Whoa. This is late, over-due, whatever you want to call it, but I have time to write now! Claps for getting in trouble :)

Anyways, let's continue. By the way, I'm sort of upset on the lack of reviews for this story. I got so many faves and shit for it, but no reviews, and it bothers me. Please review?

Again, to see how characters look like, visit:

So take these words

And sing out loud

Cuz everyone is forgiven now

Cuz tonight's the night the world begins again

My favorite school subject is math. I don't like numbers or anything, but I like the fact that in math, x equals this and nothing else. It's always consistent in math. Math never throws you curveballs or leaves you hanging with nothing there. Math never leaves you breathless and teary-eyed. Math never steals your boyfriend or kills your best friend. Math never leaves you with 'what if's.

I think that's one of the reasons that I had been so quick on taking up the offer to work at Jupiter, a clothing boutique I had worked at from eigth grade up until sophmore year, sitting in my own little office doing all the accounting work. It had been nice, actually, just sitting there all day, solving problem after problem, making estimates and shipping costs, alone in that little room. That was probably my favorite job that I've ever worked.

Now, though, I work as a waitress at The Village Inn. From six to nine on Mondays and Wednesdays, and five to seven on Sundays, waiting tables, getting tips, dealing with the occasional asshole in my section. But my section always had on particular group of people that were always there when I worked. The Goth kids always sat at the same table, ordered the same thing, paid the same tip, and I was always their waitress. But I was somewhat surprised when I showed up for work and they had their camera with them.

"Ugh, I don't understand why it's so freakin' necessary to carry that stupid camera with you everywhere we go." I heard Henrietta say as I neared their table. "I cannot believe you'd take such a comformist class with a bunch of Justin and Britney wannabes and a freaking new-age hippie as a teacher. She's as bad as Testaburger."

I stopped for a second, a hint of anger flooding through me. Henrietta has never liked, or anyone for that matter, but she almost hates me the most for reasons unknown. I don't dress like a 'Justin or Britney' wannabe, and I barely even try talking to them. But Henrietta has always had it out for me, for reasons unknown.

"Hello, my name is Wendy and I'll be your server today, can I get you anything?" I recited my lines just like always as I stood in front of their table in my usual uniform: dull yellow bell-bottom pants, white short-sleeved dress top, and a red vest with my name-tag slapped on it. Hair twisted into a messy bun held into place with chop-sticks, bright red lipstick, roller-skates. All part of the Village Inn attire.

"We know who you are." Henrietta snapped, rolling her eyes. "And you know what we want."

I ignored this. If I even had the slightest 'fresh' attitude with a customer, I could kiss my job goodbye. "So that'll be four coffees, three black, one cream and three sugars? Can I get you anything else?"

"No." Red Goth actually had the decency to look at me when he spoke, unlike Henrietta. Red flipped his dyed red bangs out of his dark eyes, tugging on the sleeves of his black sweatshirt to cover his hands as Tall Goth showed him something on the camera. The smallest Goth, whom I only know as Kindergoth though he's obviously well past Kindergarten and in eighth grade, stared at me as I pushed open the doors to the kitchen, his icy glare boring into me when I returned with their order, trying my best to manuever the cart I was pushing while trying not to fall on my ass because of the skates.

"Here you go," I said cheerfully, putting out the coffees to the designated person. Red Goth, Tall Goth, and Henrietta: Black. Kingergoth: Black, three sugars, and cream. I had long ago memorized the order after an incident where I had accidentally gotten one black coffee and three blacks with sugar and cream, resulting in almost getting fired after a bitch-out from Henrietta about how my 'stupid comformist mind was too busy worrying about the friggin' Hills to get their damn order correct'. Since then, I've made sure not to go down that road again.

"You can quit the whole cheerful façade already, Testaburger. Why don't you go worry about your own depression that try and paste this fake-happiness on us, you Miley wannabe." Tall Goth spoke up, his dark eyes boring into mine as he stirred his coffee.

My breath caught in my throat, and I wet my lips with my tongue. My whole body almost froze, and I felt my eyes sting, but I didn't cry. I don't cry, but... you're right. I always hid what I felt, what I thought, behind fake happiness and big blue eyes. Behind dark hair and pink lipstick, hiding behind the camera instead of forcing a smile for it.

I forced a smile, quickly skating out away, but before I knew it, I tripped over my own foot and Super-Man'd onto the floor, my face colliding with the hard wood. I gasped for the air my lungs lost, ignoring the laughs around me as my cheeks burned. I quickly un-did my skates, taking them off, and pushing past the crowd of people into the Employee Lounge. I basically flung myself onto the sofa, sitting with my face in my hands and just sitting there. Not crying, not screaming, just sitting there, my fall, his words, everything just replaying in my head.

I had to get out of there. I didn't know where I was going as I tied the laces to my converse or put of my parka, I didn't know where I was going when I heard Camden telling the boss about my fall, I didn't know where I was going until I was half-way down the street to DEFCON (bomb shelter) number 3, until something stopped me.

