Normally one wouldn’t find Chaplin Mano and Stevie Stapleton huddled together in the back of the library, but there they were. They sat together, closely, excitedly barking ideas out as loudly as they could to each other.
“No, put this here.”
“Put that there!”
“Write this down! It’ll be hilarious!”
Normally, this sort of excitement came from the nerds, working on a project for themselves or for school. Not a jock and a ne’er-do-well bully. On the table before them was a powder blue journal, its pages filled with beautifully handwritten entries and carefully placed photographs. Each entry ending with an artistically crafted signature that read ‘Terrance Arbuckel’.
A goldmine— they found Terry-baby’s journal. It didn’t take long for them to deface it. Drawing on crude penises over the photographs and ‘improving’ the entries written. “Don’t make a new entry,” Stevie would say, “Just make the ones he wrote better.”
Chaplin happily obliged, with a red pen in hand, crossing out words and adding random, childish things like “dicks” and “ass”.
“Today father sent me a beautiful
watch penis from Bvlgari. It’s exquisite, I’ve been pining for it so long that when I wear want it on my wrist in my ass, I feel whole. Like a true member of the elite social circle we were born in virgin club of 1994.”
Childish giggles filled the library. The pair only left when the librarian had enough of them, and quickly sent them on their way. Defacing Terry’s journal was fun, they agreed, but they needed more bang for their buck. Something to make all that effort worthwhile.
It was then, from the corner of his eye, Stevie noticed Terrance Arbuckel, fretting horribly to the prefects. “Please find it!” he begged Edward Seymour, “Very sensitive information is in that journal and if I don’t have it back…”
Chaplin and Stevie were treading in dangerous lands now, but trust these boys to be anything but smart. The smaller boy looked up to his large friend, “Give it back to him.”
“What? Why? Wouldn’t he know?”
“Sure. If I gave it to him, Agent Brah, he’ll know. But if you do it, since you’re a covert master, he wouldn’t suspect. I mean, you didn’t do anything ass-y to him.”
This, was a valid point. Stevie’s dislike with Terrance was nothing short of a spectacle. Everyone knew these two had a vendetta with each other. But Chaplin? Chaplin Mano was sunshine and rainbows, he was everyone’s friend.
He marched right up to Terrance, who was red-faced and breathless, and held out the diary, “Hey brah, I couldn’t but overhear but I think this is yours?”
Terry clasped his hands together, quickly snatching the book out of the jock’s hands, “Where did you find it?” Not a word of thanks.
“Oh uhh,” Chaplin looked over briefly to where Stevie was standing, only to find the boy missing, presumably hiding, “Well, someone dropped it in my locker.” A lie, but one that wasn’t too far-fetched. Their lockers were close to each other. “I guess a braddah got our ones confused. I didn’t open it though, but it had your name on the front.”
“Yes yes yes, now run along.” Terrance shooed Chaplin away, clutching his precious diary to his chest.
That evening, the boys dormitory was filled with a horrible, ear-bleeding shriek of terror.