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Tweek pulled his hoodie tighter around his face, his eyes darting nervously across the crowded high school hallway. The date loomed in his mind like a flashing neon warning sign: Friday the Thirteenth. The most cursed day of the year. Disaster was inevitable, and Tweek had no plans to be its victim.
He shuffled toward his locker, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. What if a stray meteor punched through the ceiling? Or worse, what if aliens finally decided to show themselves, beaming him up for unspeakable experiments before homeroom?
“Not today,” Tweek muttered under his breath, clutching the straps of his backpack like a lifeline, “not happening.”
When he reached his locker, he fumbled with the combination lock, spinning it three extra times for good luck. His hands were clammy, and the numbers blurred as his mind spiraled into worst-case scenarios.
“Careful, Tweek,” he whispered to himself, “just stay careful. Careful people don’t get abducted by aliens. Or crushed by falling vending machines. Or-”
His eyes flicked to the vending machine at the end of the hall, where a group of students was gathered, laughing and chatting like it wasn’t the unluckiest day of the century.
He shuddered. All it would take is one faulty spring, he thought, imagining the machine tipping forward and pinning some unsuspecting freshman. Or him. Definitely him.
Tweek yanked his locker open and shoved his books inside, scanning the hallway as though something, or someone, might leap out at him. His paranoia latched onto a new thought: What if today is the day the floor collapses?
He glanced down at the tiles beneath his feet, suddenly hyper-aware of every creak and groan in the building. What if there was a secret sinkhole under the school? He pictured himself falling into a cavernous pit, only to be discovered decades later as a skeleton clutching his algebra textbook.
“Nope, nope, nope,” he whispered, shaking his head to dispel the image.
Behind him, someone cleared their throat. Tweek jumped, his heart hammering, and spun around to see Clyde standing there, looking concerned.
“Uh… Tweek? You okay?” He cocked his head to the side.
Tweek stared at him, words escaping him for a moment. What if Clyde’s the reason something bad happens? What if he accidentally triggers the fire alarm, and we all stampede? What if he’s been secretly replaced by a pod person?
“Yeah! Fine!” Tweek blurted, gripping his locker door so tightly his knuckles turned white, “totally fine!”
Clyde raised an eyebrow, “you sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not yet,” Tweek mumbled, brushing past him, “but there’s still time.”
He didn’t stop until he reached the bathroom, locking himself in a stall and taking deep breaths. He needed to stay vigilant, there were too many ways for the day to go horribly, horribly wrong.
By lunchtime, Tweek’s paranoia had reached a fever pitch. Every moment felt like a setup for catastrophe, and the universe seemed determined to confirm his suspicions.
In history class, a pencil betrayed him, slipping from his desk and clattering to the floor with an echo that made him jump. What if it’s a signal? he thought. A warning from the universe. One loud noise before the real disaster strikes.
Chemistry wasn’t much better. The Bunsen burner flame leapt higher than it should have during a demonstration, sending a jolt of panic through Tweek’s system. He scooted his chair back from the lab table and eyed the flame like it might spontaneously engulf the entire classroom.
But the cafeteria was the final straw. Tweek approached the food line cautiously, as though the kitchen staff might hand him a plate of dynamite. When he got his tray, his stomach churned at the sight of the main course, meatloaf ominously labeled chef’s surprise.
He sat down at the edge of a table, as far from others as he could manage, and stared at the meatloaf like it might explode, “probably radioactive,” he muttered, poking it with his fork once before shoving the tray away entirely. What if it’s laced with something? he wondered. What if this is how they start the zombie apocalypse?
Then it happened.
“Tweek!”
The voice made him flinch so hard that his elbow knocked his fork off the table. His head snapped up to see Clyde weaving through the cafeteria crowd, his messy brown hair catching the fluorescent light and his face practically glowing with determination.
Tweek’s mind spiraled. Why was Clyde so determined to talk to him? Could Clyde know something he didn’t? Was this about the meatloaf? An asteroid? An alien invasion?
Or worse, Tweek’s thoughts darkened. What if Clyde is cursed? What if just being near him transfers the bad luck? What if he’s the reason the school’s going to implode today?
