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Butters’s heart is slamming in his slender chest, and he can taste bile beginning to form at the back of his throat.

If he was going to vomit, he kind of wished it would just happen already, but dinner remained an uncomfortably heavy lump in his stomach that did the occasional flip-flop at the most inopportune times. His Mom had cooked meatloaf tonight --- Butters’s favorite --- but he was so nervous about the dance-off he had barely tasted it. Getting through the family meal had been downright agonizing. Butters supplied most of the conversation during dinnertime, taking his parents’ feigned interest for genuine encouragement as he chattered about school, about the dumb shows he watched on TV, about local news, about anything and everything. He talked so much he often found himself babbling, one unrelated non-sequitur rolling seamlessly into the next, until he had no idea what he was even rambling about anymore. Butters didn’t mind. He liked to talk, and it was better than the alternative --- silently consuming Mom’s special meatloaf all while desperately trying to pretend there weren’t oceans between them.

Butters tried his best to keep up appearances, but he was just too preoccupied. Twenty minutes in, Linda Stotch finally noticed, her gaze focusing sharply on her only son.

“Sweetie, is everything alright?”

Butters had jerked in alarm, belatedly realizing he’d been staring silently at his plate for the last few minutes. Stupid. “Y-yeah, Mom! I’m fine. I’m great, really!”

“Are you sure? You look a little...tired.”

“Starting to see some dark circles, there.” Stephen observed, peering at Butters closely. It seemed like the only time his parents spoke to each other these days was when they were discussing Butters’s latest...

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...been sleeping, building up his energy to face whatever Eric Cartman had in store for him, but he was too hyped up to sleep. Butters was floating along in a euphoric daze he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to wake up from. He sat on the floor by the side of his bed, a dumbfounded little smile on his face.

In his hands was $2500 dollars, his share of the prize money the Titty Twisters got after sweeping the dance-off.

It had been two hours, and he still couldn’t believe it.

Butters tucked the money carefully into his backpack, and then shoved it under the bed. He quickly reconsidered, and ended up stuffing the money deep into mattress, where it would stay until he could think of a better place to hide it. Satisfied, Butters found himself reaching for his journal, skipping through the last few entries to a blank sheet of paper.

Ben Affleck Entry/:

We won.

We won.

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