash at Craig and tell him that it wasn’t news to him that everyone who should have cared had abandoned him. He reached for the door handle again, but Craig peeled away from the curb before he could get it open. “What are you doing?” Butters asked. His face was wet and snotty and he just wanted to disappear into a quiet bed somewhere. If he’d had fifty dollars to his name he would have spent every last penny on a cheap motel room. Back at the crisis center, he had six unfriendly roommates in the boys’ ward.
“I’m taking you to my house,” Craig said. He looked so angry that Butters felt threatened by this information.
“Why?”
“Because I want to make some mac and cheese and my dad doesn’t get off of work until midnight and there’s no point making a whole fucking casserole for one person, or even for two. Did you know my parents split up?”
“Yeah.”
“My sister moved to Denver with my mom, so it’s just me and my dad, so. Anyway. Shut up.”
“I wasn’t talking!” Butters said. He felt less scared but more confused. Mostly he was thinking about mac and cheese, wondering if Craig could actually cook or if he was referring to the kind in the box with the yellow powdered cheese.
Butters felt guilty for noticing that Craig’s house was kind of shabby, the driveway unshoveled and the foyer cluttered with dirty work boots. Craig added his to the pile, and Butters looked around for a place to sit so that he could take his off, too, but there was only the staircase, which he would not be able to rise from without assistance.
“Anyway, this place is a mess,” Craig said, muttering. He walked into the kitchen and Butters followed. It was true that it was a mess, but the kitchen at least didn’t smell like canned beans. The one at the crisis center had signs everywhere, accusing their readers of things they hadn’t done yet: Do NOT microwave ANYTHING without a PAPER TOWEL!!
“Sit down,” Craig barked when Butters hovered behind him at the fridge, not sure how to proceed. “Are you lactose intolerant?” Craig asked.
“No.”
Craig poured some milk into a collectable Broncos glass and set it down in front of Butters at the kitchen table. He took the rest of the milk to the stove and turned on a burner.
“I can’t believe this happened to you, too,” Butters said when Craig had been quiet for a while, stirring cheese sauce at the stove. Butters had finished his milk and wanted more, but he was afraid to ask.
“What happened to me?” Craig asked.
“Um, the baby and so forth. With Clyde. Or maybe with Clyde, ‘cause mine might not be-”
“No, it was probably Clyde,” Craig said. “He’s a medical anomaly. He’s got a lot of problems. Including the ability to impregnate men. I never should have let him top me. I was drunk. It all happened so fast. Do you want more milk?”
“I can get it,” Butters said, but Craig held out a hand to stop him from getting up. Butters’ feet were still throbbing in his too-small shoes, but it was almost a pleasant sort of throb, like they were telling war stories about what they’d been through.
“Girl or boy?” Craig asked while Butters gulped milk. Craig was staring down at Butters’ stomach, his lip slightly curled.
“Both!” Butters said. “Well, that’s what I think. They told me today that it might be two boys, but one of the wieners was kinda obscured on the ultrasound, and I think it mighta just been a finger or somethin’. Anyway, it’s twins, and they’re all wrapped up together in there, it’s real cute.”
“Ugh,” Craig said. “I mean - that’s great.” He went back to his cooking. Butters felt vaguely insulted, but he was glad to be in Craig’s kitchen, his stomach growling in anticipation of cheesy mac. It had started snowing a little outside, glittering past the kitchen window, illuminated by the back porch light.
Butters thought they might watch TV or something while they ate, but Craig served him at the table and even made a little salad with matchstick carrots and cherry tomatoes to go with the casserole. If they had watched TV, Butters wouldn’t have been able to pay attention; the food was so good, simple and salty and cheese-filled. He had three helpings. Craig watched him eat with a sort of tired resignation on his face, and Butters wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk more or just sit in companionable silence.
“Did your dad know?” Butters asked. “Um, about the baby?”
“No,” Craig said. “Hell no.”
“So who took you? When you had the, um, operation?”
Craig rolled his eyes. “Stan Marsh,” he said.
“Oh, Stan’s real nice! Him and Kyle have been bringing me vitamins at lunch. And fruit. Bananas and so forth.”
