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Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 1

For many parents, having a stranger compliment their child is perhaps the highest praise they could hope to receive.

They grew that child in their stomach. They birthed them, they raised them. They did their best to teach them right and wrong, to be a decent person.

So when another person points out a good quality – any good quality – in their child, they can't help but feel proud. It is a reflection on them. They know they've done something right.

For Sheila Broflovski, she absolutely loved the compliments she received towards her eldest son, Kyle. His politeness, his manners, his kindness, but the thing she got the most comments on were his looks. It seemed to her that it happened every time they went out.

   “What an adorable little boy!”

   “Such lovely eyes.”

   “Can I just say, you have a very handsome son.”

   “Beautiful boy; just beautiful.”

No matter how many times Sheila heard words like that, she swelled with pride. Of course, she thought her son was beautiful, with his vivid red curls, his emerald green eyes and his smooth, pale skin, but she was his mother. Every parent felt the same about their children, but to have other people acknowledge her child meant that she was not alone with her thoughts, she was not biased. Her son really was good-looking.

Kyle himself seemed slightly embarrassed of all the attention he received, and tended to only politely smile at the adults who praised him. He still didn't have much self-esteem after that list incident. Even though it had been proven that the list was fake, it had really knocked the boy's confidence.

The Broflovski family were shopping at a local mall just outside of South Park one cold January afternoon and were frequently stopped by strangers who complimented the eight-year-old boy. Sheila beamed proudly and one little old lady even asked if Kyle was a child model and then, when she learned that he was not, suggested that he should be one.

The fact that that little old woman thought her son good-looking enough to grace magazine covers made Sheila want to burst. And that was where she first thought of the idea.

   “Kyle, how would you feel if I entered you in a beauty pageant?” she asked as they were driving back to South Park.

   “A what?” To say that Kyle looked disgusted would be an understatement.

   “A beauty pageant, bubbe; a chance for everyone to see how handsome you are.”

   “No.”

Sheila eyed her son in the rear view mirror. “Kyle, this could be good for you! You'd be able to get up on stage and show off. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

   “Not really.”

   “Sheila, if he doesn't want to -” Gerald began but was quickly cut off by his domineering wife.

   “Oh, Gerald, I have a feeling that he would really enjoy it!”

   “I don't think I would. Besides, I don't think they even do pageants for boys, Ma.” Kyle was picturing countless little girls in frilly dresses and heavy makeup performing their perfectly choreographed dance routines. It was not something he wanted to be a part of.

   “I'm sure they do; I'll look it up when we get home.”

True to her word, Sheila was on the computer as soon as the family arrived home and had soon called Kyle into the room, a look of triumph on her face. “There are pageants for boys, and there's one being held in Denver next month.”

   “Aw, Ma, I really don't -”

   “I really think you should, bubbe. Just to at least try it. I think you'll have a lot of fun. Please, just do it this once, and if you don't like it, then you won't have to do any more, okay?”

   “... Okay, but just once.” Truthfully, Kyle couldn't see a way out of it, and it was just the one pageant. How bad could it be?

   “Oh, good! I'll register you right now!” Sheila beamed as she turned her attention back to the computer.

As soon as he had left the room, Kyle rolled his eyes. He didn't want to compete, but he knew he had no choice; once his mother got an idea into her head, she could seldom be talked out of it. So, seeing as how there was nothing he could do, he settled down on the sofa to watch “Terrence and Phillip”.

A few hours later, he was called into the garage by his mother and upon entering, he found masking tape in the shapes of 'X's in the shape of a 'T' on the floor.

   “What's this?” he asked, stepping further into the room.

   “Right, I've registered you. 'Little Miss and Mini Mr Colorado'. You're going to be competing in three different categories; beauty, talent and casual wear and I've entered you in all of the optional categories; most photogenic, best dressed and best personality. I'll sort out all your clothes. You need to practise.”

Kyle blanched. “Practise what?”

   “Your walk, your moves, your smile; everything. Don't worry,” she added, looking at her son's face. “I'll show you what to do; I've been researching. First, they'll call out your name and then you go to your first 'X',” she demonstrated, walking gracefully and standing perfectly poised on the mark. Kyle bit back a grin as Sheila smiled at the non-existent judges. “When you get to the first X, you need to spot the judges and make eye contact with them. With the girls, it's all very serious, but the boys get to loosen up a bit. Just smile and show your personality.

