///all main characters are 18+. for clarification, I am a high schooler myself. While adult topics will be mentioned, no detail will mentioned.

(Stan's POV)

The alarm clock rings.

"Fuck..."

I open my eyes, barely for a second before shutting them again. I feel myself drifting back to sleep, so I force my eyes open again, this time wider. But the sunlight penetrating through the window next to my bed feels as if it's battering my eyes. I lay there optionless, closing my eyes tighter and lay still, trying to adjust to all my senses being awoken at once. Waking up as winter break comes to an end is ALWAYS a struggle

But that damn alarm... It was pissing me off. And there was no way to shut my ears closed, not as easily as my eyelids anyways. I swing my right arm from under the covers and feel around for my phone, aiming my hand in the direction of the noise. Of course since I fell asleep on FaceTime with Wendy again, my phone happened to be right next to me, still on my bed.

I open my eyes very slightly, just enough to make sure I actually turn off the alarm instead of just pressing 'snooze.' Thankfully, that was all I needed to start adjusting to the light.

I swear it isn't normally this hard for me to wake up, but I was up late last night, only getting about 3 hours asleep.  I mean, I didn't plan for it to be that way. But my mind was running.

Enough about that for now, I can't just lay under the sheets forever. Plus, thinking about what had me stressed last night is just flooding my mind with the same worries again. It's too long to get into for now, might as well bury it away like I have been for the last 7 years.

I roll out of bed, throwing on a simple, slightly torn pair of denim jeans that i found on the floor near the foot of my bed. I touch lightly at the front right pocket, ensuring that my camel cigarettes are still there. I sigh in relief when I realize they're still there, and without even thinking about it, I pull one out of my pocket and light it, forgetting I was still in my room, until I exhaled and saw the smoke rise to near where the fire alarm was set in my room. My eyes widen when I realize the fuck-up I've created. But fuck, why put it out? Those things are expensive for an unemployed teen, and I'm gonna end up smoking one before school anyhow. Might as well get it done with now.

I fan the smoke away that I've already exhaled, and work on opening the window while the cloud that lingered slowly dissipated. I slip on my black boots and climb out the window, onto the roof. I sit on the edge, so my ass isn't saturated in melting snow. I hold my hand as far from the window as I can, and take my breaths deep, both in and out. I watch the middle school bus drive past my house, with Ike sitting in the backseat. We make momentary eye contact, and acknowledge each other with a nod. It's so surreal to see Ike in 8th grade. My god, he's about to be a high schooler. And me... I'm about to be a high school GRADUATE. It sounds like a fantasy to say.

I smile slightly, seeing a notification pop up on my phone. While taking a drag of my cigarette, I open the incoming message. Unsurprisingly it's from Ike.

///Ike : Bruh pls tell me that's weed ur smoking. You still haven't moved off of those crusty dusty ass tar sticks?"///

I scoff, and hold the cigarette in my mouth as I use both hands to type a reply to Ike. As snarky as he can be, I appreciate the thought. I mean, he has a point. I'm probably chopping 20 years off my life with my poor decision making, but everyone at school does something. And you've got to be delusional if you think I'd voluntarily choose weed over nicotine. I don't judge people who do, but it could never be me. I swore I wouldn't touch that shit after my mom divorced Randy and moved Shelly and I back to our old mountain town house. My 6th grade year, if I remember correctly?

You've got me fucked up if you think I'm going to consider Randy my father. Just because he had me on weekends for most of my teen years doesn't mean he gave us the love, or guidance, or growth we needed.

Shit, in fact, I'd consider him to be a factor in the falling out I had with, well, Kyle. Or everyone for that matter. But especially Kyle. But admittedly, there's way more to that story than just Randy. And my cigarette is growing shorter by the second, it's about to burn my hand. That elaboration is going to have to wait till another day.

God, that asshole. Kyle I mean. How can he let Ike ride the bus? So much for being a good "big brother" and having "set priorities." What a fucking hypocrite.

