Chapter 2:

The Plan

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting elongated shadows across the vibrant walls of Casa Bonita. Cartman’s stomach churned—not from the sopaipillas, but from excitement and nerves. He wasn’t ready to leave this magical place, not when there were secrets waiting to be uncovered. Cartman (whispering to himself): “Alright, Cartman, listen up. You’ve got a golden opportunity here. Casa Bonita after hours—how often does that happen? Probably never. So, what’s the plan?” He glanced around, making sure no one was watching. The mariachi band had packed up, and the puppet show stage stood empty. The door labeled “Employees Only” beckoned like a forbidden gateway. Cartman (still whispering): “Step one: Fake illness. Check. Told my friends I’m feeling like crap. They bought it. Suckers.” He patted the note he’d left behind—a masterpiece of deception. It read: *"Dear guys, Sorry, but my mom’s picking me up. I’ve got some weird stomach thing. Don’t wait up. Cartman"* Cartman: “Classic. They’ll find it, worry a bit, and then move on. Meanwhile, I’ll be right here, living the dream.” He tiptoed toward the “Employees Only” door. The wood was worn, the brass handle cold to the touch. Cartman hesitated. What awaited him beyond? Secret tunnels? Buried treasure? Or maybe just the janitor’s mop closet, as Kyle had predicted. Cartman (grinning): “Only one way to find out.” He pushed the door open, wincing at the creak. The hallway stretched before him, dimly lit. The air smelled of cleaning supplies and old memories. Cartman tiptoed down the corridor, his heart racing. He felt like a character in one of those cheesy adventure movies—minus the heroics and chiseled jawline. Cartman: “Okay, step two: Find a hiding spot. Somewhere cozy. Somewhere I won’t get caught.” He peeked into rooms along the way. The kitchen—too risky. The storage closet—too cramped. And then he saw it: a nook behind the puppet show stage. Perfect. Cartman settled in, wedging himself between a dusty curtain and a stack of forgotten props. Cartman (whispering): “This is it, buddy. Your own private Casa Bonita. Just you, the memories, and a whole lot of adrenaline.” As the last echoes of the day faded, Cartman closed his eyes. He could almost hear the distant laughter of children, the clatter of dishes, and the faint strains of mariachi music. His adventure had begun, fueled by sopaipillas and sheer audacity. Little did he know that beyond the puppet show stage, something otherworldly was awakening—a force that would test his love for Casa Bonita and change the course of his life forever.

Characters in this Story

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