You grow up thinking that everyone has a purpose. It just feels better to believe that whatever you're doing has a purpose, a point, a reason. Someone to love. Someone to save. Someone to become. But some times, God forgets one of us. It's unlikely that he does it just to be spiteful. Maybe they're really the lucky ones, to pave the way for everyone else who are meant for "greater" things, by wearing that neon-green warning sign. THIS COULD HAPPEN TO YOU!

Well, it did.

I was the fucking warning sign of South Park. Me.

My dad had a gambling problem and went off to Mexico for months to avoid the "collectors", my mom was a waitress barely earning past the minimum wage and my sister was a retard. Obviously not a REAL retard because then calling her a retard wouldn't be considered politically correct, but somehow I don't think I'd be too surprised if people mistook her for a rock. An ugly one. I don't have any money, I don't do well in school, and I'm not nice, or considerate, or any of those positive adjectives. Parents weren't exactly clamoring to set their children a play date with me.

SO, when Stanley, All-American Boy, Football Captain, Honor Roll Student, and God really knows what else, Marsh decided that he wanted to make out with me in the middle of a Christmas party, in front of the frosted glass doors, in the middle of a Jacuzzi, drunk and high out of his mind, I didn't really feel like resisting. I thought, maybe this was my moment. It wasn't that much of a moment, but maybe, this was my moment.

I couldn't explain how I felt in that moment as much as I could explain how an spaceship works. (Which I really can't, if you don't believe me, ask my science teacher. From the FOURTH grade.) I felt flattered, that he would even consider being my friend, to even being attracted to me in that way. I felt insulted, did he think I was gay? Was I too effeminate? Did he think I was just a whore to lead around like that? I felt stupid, because I couldn't say no. I felt scared. Worried. Nervous. Anxious. What happens after, what happens if he tells everyone? What happens if he doesn't like me anymore?

What happens if this is the end?

I broke away and I gave him a long look. He stared back, half aware of what was really happening, his blue eyes looking me over distantly. It always struck me as odd how much he looked like me. It was like he was me, except better. I felt cheated. We could have so easily been each other. He half smiled and leaned in again, but the door slid open, Kyle's red head poking through. I hurriedly pushed Stan away. He opened his mouth to possibly explode into another long rant, but stopped.

"Umm, what are you guys doing?"

I shrugged half heartedly, catching the other boy before he fell into the water again.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Never mind. Is he conscious? I need to get home because Ike can't go to sleep unless I read him a bedtime story. Geniuses and their OCD, right?"

"Yeah, he's awake. …I think?"

"Cool, can you bring him out front? Like, change him or something. I think Bebe has some of her dad's clothes around you can borrow. I don't want him freezing, you know? Hypothermia and everything… It's winter all the fucking time around here. Hey, you need a ride?"

I blinked and shook my head. "No thanks."

"Awesome, dude. Thanks! Just hurry though, I've got to warm up the car." He disappeared back into the crowd of noisy teenagers, and shut the door. I looked back over to my friend, who looked half dead floating along with the Jacuzzi bubbles. I sighed and started to lug him out, surprised at how light he was despite playing so many damn sports. I scoffed. I was around the same size, maybe I could be team captain of something next year.

Stan mumbled something under his breath. I leaned forward.

"What?"

"…Kyle. Good friend."

"Um, yeah. Ooookay.. Let's change so that you don't die out in the cold, okay?"

"I'm tired."

"Wow, an actual sentence. Good, Stan. Good."

The crowd of people parted like a wave when they saw that we were wet and dripping everywhere. Bebe gave me a look of half disgust and half concern as she stepped over. "Omigosh! What happened, are you guys okay? Why are you all wet?"

"We accidentally fell into the Jacuzzi."

"You're lucky it wasn't the swimming pool, otherwise you guys would be like dead or something."

"I know. Thanks. You got any clothes?"

"Clothes?"

"For Stan? Like your dad's clothes or anything that would fit him?"

"Well, my parents lock their bedroom when I have parties because kids try to go up and have sex in there, but like I could try and find you something of mine that might fit. I used to be really fat in middle school. Actually, you were there, weren't you?"