My brain snaps out of the trance, and my neck simultaneously snaps back, facing my room when I hear my mother shout my full name.

"Stanley, I'm off to work!!! I'm working overtime today, don't expect me to be home until way past dinner, okay sweetie?" Her voice echoes tiredly through the house. I smother my cigarette on the rooftop snow, and jump back inside the house through the window, closing it behind me with much less of a struggle than opening was.

"Bye mom, don't worry about it. I can cook for myself, I'm not useless like other men who used to live here," I shout back, with an obvious poke at the sperm donor, the one whose the reason my mom has to work overtime to begin with. There was a pause between my statement and the sound of the door opening, making me question if my little remark at the end was appropriate. Oh well, I can't turn back time. Plus, mom KNOWS how I feel about him, why not make it clear verbally too?

The smell from the first drag had practically faded by now, a massive relief to my nose. I finish getting ready, layering my brown jacket over my simple black tee, before snatching my car keys off the counter.

Mental checklist. Dressed? Check. Cigarettes? Check. Car keys? Check. Cigarettes? Check. Phone? Check. Cigarettes? Check.

Maybe I am addicted...

I make my way out to my car, throwing gloves over my fingers so I can tolerate the frozen steering wheel. I start the engine, allowing it to run for about 5 minutes and melt the ice of the windshields, to avoid any unnecessary physical labor. I scroll lazily though my phone. And recieve a few messages from Wendy

Wendy. My favorite girl in the world. But definitely not my girlfriend.

Wendy and I's relationship isn't properly described with the term "rollercoast." I feel like the word "defunct slingshot" better describes the ups and downs we faced through middle school, and even the beginning of high school. But it's all good now. We agreed at the beginning of junior year that we were NOT built to be in a romantic relationship with each other. Our ambitions, goals, personalities, schedules... they were all so different.

But we also realized that didn't mean the sex had to stop. That realization was everything to us.

Now we have a thriving situationship, and I'd consider her my "super-best-friend with benefits." And it's amazing how much she's grown when I'm not holding her back. She's the leader of the Model UN program south park high has, and she constantly outperforms even the well funded private schools nearby. She has received so many good financial aid offers from universities. I'm shocked that she hasn't left me in the dirt for some charming hot guy. She probably can pull anyone she wants, she's really the ideal girl.

Well, besides for her mild cigarette addiction. But I think I may be partially to blame for that.

I tap on her notification, and mutter under my breath the words contained in her message, as if it helped me process it better. But every word just pissed me off more. Before I could even reach the heart emoji at the end of her message, I dial her, throwing my legs onto the dashboard of my car and tapping my feet impatiently among the top.

"Hey doll, are you good?" Her voice, softer than honey emits on my end of the line

"Does it sound like I'm fucking good?" I sputter. There's a brief pause before I pinch the bridge of my noise, at the realization I was mad at the wrong person. "Sorry Wendy, I know you're just trying to give me a heads up. I'm not upset at you. Just as the situation. Are you sure he's like,,, actually gotten a schedule change? He isn't just there for tutoring or some bullshit?"

I listen to Wendy drop her evidence on why her theory about this kid receiving a mid year schedule change was the correct theory, as if she was in the middle of a debate. I roll my eyes at every piece of evidence because unfortunately, she was looking to be right. Fuck...

"Dude, I shouldn't even bother coming to school. My ass will be way more happy in bed, rather than sitting next to him..." I mumble.

"Stan. Even if you do that today, what are you gonna to tomorrow? Skipping school for the next 90 days can't be your solution to this. You just gotta suck it up and deal with it. Plus, we have our own fun planned for after school, remember?"

I was too bummed out about the first piece of news to even be happy about the second part. I just nod, and let out a quiet "mhmm" before hanging up the phone

That asshole. Why did he have to be moved into my first class of the day? I don't wanna deal with his obnoxious, dorky, high-horse, smart-ass.

And no, I don't mean Cartman.

I mean Kyle.
Fucking.
Broflovski.

////Authors note : pls comment! I'm glad to be back, can't wait to write more ;)