“The judges will usually be here at the end of the catwalk. Now you walk over to the second X and then turn and go down to the third X, which will be at the end of the runway. There, you turn, to let the judges see your outfit, strike a pose before making your way back to your second X. Then go to the fourth X, do another turn, strike another pose and then walk off stage. Got that?”

   “Uhh...” Kyle hadn't understood half of what Sheila had said. She had certainly done her research and he privately thought she was going a little overboard for one pageant.

   “Never mind, bubbe. You'll pick it up. Now, get over there; I'll be the emcee and when I introduce you, go to your first X.” Sheila sat down in a chair as Kyle faithfully obeyed her orders. “Okay, presenting contestant number one, Kyle Broflovski! No, wait. What are you doing?” she barked before Kyle had even taken two steps on the makeshift stage.

   “I'm walking.”

   “You need to smile as soon as you step on stage! Start again.”

Sighing, Kyle obliged. “Remember to spot your judges. Wait, why are you looking at the floor?”

   “I'm looking for the X.”

   “Don't look at the floor; you need to be looking at the judges!”

   “How am I supposed to see the X?”

   “You can still look at it; just don't look directly at it. Look out of the corner of your eye. Do it again. Spot your judges. Good! Okay, now go over to your second X. Quickly, quickly! Pause for a moment. Now down the runway. Stop right there. Good! Turn around. No, slower! Do it again. Slowly, smoothly, slowly, smoothly”

   “How do I turn smoothly?” Kyle was beginning to get frustrated.

   “Cross your right foot over your left and turn on the balls of your feet. Nicely! Now strike a pose. Well, don't just stand there. I know; blow the judges a kiss!”

   “What?” Kyle pulled a face.

   “Blow them a kiss.”

   “Ma, I'm not blowing the judges a kiss.”

   “Well, you have to do something – unless you'd rather wink at them?” she suggested and Kyle balked.

   “All right, I'll blow them a kiss,” the boy relented and Sheila smiled.

   “Okay, now, back up the runway,” she ordered, “back to the second X and pause. Pause! Turn around to face your judges. Smile, smile. Okay, now over to your fourth X. That's it. Turn around again. Slower, smoother. Good! Now put your hands on your hips, turn to the left and look back over at the judges and smile.. good. Wave and then walk off the stage. Whew!” Sheila flopped into her chair. “That was good for a first try,” she said as Kyle approached her. “There is a time limit; you only have a minute and a half to do that on stage.”

   “How'd you know all this?”

   “I called up the organiser, because I wasn't too sure. So we need to get it right.”

   “Does it really matter? I mean, it's just a beauty pageant.”

   “Well, of course it matters, Kyle!” Sheila straightened up. “Don't you want to win? It wasn't cheap to enter you in this, and I want you to do well. I only want what's best for you, bubbe.”

   “I know you do, Ma.”

   “Good. Now let's do it again, and this time, smile the whole way through,” she reminded him as Kyle walked back over to the 'stage.'

   “But it hurts my face after a while,” he complained.

   “Practise makes perfect, bubbe.”

Every day the following week, as soon as Kyle returned from school and had finished his homework, Sheila took him into the garage where she put him through his paces, practising his walks, his poses, his smile, all with music. Kyle had to practise for at least an hour everyday, or until Sheila deemed his performance okay.

She was a woman on a mission; determined for her son to win so it could be proven that he was indeed a very good-looking child, and the only way Kyle would win would be to know what was expected of him and to surpass that. With all his practising, Sheila didn't see how Kyle could not win.

She had already picked out his clothes; for formal wear, Kyle would wear his Sunday suit. For casual wear, he was going to wear black slacks and a white dress shirt (for this, Kyle would roll up his shirt sleeves in an effort to appear more casual and relaxed; Sheila thought it was sweet and she knew the judges would agree), and for his talent, Kyle would demonstrate his basketball skills and would wear his school basketball uniform.

Kyle didn't bother even trying to fight his mother as she made him practise his walks and talent routine over and over again. She did want what was best for him, after all, and it was only for this one pageant.