“He’s not that nice,” Craig said. “I blackmailed him into doing it. Anyway, those two act like they’re the guardians of gay sex at Park County High. What bullshit. Just because they started fucking when they were nine or something.”
“I don’t think that’s true, Craig.”
“You know what I mean. Yeah, Marsh drove me. I wanted it to be someone I wouldn’t have to talk to. He’s so dull.”
“You shouldn’t say mean things about Stan,” Butters said. “He’s my friend.”
“Uh-huh. So where the hell was he today, when you were wandering hopelessly along the side of the road like a rogue elephant?”
“Well, he was at school.” Butters frowned, wanting to get angrier about this but afraid that Craig would ask him to leave. “Thanks for dinner,” he said, hoping to change the subject. “It was super yummy.”
“Hmph,” Craig said. He sat back in his chair. “I like cooking.”
“Me, too!” Butters said. “Baking, mostly. I think food tastes best when it’s made with love,” he added, and he blushed while Craig stared at him.
“Do you want to take a bath or something?” Craig asked. “I mean, because I bet they don’t have bathtubs. At that place.”
“They sure don’t,” Butters said. “But I might just lie down for a minute, before you take me back. If you don’t mind. Someplace quiet, um. It can get kinda noisy in the boys’ ward.”
They went up to Craig’s bedroom. Butters had never been there, not even during birthday parties as a kid. Generally he wasn’t invited to Craig’s parties, but then, few were. Craig had devotedly ignored most everyone but Clyde until their sophomore year of high school.
Butters stretched out on Craig’s unmade bed when Craig indicated that he should, and he expected to feel uncomfortable but was quickly dozing. Craig’s sheets smelled like they hadn’t been washed in a while, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The ones at the crisis center were bleached and stiff with detergent, washed daily for insurance purposes. These felt worn in, and the smell of teenage boy made Butters realize how long it had been since he’d had intimate contact with one. He was glad when Craig stretched out beside him with a huff, lying on his stomach and opening Wuthering Heights on his pillow.
“Oh, dang, our homework,” Butters said, mumbling. He was drifting in and out of sleep. “We have a quiz tomorrow, don’t we?”
“Yeah,” Craig said. He was quiet for a while. “Do you want me to, like. Read it to you?”
“Sure,” Butters said. He scooted up and rested his head beside the book on the pillow, hoping he’d be able to stay awake. Craig stared at him for a moment, and he looked away when Butters smiled uncertainly.
“About twelve o’clock that night was born the Catherine you saw at Wuthering Heights,” Craig read, “A puny, seven-months child, and two hours after the mother - died.” He glanced at Butters. “Um, having never recovered sufficient consciousness to miss Heathcliff, or know Edgar.”
“I’m not worried about dying,” Butters said. “So you don’t have to get all green.”
“Well, you can, you know,” Craig said, throwing the book down. “It’s way more common when you’re a boy.”
“They wouldn’t hurt me,” Butters said, putting his hands over the twins. Craig narrowed his eyes and Butters stared back, defying him to deny this. The twins had been restless since the end of dinner, and they were moving in him now, elbowing at his insides. “How far along were you?” Butters asked.
Craig seemed to be weighing whether or not he should respond. “About two months,” he said.
“How’d you find out?”
“Ass blood.”
“Yeah, me too. Um, bleeding, yeah. In the first few months.”
“Whatever.” Craig turned back to the book. “I’m glad I did it, so don’t lie there trying to make me feel guilty.”
“I’m not!” Butters said. “So don’t try to make me feel stupid, either. Here, feel ‘em.”
He took Craig’s hand and brought it to his stomach. Craig felt more fragile than Butters had expected; the delicate bones in his wrist seemed obvious and unguarded. He stared at Butters’ stomach while the twins moved under his palm.
“I think that’s the girl,” Butters said. “She’s feisty. The boy’s more sweet. She’ll look out for him, though. They’re so lucky. No matter what happens to me, they’ll always be together. I used to have an imaginary sister who looked just like me only more girly, you know, with longer hair, and she’d do anything for me and even stood up to my parents when they were being unfair.” He made himself stop talking when Craig’s gaze flicked up to his.