"Yeah. I've known you since elementary."

"Oh. Cool. Anyway, like just follow me, and I'll find you something, kay? You can use my room if you want, but like, don't do anything weird in there, okay?" She adjusted her tube top as she climbed up the stairs, and I woke Stan enough to get him to lumber after me.

Her room was too bright, and had way too many stuffed animals for her age. Bebe was digging through her closet, pulling out lots of what looked like decorated shoe boxes. She frowned. "That's weird, I know I had them here somewhere…"

"Had what?"

"My old sweaters and stuff. I can't find - oh!" She bit her lip. "Oh.. Um, Craig, these are like the only things I have from… Back then." She held up a brown sweater and a paisley skirt, grinning apologetically.

I laughed. "You're kidding."

She shook her head. "Sorry. The only other thing I have is a miniskirt, and well…"

I glanced over at Stan, who was propped up on a chair near the vanity, and I sighed. "Okay, let's get this over with."

Bebe tried not to laugh as she started to walk towards the door. "Have fun!"

I stood next to Stan wondering how this was going to work. It felt weird. It probably would have been fine had we not made out less than thirty minutes ago, but I didn't really have a chance to think about it. Not when Kyle was waiting outside. Not when Stan had a chance of sobering up and remembering what had just happened. I lifted his shirt and pulled it over his head, instructing him when to move his arms. That was the easy part.

I counted backwards from ten before even reaching down to touch his zipper. I had the button undone, and the feeling that maybe this wasn't going to be so bad when I felt Stan grab my hand and give me what possibly could have been his bedroom eyes. "Ask me first."

"Stan, I'm just trying to get you home, okay? You're wet. You have to change."

He grinned and just tried to kiss me. I pushed him off.

A pout. "Why don't you like me?"

"I do! But not right now, okay?" I reached for his pants and tugged again. This time getting the zipper down halfway before he reached out for me, and made me crack my skull open with his.

We both yelped out of surprise and pain and I landed on the floor with a loud thud.

"Are you crazy!"

Stan laughed. That crazy motherfucker laughs. As if this is funny. He's not the one who everyone's going to call GAY tomorrow, because everyone is going to think that it was me. "CRAIG NOMMEL TURNED STAN MARSH", they'll say. Of course he'll go along with it, oh, yes, Craig raped me, he'll say, I tried so hard to resist, but Craig tied me up, and-

I looked up at a crash to see Stan knocking over perfume bottles as he succeeded in pulling off his pants, reaching for the rim of his boxers. "Stop! Those can stay on!" He smiled lazily as I handed him the skirt.

"A skirt?" He gave me a confused look.

"It's all we have."

"I'm not. No."

"You'll DIE out there."

"Dude, no!" He frantically shook his head. "No!"

"Please, Stan, I just want to get this over with. It's weird that we're even having this conversation. It's weird. Just put it on, and you can go home and take it off, okay?"

"NO!"

"PUT IT ON NOW!"

Stan gave me a surly look but I was satisfied with the fact that he regressed into a child when drunk because he did unzip the sides of the skirt as he awkwardly maneuvered his way into it. It almost reached his knee, but the side wouldn't zip up all the way. I tried to give him my most severe look as I told him to put on the sweater, and half wondered if this was even worth it if he was half naked anyway. Bebe may have been "fat" in middle school, but she had been definitely smaller than a junior male in high school.

I nearly bit my tongue bloody trying not to laugh, as I led him out the back door and into the safety of Kyle's car.

"Dude, what the fuck is he wearing?"

"Bebe's old clothes. Long story. Here's his wet clothes." I handed the speechless redhead a plastic bag. Looking like he wanted to ask more questions, but deciding against it, he nodded and waved at me as he pulled out of the driveway.

It was only when they were gone that I realized that I was wet and didn't have dried clothes.

Warning sign's mission of the day: Warn others not to drink and smoke near the Jacuzzi with a friend who obviously doesn't have a set sexuality, and who's emotionally distraught, especially if there's high risk of being molested along the way.

Mission: Complete.