A few weeks later, on a Friday afternoon, they were in the car, costumes stored carefully in the boot, on their way to Denver; the two-day competition was to be held the following day. Gerald was staying at home to look after Ike.

   “Ma?” asked Kyle from the back seat. “Why are we going today if the pageant is tomorrow?” He had barely stepped through the front door as he returned from school before Sheila had bundled him into the car.

   “To get in some practise on the stage, and also we'll need to be up early to fix your hair.”

   “Can't we just leave it the way it is?”

   “Definitely not.”

Kyle did not press the subject and instead stared out of the window until they arrived at the hotel an hour later where the pageant was being held. Kyle saw a large poster promoting the pageant just outside of the doors.

It was a fairly nice hotel, Kyle thought, looking up at the white brick building as he followed his mother through the foyer as she carried the suitcases. The floors were nicely carpeted, a large table was in the centre with a vase of flowers and some magazines resting on it, surrounded by squashy chairs. A few sofas rested along the walls and the receptionist was seated behind a mahogany desk.

There were dozens of parents laden down with luggage with lots of little girls and a few little boys queueing up to sign in, and Sheila and Kyle got in line. Many of the mothers were laden down with suitcases. Some of the children were running around the lobby, squealing with laughter, a few of them with their hair already in rollers.

When they had finally registered, the two Broflovskis made their way up to their hotel room. It was a decent sized room with bare creamy walls, two single beds decorated in garish floral bedspreads, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a small cabinet with a little television on it. A door to their immediate right opened into a bathroom. As Sheila unpacked and hung Kyle's clothes up, Kyle went over to the window and examined the view; the hotel car park and the motorway beyond that.

   “Shall we go see where the pageant is being held?” suggested Sheila, having carefully hung up Kyle's clothing in the wardrobe.

   “Sure,” Kyle agreed and they headed downstairs from their room on the fourth floor. When they reached the foyer, they followed the mothers and their children to a large, airy ballroom, the doors of which were plastered with posters and flyers advertising second hand pageant clothes, spray tan services, seamstresses and the like.

There was a stage erected at one end of the room, upon which one little girl was already practising under the watchful eye of her mother.

There were around sixty folding chairs facing the stage, where other participants were sitting, waiting for their turn.

Kyle and Sheila waited patiently as child after child had their turn on the stage. Kyle only wanted to wait until everyone was gone, or at least until a few boys had gone up there; so far, there had been only girls.

After the girls had successfully completed their routine, they and their parents left the room, to Kyle's relief, although a few stayed to check out the opposing competition.

When everybody else had had their turn, Kyle reluctantly made his way to the stage and ran through his beauty walk while Sheila watched carefully. The runway was a lot longer than he expected it to be. There was a glittering board with the words “Little Miss and Mini Mr Colorado 2018” on it resting on the back wall, made from a curtain where the contestants would enter from the side, with more curtains either side of the stage, blocking the back room from view.

   “Remember to take your time,” she reminded and Kyle nodded, concentrating on turning smoothly. When he had finished, they went back to their room to get some sleep, even though it was only eight p.m.; Sheila said they that would need to be refreshed for the competition.

Kyle lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, dreading the following day. It wasn't stage fright that was bothering him; it was the fact that he was going to have to have complete strangers judge him on his looks. Kyle had always hated the concept of beauty pageants and now that he was competing in one, he hated them even more.

The boy tried to console himself that by Monday, it would all be over and done with and he would never have to do another one.

Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 2

Extremely early the next morning, both Sheila and Kyle were awake, with Sheila attempting to tame her son's wild curls. She had already used copious amounts of gel and water, but no matter what she did, she couldn't get his hair to flatten.

   “I think it'd be all right if I just went up like this,” Kyle suggested, tired of being pulled to and fro.

   “Nonsense, bubbe; we need to have you looking like we actually put some effort in,” Sheila grunted, pulling the comb through Kyle's hair.

Eventually, she managed to smooth and straighten the curly locks and had arranged it into a coiffed style. “There!” she grinned triumphantly, fixing the hair into place with what appeared to be an entire can of hairspray.

They arrived at the ballroom in good time and Kyle, now wearing his pristine suit, looked around as his mother steered him through the room. The emcee was playing pop music and encouraging people to dance while they waited for the pageant to begin.

