Grouse Thicket if he said, 'help me kill the president'

Unfortunately for Screech, this would be one of the few good memories he'd have in life; and certainly the last he'd have for a while. He felt his skin positively buzzing with strange giddiness, and as light-headed as he felt, he didn't feel bad about it. Feeling good was such a foreign concept to the suffering boy that this ordeal — the apples, the nice girl, the laughter and even her show of concern — rooted itself deep. He needed this. He needed a friend, he needed fun, but most of all he needed to fucking relax.

As the girl came closer, he just sort of... Canted his head towards her and, looking dopey (kind of like his avatar) fixed a silly half-smile on his face. I'm hokay, he lightly slurred. This wassa good idea! Lets do this more often, and then he was trying to stand up (mostly to get closer to her, but he just... couldn't... make his feet go where he wanted,) and suddenly Screech was slouching again, letting out another rough-sounding mess of deep giggles.