Creek 2.0

ii - anxious? no, terrified.

Tweek's POV

I hated moving. This was the third time we'd moved, and all for the same reason. Because there was competition or suspicion to our coffee shop. Or, should I say my coffee shop. It was named after me. I worked there most days after school and on weekends. I kept an eye on sales and marketing.

It was part of the ever growing stress I felt. The coffee shop, moving in, settling in, making friends, schooling, neighbours, catching up on missed education, trying to sort out my stutter, trying to stop ripping my hair out. The list grew every day. Which is why when I noticed an old treehouse behind the house, I set to make it a stress free zone.

It was furnished, partially. Blankets and cushions. I bought a few posters and some plushies out to it, assuming the furnishings were the old owner's, and that they'd just left them there. The neighbours only seemed to have one child, a little daughter. And without trying to stereotype, she didn't look like the type to own skull and crossbone blankets.

*

A week after moving, everything was finally sorted. The coffee shop was set up and due to open on Saturday, I had been enrolled in my new school, every box was unpacked, and my parents had arranged to meet with the neighbours, although I opted out, slipping out of the house to the treehouse.

I needed to get away from the stress. So I clambered up into it, curled up, and took a nap. Childish, I know, but the stress had worn me out, and sleeping was a whole other story. Anxiety is a killer.

It can't have been half an hour when I heard cursing and the soft thid of snow hitting something hard. My mind jumped to the neighbours, but their child was a girl, this voice was very obviously male. It couldn't have even been another neighbour, since our houses were the only two on the street. So...who was it?

I felt a peak of anxiety, but rather than freaking out, I just bit at my nails, chewing them down to ground myself as I glanced out of the treehouse. A boy, my age maybe, a little taller. Dark hair, pale freckles, chipped black nail varnish, blue hat with a yellow pompom, blue jacket, black shirt, baggy jeans, boots. He seemed annoyed, angry even. He must've heard the creak of the wood, because with in a second of me glancing out, he had stopped throwing snowballs and had turned to look up at me.

For I second, I froze. He has...really pretty eyes. One brown, one blue. His head tilts, and suddenly I realize that I'm likely in his treehouse. That definitely brings me back down to earth. I can feel my chest tighten and my throat grow dry and closed off. I can practically feel the nerves travelling around my body. And I know he knows.

"Who are you?"

His voice draws my attention back to him. Monotone and kind of nasally, like he has a cold. I hope he doesn't have a cold. I don't need a cold from some random boy. All those germs and diseases and all that gunk and-

"Are you deaf, mute, or just stupid? What's your name?"

Right.

"Tweek."

"Are you anxious, Tweek?"

Anxious? No. I'm fucking terrified. But I'm not going to say that. I say my head at him, carefully shifting to sit in the entrance of the doorway. He doesn't seem aggressive, despite his language. He just seems mad, although not at me.

"W-who are you? Ifyoudon'tmindmyasking."

"You can pause between words. 'M not charging you per word."

I swear my heart skips a beat or three when he says that. And I think I have a heart attack when he stands up and pulls himself into the treehouse with me, sitting next to me with his legs dangling out.

"Craig. Tucker. I live next door."

"I-I thought they only had a daughter."

"Trisha. My shithead sister."

"Sorry."

"For what?"

I don't really know how to answer that. I've never had anyone question why I was saying sorry to them. Most people just accepted it, or ignored it, and continued with their life.

"I-I don't know."

"...you're weird."

"Sor-"

"I like weird. We should be friends."

"Y-you..like weird?"

He laughs at me, and just as I think I'm about to have total organ failure, I hear my parents call me back to the house, their voices clear and loud in the tranquil air. I practically fall out of the tree, landing unceremoniously on the ground with a thud.

"Uh, yeah, friends, yes, okay, I gottagobyeyou'rekindacool."

And like that, I'm scrambling back through the snow to my house.