   “You have a line-up with your group before you go on stage,” Sheila told him. “You just walk on in order, smile for a bit and then walk back off. There are three other boys in your age group, and you'll go on in numerical order.”

Kyle looked down at the card that was attached to his right jacket pocket; a large '3' was emblazoned on it.

There were children of all ages and both genders, but mostly little girls in their perfect outfits scattered throughout the room, along with their parents.

Kyle and Sheila took a seat at the back and watched silently as the pageant began and progressed. The first round of competition was the beauty or 'formal wear' round. The contestants would simply model their best dress or tux on the stage, being sure to turn on the correct places and smile at the judges.

The children competed in age order, so the babies had their turn first, their mothers carrying them on stage to show them off as the emcee described the children to the judges, two men and two women who were sitting at a table at the end of the catwalk. First the boys age group went up and then the girls.

   “Lacey has golden blonde hair and big blue eyes,” said the emcee as the eight-month-old was paraded around on stage in a pink frilly dress by her beaming mother. “She enjoys sleeping and playing with her mommy. Her ambition... is to grow up.”

After all of the baby girls and boys were finished, the pageant then moved on the three-to-four age group; this was the age where the children were expected to go on stage by themselves, model and show a bit of their personality. There were no boys in this category. The little girls glided down the runway in their glittering, glitzy dresses as their mothers stood behind the judges' table, cheering them on and guiding them in what to do next. After every contestant, Kyle and his mother applauded politely.

As the five-to-six year olds battled it out, Kyle yawned and rested his head in his hands. He was so bored; how could anyone enjoy this?

As soon as a contestant had finished on stage, they were immediately whisked off to change clothes for the next category. By the the time the seven-to-nine year old group – Kyle's age group - was getting ready, the mothers of the baby contestants had returned, their children in a completely different outfit.

Sheila took Kyle backstage to the boys area where four other little boys were waiting.

   “Remember to keep your head up and smile,” she instructed. “Good luck, bubbe,” she and the other mothers then left to watch their children compete.

   “Is this your first one?” a perfectly coiffed little boy asked Kyle. He was quite tanned with deep blue eyes and golden hair.

   “Yeah; my mom wanted me to do it,” Kyle admitted.

   “Does she want you to win?”

   “.. Yeah.”

   “All our moms' want us to win. Everyone gets a trophy,” he added after a while, somewhat bitterly.

   “Really? Good, then that means this is the only pageant I'll do. No offence,” Kyle added, but the boy shook his head.

   “Everyone gets a prize, but everyone wants to win first place. You probably won't; you're a newbie.”

   “I might.”

   “Yeah, maybe.” The boy didn't look convinced, though.

   “Either way, it'll be my last one; if I win first place, then we're done. If I don't, then I'll still have won something and then I'll tell her I don't want to do it any more.”

The boy was staring at him pityingly. “If you win a smaller prize, you're gonna keep comin' back until you win first place. If you win first place, you're gonna keep comin' back to maintain your title.” There was an air of finality in his voice. Kyle was horrified, but he had no time to dwell because the boys were moving toward the stage. Quickly getting in line, Kyle climbed the steps onto the stage and followed the other contestants as they lined up in the centre of the stage. Unsure of what to do, Kyle followed the other boys lead and smiled at the audience until the emcee thanked them, which was their cue to leave.

Sheila had been stood behind the judges table during the line-up, observing her son, and had caught a few glimpses of their conversation.

   “Nice hair colour on the redhead.”

Sheila knew they were talking about Kyle because he was the only redhead in his group.

   “A bit pale, though.”

Sheila was already making plans to tan Kyle when one of the other judges piped up.

   “Yeah, but it works. With his hair colour, he wouldn't look good tanned.”

Sheila grinned, moving away as the first boy in Kyle's line-up was announced and he stepped on stage.

As the first and second boys had their turns on stage, Kyle waited next to the steps, wondering what his mother would do if he just walked out. He really didn't want to do this. Before he had the chance, his name was called and Kyle stepped onto the stage, hitching his smile into place.