“Having a sister actually kind of sucks,” Craig said. “Sometimes, I mean. For me, it does.”
“What’s wrong with your sister?” Butters asked. He felt hurt by this, his fantasy shaken.
“She runs off with my mom and that guy,” Craig said, taking his hand from Butters’ stomach and thrusting it toward his bedroom door. “And what am I supposed to do, leave my dad alone? He’s already borderline suicidal over the whole thing. And he’s working like three jobs to afford child support payments for Ruby, even though my mom’s boyfriend is a fucking allergist who probably makes a shitload.” Craig stared at Butters for a moment, his arm still outstretched, then shrugged and dropped down onto the mattress. “Whatever,” he said, muttering into the blankets. “She’s thirteen, she’s an idiot. Maybe - if I had a twin. Yeah. Maybe that’d be good.”
“We could be each other’s twins,” Butters said. “I mean,” he said when Craig gave him a look, “Like, friends. Who look out for each other. Oh, never mind.”
“I don’t have any friends,” Craig said. “It’s too much work.”
“Sure,” Butters said, though he’d never felt that way. Even when he paid visits to Clyde, Eric and Kenny all in one afternoon, it was always nice to have the company, and the sex. Part of him had always known that those weren’t exactly friendships, though.
“But Ruby’s bedroom is empty,” Craig said.
“Oh,” Butters said. “What?”
“It’s just sitting there, her old room,” Craig said. “If you need. Whatever. You could pay us rent by cooking. Or, I don’t know.” Craig rolled away from Butters, toward the wall.
“Your dad wouldn’t let me stay here,” Butters said. He touched Craig’s back and was surprised when he didn’t flinch away. “But that’s a real nice thought, thank you.”
“My dad barely knows if I’m here or not,” Craig said.
“Seems - seems like you guys are already havin’ some financial problems, though, no offense.”
“Whatever. If you want to go back to the teen center, go. It just looks fucking creepy. For a pregnant person. For - and you’re so. Blond.”
“I don’t want to go back,” Butters said. “I like it here. It’s - it’s quiet.”
“I’m good at being quiet,” Craig said.
Butters rolled toward him, which took some effort. The babies shifted in protest, and he had to angle himself so that he could press his face to the back of Craig’s neck and not have his stomach getting in the way. Craig was breathing kind of hard, through his nose, like a kid who was about to have a tantrum.
“You’re so warm,” Butters said, surprised. Craig’s skin had always looked like it would be cool to the touch.
“I really hated you,” Craig said.
“Huh?”
“When Clyde was fucking you. I hated your ass so hard. It was like a full time job, the amount of hate I had for you. I would wake up in the middle of the night consumed with hatred, like it was this song that was playing, keeping me awake. I wished so many terrible things on you, and this was one of them. Twins, even. I thought, yeah, and let it be fucking twins.”
“You were just jealous, I guess,” Butters said. “That’s okay. That’s normal.”
Craig was quiet for a while, his breath coming slower. Butters wasn’t sure what to do next. Stay? It felt impossible. Leaving seemed even crazier. It was cold out there, and dark. Craig was warm and surprisingly complacent as Butters nuzzled his neck. It had been a long time since he had any real human contact outside of a doctor’s office.
“It got to the point where I loved Clyde less than I hated you,” Craig said. “It was fucking exhausting.”
“Sounds like it would be.”
“It was,” Craig said. He sounded like a tired kid. Butters realized then that he’d never thought of Craig as anything small or vulnerable like a child. Craig had always seemed older and immune.
“I bet Clyde is sorry about all that now,” Butters said, feeling self-conscious. “I bet he misses you.”
Craig scoffed and rolled onto his back. His lips were a little greasy from the cheesy mac, shiny.
“Clyde is a sad potato of a person,” Craig said. “He cried when I told him what I did. But now you’re going through with it and he’s not even helping? He doesn’t know what he wants outside of putting his dick in any orifice that welcomes it.”
Butters giggled at that, and he could see Craig struggling not to smile. He pressed his lips together and Butters thought of what they would feel like against his own. None of the twins’ potential fathers had been big on kissing him.
