Author's Note: Welcome to the 'Girls' Day' Project Series! This series is based upon the basis of getting the much neglected female characters of the South Park series some limelight, and there'll be a turn for everyone, from the more common Wendy to the relatively obscure Milly.

Okay, directly following up on the formula of Cloud Nine, my objective this time is to write some fluff starring Nichole. Dunno what, letting my subconcious decide on this.

Draw In Crayon

When I was a little girl, I used to draw in crayon.

I don't remember of what. Probably just things, stupid things that I was into at the time. You know, horses, magical girls, little cute doodles of farm animals. My parents sort of thought it was silly (they're strict disciplinarians, you know), but I did it anyway, up to even coloring on the walls at one point, which got my mother into explaining why, exactly, there was a pig's face drawn on the wall above the couch.

To be fair, though, my dad encouraged it. Since he was in the art business, he encouraged me to doodle on paper and things, but he almost never looked at what I'd prepared for him.

When I grew up, I stopped drawing in crayon.

I just stopped. I started focusing on relationships, and I made a few friends – Jennifer, Tia, Miranda, and god-knows-who-else.

"Look! Nichole! Nichole! I made us all bracelets." Tia grinned, her arms crossed. "See! I can do girly things, if I want."

"If you want." Miranda smirked. "You'd be more happy playing football."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I can't do girly things too!" Tia pouted.

"Alrighty, girls, break it up, break it up. It's about friendship, am I correct?" Jennifer questioned, and the two nodded in return. "So don't fight about that, and simply hand out the bracelets." She smiled, slipping hers on over her sleeve. "Denver girls forever."

"Denver girls forever and ever." Miranda put her bracelet on, showing it off.

"Yeah! Denver chicks rule!" Tia raised her hand, tossing me a bracelet, and I slipped it on.

"…To Denver girls." I smiled.

They ignored me the minute I mentioned I was moving to South Park in about a week.

"…You're what?" Tia didn't look happy, not even angry, just….as if she was ashamed to be seen with me. "….You're joking, right…?"

"…No. I'm sorry."

"….Some friend you are."

"….Please….you've—"

"Denver girls forever my ass." Tia blew me off and sat down at her table, crossing her arms slowly.

When I prepared to leave, I started to draw in crayon again.

It was something to make me feel less lonely, I guess. I knew that it was sort of futile and that these things were childish, only things to be made fun of, but I guess I understood in a way that the only friend I had left was my imagination, and that was all that lied within.

"Honey, are you packing up?" Dad glanced into my room, and seeing the paper, he raised an eyebrow, just as he glanced at the open crayola box beside it. "…You're going back to that?" He didn't seem disappointed or angry, he just seemed…surprised. I nodded.

"Well….you can do that in the car, honey. Now, come on, mom's saying that she needs to be at her meeting at a certain time, and it's….kind of getting…."

"Grating?"

"Yes." Dad smiled weakly. "Grating. So, hurry up in there, okay?"

"…Okay."

And as I left on that day, I posted a picture on the wall, for the next owners to see, that had a lion on it, smiling as they entered. I'm sure they'd like it.

When I arrived in South Park, I hid my drawings in crayon.

I had new friends now. Wendy. Bebe. Red. Millie. Sally. Heidi. New friends, who, despite living where many people called the 'hellhole of Colorado', seemed to take onto me as if I were there for ages.

"YAHOOO! A NEW GROUP MEMBER!" Red shouted, raising her arm. "Yeah! Kickass! Rookie, my name's Red—"

"My name is Nichole…" I quietly chipped in.

"And these are the other girls, who you should get to know personally, but you should know that my passions are sometimes watching sports and sometimes acting." Red grinned, giving me thumbs up. "I'll be your mentor, rookie. Just watch and learn from me, grasshopper." She bowed her head, and then looked up at me with a hard stare. "For you have much to learn, and not much time to learn it in. So, um, anyway, what do you like to do?"

"…"

"Cheerleading, right?" Red smirked. "I'm not too big on it, but I guess you could say I'm one of 'them'." She shook her head. "Only joined because everyone else sorta pushed me. If you're not into it, that can make two of u—"

"C-Cheerleading!" I smiled, just as the others grinned appreciatively, and Red looked a bit deflated.