Kyle walked over to his first X and faced the audience, smiling awkwardly, barely remembering to keep his head up. He remembered what Sheila had said about spotting the judges and making eye contact with them, but the lights were so bright, not to mention the constant flashing of the photographer's flashbulb camera, he couldn't see anybody, so he just aimed a smile at where he supposed they were. He felt incredibly silly and self-conscious on stage, and it showed; Sheila was watching him and frowning. Kyle's smile kept slipping, he wasn't showing his personality, his walk was either too fast or too slow and he didn't make eye contact with the judges.

   “Kyle has red hair and green eyes,” announced the emcee as Kyle continued his routine, and made his way down the catwalk, reading off Kyle's entry form. “His hobbies include: playing with his friends, reading and helping to take care of his little brother.”

They weren't really hobbies, Kyle thought, completing a turn and almost tripping over his own feet; his hobbies would include playing video games and watching “Terrence and Phillip.” Of course, Sheila wanted to make him look good. “With an ambition to be a basketball player, this is Kyle Broflovski. Thank you, Kyle!”

The boy walked off stage to the sound of applause, blinking the lights out of his eyes. Sheila appeared in front of him and lead him back to his seat.

   “You did okay,” she said as they walked through the ballroom. “You needed to smile more and show a bit more personality, and for goodness sake, make sure you look at the judges and turn properly!”

Kyle said nothing as he sat back down to watch the rest of his group compete. The other kids were a lot more poised and polished than him, he noted.

He couldn't help wishing he'd brought a book or a console or something to keep himself entertained. Watching the other children do their routines, Kyle zoned out, attempting to sleep with his eyes open.

After a few moments, Sheila and Kyle left the room and made their way back to the hotel room; for them, the pageant was over for the day. Tomorrow, Kyle would compete in the talent and casual wear categories and then the crowning ceremony would be held tomorrow evening.

Kyle remained silent as they entered their hotel room and immediately changed into his pyjamas and he shoved his ushanka over his hated coif. He felt quite tired and flopped onto his bed, falling asleep not long after, while Sheila hung up his suit; Kyle would wear it tomorrow evening for the crowning ceremony. She really believed he could win, she knew he would win something. Okay, Kyle was an amateur; it was obvious on stage that he wasn't polished as the rest of the contestants. As he was a boy, it wasn't that noticeable; with the girls, their hand, arm and foot placements had to be on point every time. With the boys, it wasn't that strict; they didn't have to hold their arms out just so, or have one foot placed perfectly in front of the other, it was more relaxed, but they still had to be smooth and poised.

Kyle wasn't that poised yet, especially compared to the rest of his age group, but Sheila hoped that the judges would look past that and judge him on his smile and his beauty.

Even though it was only 4:00pm, Sheila climbed into her own bed, and fell asleep, needing to get some rest before the rest of the competition.

The next morning, both Sheila and Kyle were awake, though not as early as they had been the previous day. Kyle's hair didn't need to be styled as much; as he had slept with his hat on, his hair had mostly stayed in place all night.

The first category that Kyle was going to compete in that day was casual wear. He was wearing his white dress shirt, his black slacks and his black dress shoes.

As they were a bit more familiar with the line up of events, Sheila and Kyle didn't go down to the ballroom, until the girls of Kyle's age group were competing; it meant that they didn't have to wait around so much.

Watching the little girls model their 'casual' clothes, Kyle again felt bored, but he had nothing to occupy himself with; the suitcases were full of clothes, toiletries and pageant entry forms. When he had arrived home after school on Friday, he had left his backpack on the floor in the living-room, so he couldn't even do his homework.

Before the pageant started that day, the judges reviewed several photographs of each contestant, marking them out of ten for the photogenic category. Sheila had sent them a few photos of Kyle with his entry form. The scoring from all of the categories was kept secret until the crowning ceremony which was to be held later on in the evening.

All too soon, it was time for Kyle's group line-up and Sheila led him backstage again, reminding him to keep his head up and to smile.

Just as before, Kyle lined up with the other boys in numerical order; one of them, a slightly tanned boy with dark brown hair, was dressed similarly to him, another was wearing, high-end exquisitely tailored dungarees, while the last one was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and tan shorts. During their line-up, Kyle tried to look at the judges, but had still not gotten used to the bright lights.

When it was Kyle's turn to go on stage, he smiled after stepping on, as usual. The emcee, Mr. Smith, narrated all of the contestant's routines as they were performed.