His panic bubbled over. The chair legs screeched against the tile floor as he stood abruptly, drawing a few curious glances from nearby students.
“I… I have to go to the library!” he announced to no one in particular, his voice pitching higher than he intended. Before Clyde could reach him, Tweek grabbed his backpack and speed-walked toward the nearest exit, weaving around students like a man on a mission.
In the safety of the hallway, he wiped his clammy palms on his jeans, “too close,” he muttered under his breath. He glanced over his shoulder just in case Clyde had followed him, then hurried off to hide in the library, where he could keep a safe distance from potential disasters, or determined boys with suspiciously kind smiles.
The rest of the day was an exhausting marathon of dodging disasters, both real and imaginary. Tweek spent every moment hypervigilant, a hawk scanning for calamity.
When gym class rolled around, he muttered to the teacher that he wasn’t feeling well, his voice as shaky as a condemned rollercoaster. The last thing he needed was to slip on the soccer field, get hit by a rogue lightning strike, or be the unlucky kid who uncovered a cursed artifact buried in the grass.
English class was no better. Tweek hunched over his desk, scribbling nonsense in his notebook with the intensity of someone solving quantum equations. He kept his head down and his eyes glued to the page, refusing to risk even a glance at his classmates. Who knew what might set off a chain reaction of doom?
When the final bell rang, relief washed over Tweek like a wave. He had made it. He had survived Friday the thirteenth.
Grabbing his bag, Tweek bolted from his seat and practically sprinted through the crowded hallways. He just needed to make it out of the school. He could practically hear victory music playing in his head.
As he approached the front steps, his triumphant inner soundtrack came to a screeching halt. Clyde was there. Again. Waiting by the bike rack like some kind of final boss.
Tweek froze in his tracks, his fight-or-flight instincts in overdrive. His mind whirred with wild possibilities. He’s here to tell me the school is sinking into a sinkhole. Or that the zombie apocalypse just started in the locker rooms. Or maybe he’s not Clyde at all, what if he’s a shapeshifter sent to lure me into a trap?
Before Tweek could turn and flee, Clyde spotted him. His face brightened, and he jogged over, his hair bouncing with every step.
“Tweek!” Clyde called, a little out of breath, “can we talk now?”
Tweek’s heart pounded like a drum, “uh…” His eyes darted to the nearest escape routes,the doors, the bushes, the sidewalk. “I’m really busy-”
“Just for a second,” Clyde interrupted, his tone softer this time. His usual easygoing smile was replaced with something almost nervous? Hesitant?
Tweek faltered. There was no UFO hovering ominously overhead. No cracks opening in the pavement. Just Clyde, looking like he had rehearsed this conversation in his head a dozen times.
“Fine,” Tweek mumbled, bracing himself. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, “w-what is it?”
Clyde exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He hesitated for a moment, then blurted, “I just wanted to ask if you’d like to go out with me. Like, on a date.”
Tweek’s brain screeched to a halt. A date? With him? His first instinct was to look up, half-expecting to see a meteor streaking across the sky or some other cosmic punchline to his life. Or worse, was Clyde playing a prank on him?
“What?” he said, blinking rapidly.
Clyde’s cheeks turned pink, “a date,” he repeated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “I, uh… I’ve kinda l-liked you for a while, and I figured I should just, you know, tell you.”
Tweek stared at him, stunned. All day, he’d been expecting to get abducted by aliens, crushed by falling vending machines, or struck by lightning. And now Clyde, Clyde, was standing here, asking him out.
“I… uh…” Tweek’s face flushed with embarrassment, “I wasn’t expecting that.”
Clyde gave him a crooked smile, “is that a no?”
“No!” Tweek blurted, then winced at his own volume, “I mean, no, it’s not a no. I… I’d like that.”
Clyde’s grin widened, and Tweek could swear the world felt just a little brighter, “cool! How about this weekend?”
“Yeah, okay,” Tweek said, his voice barely above a whisper.
As Clyde walked away, his grin so wide it could light up the whole street, Tweek stood frozen on the steps, his heart hammering in his chest. Maybe Friday the thirteenth wasn’t cursed after all. For the first time, it actually felt kind of lucky.