Bebe. Ex-best friend Bebe, with the curly blonde hair and the big brown eyes Bebe. She was smoking a cigarette, which I know she only does under a ton of stress, and she was headed in the same direction as I was. To DEFCON 3. Bebe and I had been the ones to discover and number all the DEFCONs for when we were children, but I was shocked, convinced that I'm the only one who used them. I continued on my way, deciding to be a fucking cheetah and whip-lash her as I marched ahead quickly to the abandoned old boat-house at the other side of Stark's Pond. I threw open the doors, heading upstairs to the bedrooms, a child's bedroom that was well-outdated, still furnished with dusty old furniture from the early 1940's. I layed down in the bed, not caring about the possible bed-bugs or whatever, I mean, the house is still looked after, just not lived in.

I heard the front door slam, and the click-clack of high heels going up the stairs. I ignored it, thinking about the fact that I made a total idiot of myself in front of everyone, and if front of the Goth kids, who still have a picture of me on their camera. Was there a reason or were they just taking random shots and took one of me? Or is there a motive behind it?

"Wendy."

For some reason, the sound of Bebe's voice saying my name sounded extremely too foreign, the way it rolled off her tongue it almost sounded as if she was saying 'shit' or 'anal discharge'. As in, she sounded utterly fucking disgusted to even address me. I looked towards the door to see her standing there, longe blonde curls splayed out and deep red lips pursed. Her hands were on her hips, and I had to do a double-take mentally to see that she was wearing a tank-top with a mini-skirt when it's below 40 degrees outside.

"Bebe." I said, briefly flashing one of my famous tight-lipped forced smiles.

"What are you doing here?" She replied, and even with my shit eyesight I could see that her mascara was starting to run a bit and that she had been crying.

"Sulking." I replied nonchalantly. Talk about awkward, our first conversation in years. "What are you doing here?"

She rolled her eyes, mumbling something before speaking. "It's DEFCON number 3, I'm having a motherfucking tea party. What do you THINK I'm doing here!"

I didn't say anything, but right before me, Miss It Girl, South Park's teen model and pride, Home-coming and prom queen since freshman year Bebe Stevens broke down. Her face was in her hands and she was crying, you know, full-blown no-chance-of-her-makeup-surviving crying. With sobs and shaking and the whole deal. She looked up at me for a second, her big brown eyes filled with tears, and I moved over on the bed, patting the space next to me.

"C'mere Chief." I said, the nickname I used to call her, and surprisingly, she walked to the bed and sat down, burying her face in my shoulder.

I put my arm around her, and sat there in silence until she started speaking. When Bebe Stevens is crying, it's her time to shine, and unless you want your neck snapped, you better not interrupt her.

"I just can't fucking believe that bitch would do something like that. She tried to fucking pull a fast one on me!" Bebe blubbered, but her pretty little voice was filled with venom. "Yeah, okay, you're fucking cool, stealing my boyfriend you little rotten asshole cunt-faced bitch. Like that's gonna make you fucking cool, whore. No one fucking likes you and we were going to kick you off the cheerleading squad anyways, so don't act all surprised and fucking blow my boyfriend at my own fucking party! And no, fuck you, don't fucking run for Prom Queen because bitch, I'll fucking pop a glock in your mouth and make a brain slushy, you dumb whore."

Did I ever mention that Bebe has a very colorful vocabulary?

I listened as she vented about the whole situation going on with Annie Polk, supposedly one of Bebe's 'best friends' who totally did a one-eighty and stole Clyde from Bebe after she was kicked off the cheer squad. You know, usual high school girl drama that doesn't exist in my world.
"You know what?" Bebe said, her voice angry. "Fuck. That. Bitch. She's going the fuck down, that frizzy-haired, tow-headed, ugly skank cunt licker fucking slut."

"You get her." I say, and Bebe looks up at me and smiles for a second.

"God... things were so much easier when Kyle was here." She whispers. "I mean, I know now that he's gay, and I wish I realized when he was still around. I mean, how could I think he was straight when he picked out all my clothes?" She laughs, gesturing to her outfit. Wow, so Kyle was her shopping buddy? "But... I don't know. He always knew what to say. Even when I didn't, you know? Yeah, don't answer that, of course you know, he was your best friend. God... Stan was the luckiest guy alive. To have Kyle in his life like that. It... makes me jealous. And Wendy, if you remember, I'm never jealous."

"Yeah, I remember." I smiled. "Like the time my mom got me the newest Barbie and you ripped her head off."
Bebe laughed, brushing her blonde curls out of her face. "Yeah, sorry about that. Well, not really. I always had to have the best Barbies."

And it went on like that for what seemed like ages. Us just talking. About when we were kids, about Kyle, about prom. Just about whatever came up. Until, that is, her phone rang.

She looked down, and her face wrinkled in disgust. "Ugh. It's Clyde. 'Hey baby, can you meet me at Harbucks? I wanna talk'. Fuck you."

She typed back a quick reply before stuffing her phone in her purse. "I gotta run. Thanks, though, Wends."
And then she hugged me, before getting up and leaving, tossing one last smile at me.

Sorry for the shit chapter. I just wanted to update. Though I don't think I'll update again if I get a million faves but no reviews! Please review? Even constructive critisicm would help.

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