And so I became a cheerleader, like all the other girls.

When I tried to keep my social status up, I didn't mention my drawings in crayon.

Then the whole….infamous Token-scandal began, and I could say, to this day, that I could care less. I (eventually, through-word-of-mouth) discovered it was all a plot by a racist blockhead who probably only caused it because he wanted Kyle to give it to him through the ass (though, to be fair, there's nothing wrong with that).

When I met him, I mentioned my drawings in crayon.

"…U-Um. Hi, Nichole." I glanced up from my iPhone, and noticed a blonde boy with blue eyes and a shy smile standing in front of me. "Can I sit next to you?"

"You can." I shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't control the steps."

The boy sat down next to me – he looked somewhat relieved – and started to speak slowly again. "...Um…sorry what happened to you."

"It's alright. It's not like it's a national tragedy, it's just normal drama, and I sort of expected there to be a twist anyway. Nothing could be that 'perfect'."

"I…I think there could be…" The boy muttered quietly. "Just…when you don't expect it, or something."

I looked up. "Kid, do I even know your name?"

"Oh, hamburgers, I'm sorry….my name's Butters."

"…" I stared at him as if he was insane. "Your name is a food."

"Well…my real name's Leopold because my great-grampa was some sort of war general, and that was his name, and my dad wanted me to grow up to be strong and lead troops like him, but, um, I don't seem too much like him, because I'm a disappointment to the Stotch name, so they just call me Butters because of my yellow hair." He grinned.

"…Your family is fucked up." I stated dryly, and then looked down at my phone again.

"…You don't know the half of i—hey, can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"What's that picture you're looking at? It's really pretty."

"…" I looked up at him, and then down at my picture. It was a simple drawing of a butterfly, with one wing having one of those 'friendship' bracelets on it, one having a pom-pom on it, one having a moving box on it, and one having that familiar sign that just stood right outside of town. "….You….you tell anyone I drew this, and you're…."

"…You drew it?"

Fuck.

"….Yes." I sighed. "I draw stupid things like this all the—"

"….If it's not too much trouble, can you draw me something?" Butters smiled sincerely, looking at the picture as if it were a treasure. "'Cause…you're really good at this."

"…I guess I can."

When I began drawing that, I started focusing on my drawings in crayon.

It was nothing too complex. He'd simply told me 'draw whatever comes to mind', and I'd just started to slowly draw out bubble words. 'Friends'. 'New'.

'Drawings in Crayon'. I wrote this at the top. Looking beneath it, I slowly started sketching out myself, on the right, looking up at the words surrounding me, as if I were confused. I was, in a way. Next to me was Butters, on the left – I should include him since it was his request, and he always smiled, so he was smiling then, too. His hand pointed up at 'Drawings in Crayon', as if he was excited about it. To be fair, he was. And I…of course, was much less excited, and more confused.

I drew a small pompom being tossed by and a pig's face again, just like when I was little.

The last doodle on it was nothing more than a heart.

When I gave him the drawing, I believed in my drawings in crayon.

"This…this is it?" Butters stared down at the piece of paper, astonished. I nodded, and stepped back as he hugged me tightly. "This is the best present I've…"

"It's…it's not that great." I tensely stated, and Butters looked into my eyes with an oddly serious expression.

"It's really good…" He stated, crossing his arms, but holding the paper closely. "If you don't believe it, I'll just keep pushing you to draw stuff until you do, gosh darnit."

"What if I never do?"

"I will." Butters smiled sweetly. "And I'm gonna hang this one over my bed, whether mom and dad like it or not. Grounded or not."

His seriousness, to be honest, tripped me up, and I was left speechless, merely blushing weakly at the thought of being without words. I tried to spit words out, but they wouldn't come, and so I just stood, stomping my foot, and shaking my head, which caused Butters to giggle.

"…You're cute when you're…oh, hamburgers!" Butters blinked, and then ran away, his face turning instantly red as he dashed off.

When I continued my drawings in crayon, those who I didn't suspect became fond.

"Oi." Red slammed my locker shut, staring into my eyes. "Nicki. Why didn't you tell me you were an artist? Seriously, you didn't trust me with that knowledge, or what?"