Kyle focused on keeping his smile in place and trying not to trip over his own feet as he made his way over to his second X. As instructed, he placed one hand on his hip and tilted his head, trying not to look as awkward as he felt, smiling widely, before walking down the catwalk.

Once he reached the end, Kyle turned somewhat clumsily on the spot while rolling his sleeves up to his elbows and he looked down at them, making sure that they weren't going to fall down.

Head snapping up, Kyle quickly began to walk up the catwalk, but he remembered he wasn't supposed to yet, so he stopped. He placed both hands on his hips before turning around again and then he started to walk back up the runway. Realising that he was no longer smiling, Kyle aimed a grin in the general direction of the audience before making his way over to his fourth X. He turned again, even though his face was beginning to twitch with the effort of smiling, the host thanked him and Kyle hurriedly stepped off stage. As usual, Sheila was waiting for him.

   “What was that?” she chastised, taking Kyle's hand and leading him out of the ballroom. “You barely smiled, you almost forgot your second turn and you didn't even look at the judges!”

   “I can't see them, Ma.”

   “I've told you where they are. I don't understand; you did just fine practising at home, but here it's like your putting in no effort at all.”

   “I feel silly on stage.”

   “Oh, nonsense! You looked wonderful up there!”

When they arrived at their hotel room, Kyle changed into his talent wear outfit; his white school vest and shorts, lined with orange, with matching trainers. A matching sweatband wrapped around his forehead and he carried a basketball under his left arm. Sheila straightened out his clothes before they made their way back downstairs.

After his group line-up, Kyle waited backstage for his name to be called. Two of the other boys sang, one danced, and the other sang and danced.

Even though he loved basketball and was very talented at the sport, he still didn't want to do this. He looked up at the boy on stage, and then looked down at himself. He didn't belong here.

Kyle didn't have much time to dwell on his thoughts, for his name was called and he stepped onto the stage as the song “Get Ready for This” by 2 Unlimited blared through the speakers. A basketball hoop was erected at one end of the stage.

Kyle paused on his first X, smiling at the judges. He then began to bounce the ball, swinging his legs over it, bending down and then standing back up again and the crowd cheered appreciatively.

Kyle then demonstrated a trick he had learnt at school in which he would stand on the spot and dribble the ball around his body, using only his arms to keep the ball moving; the coach had named the trick “Around the World.”

Kyle dribbled the ball over to his second X, where he turned and looked at the audience. He took a step back, leaning on his left foot, and spun the ball on his finger, and the crowd whooped. The ball didn't spin for as long as it was supposed to and Kyle very nearly dropped it.

The time limit for talent was two minutes and Kyle had already used half of his, so he went over to the fourth X, where the basketball hoop was and spun the ball on his finger again. It had taken him ages to learn how to do it and it was something he'd been meaning to learn for a while. The ball span for longer this time and Kyle grinned in relief.

Kyle then did a few set shots and jump shots, securing the ball in the net every single time. Catching the ball one final time, he turned to face the audience as instructed, panting slightly.

   “Give it up for Kyle Broflovski! Thank you, Kyle,” encouraged Mr. Smith as Kyle stepped off stage, still panting.

   “You did good,” she told him, enough praise in her voice to make Kyle grin in genuine delight. “Come on, we've got to get you changed.”

   “But I thought that was it.”

   “It is,” said Sheila as they marched through the ballroom. “Crowning takes place later on, and you can't be wearing that, can you?”

At 7:00pm, Kyle and Sheila were back in the ballroom, waiting for the crowning ceremony to begin. Kyle was back in his tux and was sitting next to his mother, not really paying attention until he heard the emcee calling for his group to line up on the stage and Sheila was already ushering him forward. Usually, the boys would be crowned first according to their age groups, as it took less time than the girls', for they had more categories, more contestants, and therefore more awards.

As Kyle made his way backstage, a small blue and gold hand held trophy was pressed into his hands. Looking around, he saw that every other boy had one as well, and he supposed it was a participation award. He had always thought the idea of participation awards were ridiculous and had more than once referred to them as “pussy awards”; getting a trophy just for taking part wasn't a real award in Kyle's eyes. You either won or you didn't.

As the boys lined up on stage, Mr. Smith waited for silence before he revealed the titles.