“I just-” Craig said, and he winced. “I’d like it if it wasn’t just me here all the time. I wasn’t lying, my dad has three jobs. He won’t let me take one because he wants me to do well in school, and I’m trying to get scholarships-”
“Me too!” Butters said. “We could study together.” His eyes were getting cloudy, bordering on wet.
“I can’t promise anything about after they’re born, though,” Craig said. “I mean, I want to help you, but two babies, it’s not - possible, I don’t think.”
“I know,” Butters said, and in that moment he was sure he’d have to give them up. He cried hard into Craig’s chest, holding the front of Craig’s sweater over his eyes. Craig let him stay like that for a long time, sighing and smoothing Butters’ hair until it was full of static.
“Maybe your parents will come around,” Craig said. “Or maybe Clyde’s dad will, when he sees his grandkids. He’s a good guy. Clyde isn’t even that bad, he’s just fucking clueless. If you show up with two squirming babies he’ll probably cry and, I don’t know, tuck them to his bosom.”
Butters was going to protest that he wasn’t even sure that the babies were Clyde’s, but suddenly he felt sure that Craig was right. The twins had a very Clyde-like energy, which wasn’t a bad thing. Clyde had been sweet when they were together, never pushy. He had kissed Butters more often than Eric and Kenny, certainly, and he had a Hobbit-like approach to life that meant he was happy most of the time. He wasn’t afraid to cry in front of his football teammates. He was bisexual in a particularly accepting, inclusive way.
By the time Butters had stopped crying he felt sure that he would somehow raise this little family with Clyde, who, after all, was the heir to a modest but successful shoe dynasty. In the meantime Butters wanted to kiss Craig, so he did. Craig’s lips were slippery and his breath was milk-tinted, and Butters liked the cautious hand Craig laid on his hip even better than the kiss, which was also good.
“Not long ago I sooner thought I’d kill you than kiss you,” Craig said.
“Is that from Wuthering Heights?” Butters asked.
“No, it’s from real life. From me. I had an original thought. I guess I said it weird. Sorry.”
“I like it when you say awkward stuff,” Butters said. “We’ve got that in common, sorta.”
“Ugh,” Craig said, but he smiled and kissed Butters again. “No, I can’t let you go back to that place,” he said, as if Butters was making for the door.
“How come?” Butters asked, because he felt nice all over but was still craving some kind words.
“Because - well, it’s your fucking birthday, for one.”
“That’s true,” Butters said. He tucked his face down under Craig’s chin, too sleepy for more kissing. He hoped he would dream about more, though, and about Clyde crying over the twins with joy, and the tiny little shoes they would wear.
“And I just like this too much,” Craig said. He pulled up the blankets and tucked his arm around Butters. “This is a purely selfish act,” he said.
“Yes,” Butters said, already sort of asleep.
Craig’s father arrived at the house some point that night and left for his next shift at some point the following morning. Craig packed a lunch for both of them and drove Butters to school. Butters was wearing the same clothes he’d worn yesterday; they’d have to fetch his things from the center after class.
“What’s up with this?” Kyle asked when Craig sat beside Butters at the lunch table.
“It’s not your business to investigate every gay incident at this school,” Craig said.
Stan and Kyle exchanged a look, but nothing more was said. Stan passed Butters his vitamins for the day and some grapes.
“I’ve already got fruit,” Butters said, hoisting the baggie of apple slices Craig had packed for him. “But thanks, Stan. I’ll have these for a snack later.”
“No, seriously, what is going on?” Kyle asked.
“Dude, let it go,” Stan said. “You look good,” he said to Butters. “No bags under your eyes.”
“I slept real well last night,” Butters said with a nod, and he glanced over at Craig, who was reviewing Wuthering Heights in preparation for the quiz. Butters leaned over to read along with him, though he knew he’d flunk the quiz. He wondered if Stan would explain to Kyle later about how it made a kind of sense, Butters and Craig looking out for each other, because what had happened to Craig. Maybe Kyle already knew all about that. Either way, Butters was pretty sure it didn’t actually make any sense, but that was what he liked best about the whole thing.