I stepped back.

"Wondering how I found out? Ask your boyfriend, he's been bragging on it all week to anyone who would listen." Red pointed over to Butters. I looked over to him, and he noticed, smiled, and waved, the familiar twinkle in his eye. "Look, Rookie, I'm an artist too. A theater artist, but still, an artist. Your pictures? Fuckin' good. Here's my suggestion. Don't hide 'em, and don't snap at your kiddo loverboy to shut up about 'em. Let 'em free. If you're really as good as he says you are, you'll be dashed at by a bunch of 'art-lovers', or just people who want to see whatever they want and shit drawn, and you'll get even more popular." She smiled. "It's not a bad thing. In fact, Bebe says she has a request for you at lunch, something involving concept art for fashion designs? I don't know. But anyway…" She glanced around, then smirked and leaned against the lockers again. "Could ya draw me a picture of a zombie invasion? Preferably one where I'm wielding an axe against the horde? Something badass like that. I need a new Facebook pic."

When he built me up, I made more drawings in crayon.

I stared down at the list of requests sometime during recess. It had to be at least fifty percent of the girls, and almost ninety percent of the boys. Even Token and Kyle had made requests, both expressing confusion that I hadn't mentioned my love of drawing to them, first, and then agreeing that from what they'd seen, they'd like to have one of their own – and so here I was, with a long list of requests. The oh-so-familiar blonde sat down next to me, looking down at the list, and whistling.

"Jeez….that's a lot."

"No….really?" I smiled, a bit bitterly, and he recoiled a bit, but then held out a paper of his own.

"….I've been practicing." He mumbled. The picture was of us sitting on top of a giant crayon, holding hands and smiling, looking down. It almost looked like mine, but not quite. On the top, he'd written Pictures in Crayon.

"….This is really good."

He looked shocked, and then smiled a bit bashfully. "Well, um…I modeled it after yours. That's obvious, right, but um, I tried to make it original, too, but…uh…"

"…" I hugged him tightly as if to stop his babbling. He paused, and then closed his mouth, smiling and hugging me in return. "It's good….take it as a compliment."

"Thanks, Nichole."

I think that was the moment I started to realize the fact that I probably had it pretty bad.

I had a crush on Leopold 'Butters' Stotch.

When I realized my emotions, my drawings in crayon were for him.

Butters walked into my home – an organized time for us to work on our drawings together in my room – and looked around, looking somewhat in awe. "It's nice here, and it smells nice….oh, hamburgers, does that sound weird?"

"Nah. The maids use a lot of Febreeze." I smiled, leading him up the stairs. "Come on. This way."

"Okay…" He took my hand and followed after, walking into my room and then looking around as if he was confused where he should sit. I patted my bed as I sat in my computer chair, and he sat on the edge. "So, um, we're gonna practice drawing, right?"

I nodded, tossing him a clipboard to use as a backing material for the paper, and I pulled out a small stack of paper from my bookshelf.

"We'll use this."

"Okay!" Butters smiled, instantly grabbing a sheet, and one of the two full boxes of crayons I kept.

"Already got an idea?"

He nodded, and quickly got to work. I began to doodle up one of my requests – Bebe's, to be exact – and only looked up on occasion. About the fiftieth time I looked up, Butters was holding his drawing up and looking at it proudly.

"…Can I see?"

Butters turned a bit red, as if he'd noticed that I was watching him admire his work, but he slowly passed it over, the blank side up. I turned it over.

It was almost lifelike. Butters and I were curled together in the picture, Butters running his hand through my hair, and some of the familiar words appearing again.

The title was, quite simply, Dreams in Crayon.

He laughed nervously. "I mean, I don't think it was good enough, but it's not as good as yours, and…"

I kissed him.

"You talk too much."

He stared, turning bright red, mumbled 'well, um, maybe'…and then slowly, timidly, kissed me back.

When I made pictures in crayon, I never did it alone again – and, to be fair, that worked out for all and all in the end.

When we make pictures in crayon, we try to make them for everyone, but, as our walls can contest…

The best pictures in crayon are the ones that are made for only two in mind.