Chapter Text
“Dude... Are you busy?” Kyle asked imploringly.
His hand trembled slightly as he held the phone up to his ear and he tried to swallow back the jawbreaker-sized lump he felt in his throat.
He didn’t know what to do. But Stan would help—Stan always helped. That’s one of the many reasons Kyle loved his super-best-friend, knew exactly what to say and would find a way to make him feel better.
To say he felt like complete and utter shit would be the understatement of the century. Kyle was, in this moment, carrying all the metaphorical weight of the world on his shoulders, with the addition of one very fat... old Frienemy of his. Yeah. Frienemy. That was the word for it.
“No, why?” Stan answered from the other end, unperturbed, followed by the sound of a crunch of what was probably an extra large bag of chips.
“Can you come over, like right now?”
“Not really, I guess. Why though? Did something happen?”
“I... Just, just come over, dude.”
“I’m busy right now, man. I’m supposed to be meeting Wendy in half an hour.” Stan replied, followed by the sound of another crunch, a smacking of lips, and a food-laden continuation of; “We can talk, though, ‘cuz I’ve still got to get ready. What’s going on, Kyle?”
“Stan...” Kyle replied so suddenly, and in a voice so unlike Kyle, it sent a shiver down Stan’s back. Why, Stan hadn’t heard Kyle so shaken since....
Fuck.
This was serious.
Stan put the chips down.
“Please, Stan.”
Stan hesitated for a moment.
Yeah. This was super serious, and it required his full attention—he wiped down his crumb-covered hoodie and sat up.
“Alright, give me five, dude. I’ll be right over.”
*Click*
He pulled his phone away from his ear and sighed deeply. Wendy was not going to let him live this one down. With another, even bigger sigh, he hastily typed out a message in his phone notepad: ‘BIG BOUQUET AT LEAST 200$. MAYBE CHOCOLATES. DEFFO CHOCOLATES. BIG BOX. BUY ASAP’.
He even underlined it to make sure that it was the very first thing on the to-do list right after he helped Kyle.
The things he did for his super-best-friend, man. Stan sure hoped that Kyle was going to remember all those sacrifices when he finally became a fancy lawyer making fat-stacks. He was about to owe Stan around $250, or the cost of a head transplant after Wendy ripped his head off.
Stan took a deep breath and typed out his message, sending it without missing a beat. Man, maybe on second thought, he should have proofread. He knew that, like Kyle, Wendy was a stickler for all that grammar and spelling and shit. Oh well, he didn’t have time to think about that now, it was already gone, and he’d just have to deal with the consequences later.
[To WifeyWens4eva ❤: Hey babe so so so so sorry cant make it tonight. Yeah I kno it’s our fifth, i’ll make it up to you, I promise plz dont be mad its an emerrgency and it’s super important. Love you babey ttyl gtg.]
Wisely, Stan also turned his phone on do-not-disturb before he headed out of the house.
True to his word, Stan didn’t take longer than five minutes to arrive. He found Kyle sitting at his desk, back turned, practically slumped over the monitor of his computer. His phone was haphazardly upturned beside him, which was quite a concerning sight—as much as he loved Kyle, the guy would not ever shut up about the negative effects of phones right in reach (in fact, he could quote Kyle’s own words when he regurgitated all the statistics about the impact on attention, real-life bonding quality and social anxiety that phones caused) and to see him so brazenly disregarding his own advice was.... Well.... Concerning, to say the least.
“Kyle?” Stan asked, taking a slow, hesitant step towards his super-best-friend.
He wasn’t dignified with a response. Not a proper one, anyway. Just a small, pained sound came out of, what he assumed to be Kyle’s mouth, since he still had his back turned. It was, as cliché as it sounds, as if all of the life energy was drained out of Kyle, and that pitiful mewl was not a sound that Stan was accustomed to hearing from his super-best-friend.
Especially not now. Everything had been going so well for Kyle! Hell, they even had plans to go out and celebrate Kyle’s acceptance together this very weekend. What went so suddenly wrong?
“Kyle. Dude, stop it. You’re scaring me. You have to tell me what’s up.” Stan said, trying to be firm. Well, as firm as he could be with a Kyle that looked like he could be shattered by the smallest gust of wind.
For someone so strong in so many ways, Kyle always surprised Stan with how vulnerable he could really be.
Stan stepped forward, turning the desk-chair towards him. He leaned down, so that he could be at eye-level with Kyle.
“Dude, come on. What’s wrong?” Stan whispered, tugging at the side of Kyle’s shirt to try and jostle some sense into him.
Kyle opened his mouth. Then closed it. Opened, again. And then closed. With each opening of his mouth, he tried to get air in, as if he was suffocating, like he couldn’t get enough oxygen to get the words out. Kyle? Stuck for words? Now that, Stan thought to himself, was fucking terrifying.
“Kyle, come on!” Stan pressed, “Get it out already, dude! You look like my old goldfish, Spookyfish, mouth gaping like that!”
Without saying a word, Kyle pointed to his computer monitor.
Instantly, Stan looked at what could’ve possibly upset his super-best-friend so much.
And on the screen, he found Eric Theodore Cartman on the list of candidates for Harvard.
Stan groaned. “Dude, I think it’s just a joke. Cartman might have gotten into either your computer somehow and added himself to the list just to fuck with you. Look, if you refresh the page, I’m sure that it’ll go away.”
Stan refreshed the page, but alas, the name was still there.
“Wow,” Stan said, giving a snort. “I guess he’s really committed. Look, I’ll try on my phone.”
And so, Stan googled the Harvard successful applicants list, and on it, found, once again, Eric Theodore Cartman amongst them.
“Huh...” Stan continued. “He’s really got you good, huh, Kyle? Maybe it’s something to do with the network. Hold up, I’ll try turning off my internet and using mobile data.”
Still, the same name, clear as day, was amongst the successful applicants.
“Huh... Maybe, it’s just a mistake? I’m sure that they’ll correct the list soon. Or maybe it’s just a different Eric Cartman. Did you think of that, Kyle? Maybe, uhhh, maybe it’s just a coincidence. Yeah, dude, it has to be! We know our Cartman, and that guy can’t string together two sentences, let alone write a good enough essay to actually get in. If it took you months to plan, draft, and write your personal essay, then there’s no way in hell that anyone who is not on your level of, like, smarts, would have gotten in either.” Stan tried to reassure both himself, and Kyle. “Not to mention the SAT’s, and the references from teachers—come on, Kyle! Don’t be stupid. That couldn’t be our Cartman, it has to be somebody else.”
For the first time since Stan walked in, Kyle turned to look at him.
Kyle opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a low-pitched groan and a defeated, slow, shaking of his head.
“Hey, dude, dude, dude, hey, calm down, I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ll get through it, Kyle. He hasn’t got the money to get in! How did you not realise that, Kyle? Come on, you’re meant to be the smart one out of the two of us! It doesn’t matter that he’s on the list, he can’t possibly fork over $50K for every semester, even if he did get in—which he didn’t, because this is a mistake.”
“Scholar---ship.” Kyle squawked out, akin to a creaking door.
“No!” Stan protested, shaking his head. That was fucking impossible.
One again, Kyle nodded his head.
Stan furrowed his brow, looking straight at Kyle. And Kyle looked right back at him, equally lost for words.
They stayed like that for a while before Kyle had the strength to muster a full sentence;
“How, Stan? How? What could he have possibly put in that essay to get himself in?”
“I... I don’t know, dude.”