   “Ladies and gentlemen, first we will announce the optionals for the seven-to-nine boys group...”

Kyle held onto his trophy and looked over at the emcee. “Your Best Dressed is... Joseph Lake!”

The coiffed, tanned blonde whom Kyle had briefly spoken with stepped forward to the sound of applause as he was presented with a black and gold plaque. He then stepped back into the line. “Your Most Photogenic is... Kyle Broflovski!”

Following Joseph's lead, Kyle stepped forward and was also presented with a plaque, almost dropping it as it was heavier than he expected.

When he was back in line, Mr. Smith announced the last of the optional titles, “your Best Personality is... Simon Hart!”

Kyle hadn't seen Simon compete as he was fourth in the line up and they had always left after Kyle had competed. “Okay, your second runner up is... Tommy Jameson!”

Tommy stepped forward and a medal was placed around his neck. “Your first runner up is... Joseph Lake!”

Joseph was also presented with a medal, but the title of “Mini Mr Colorado” went to Simon Hart, and he received a small crown and a sash.

Kyle stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do. When Mr. Smith beckoned them off stage, Kyle couldn't leave quick enough. He made his way back over to his mother and handed her the trophy and the plaque. Simon was still on stage, posing for photos, as all the winners did. It was only 7:15.

   “You tired, bubbe?” Sheila asked and Kyle nodded silently, feeling that it was better to agree than tell her the truth. “How about we go upstairs, pack, and then we can sign out and go home?”

Kyle nodded again.

   “How did I do?” he asked once they were in their hotel room. He was wearing his usual orange coat and green trousers and his hat. His plaque was resting on his knees and he was reading it. “Little Miss and Mini Mr Colorado 2018 Boys 7 – 9 Divisional Photogenic,” was inscribed in black on the gold cover. He didn't feel like he had accomplished anything.

   “You did okay. The other kids are trained; you're not.”

Kyle nodded again, accepting the truth and placed the plaque in his mother's suitcase as she finished packing.

It took them a while to sign out of the hotel; most of the other mothers had had the same idea, but they managed to be on the road at 8:00pm, with Kyle wondering what he was going to say to Stan when he saw him tomorrow. Eventually, he decided that he wouldn't say anything; there was no point, he was never going to do another pageant, and Kyle would never mention this weekend if he could help it.

   "Well, that was fun, wasn't it, bubbe?" asked Sheila as they drove down the motorway. Kyle's trophy were resting on the seat next to her. Kyle didn't answer. "How would you feel about doing another one?"

   "No, thanks," said Kyle from the back seat.

   "Why not?"

   "I didn't really enjoy it." Kyle hesitated before answering.

   "Well, it was only your first one. Think of this as a practice run."

   "Ma, I don't wanna do any more."

   "I think you should; this is a great opportunity for you."

   "But you said I only had to do one and if I didn't like it, then we could stop!"

   "But you enjoyed it." Sheila cut him off before he could protest. "If you didn't like doing it, you wouldn't have won anything."

   "But everyone gets a prize." Kyle told her.

   "Yes, but you won two prizes, didn't you? I think you enjoyed it more than you're letting on."

Kyle didn't answer her and remained silent for the rest of the drive.

They arrived home an hour later when night had truly fallen. Gerald was watching his sports and Ike was asleep in bed. After he had greeted his wife and child, Kyle sat with him for a while as Sheila placed the trophy on the mantelpiece and proudly rested the plaque next to it. Tomorrow, she would hang the plaque up.

   “So, how was it?” Gerald asked his son while Sheila took the suitcases upstairs. He didn't really approve of pageants, especially when his own child was concerned.

   “It was all right. I won a prize.” Kyle shrugged and gestured to the trophy and plaque.

   “Just all right?”

   “It was really boring,” Kyle admitted. “Most of it was just sitting around. Mom wanted me to do another one, but I told her no.”

   “Good. Well, it's getting late; you better get on up to bed.”

Kyle agreed and hopped down off of the sofa and upstairs to the bathroom. The weekend had been one of the most surreal experience of his life. Of course, living in a place like South Park, he had had a lot of surreal experiences, but this had to be in his top ten. Never had he thought that he would compete in a beauty pageant, but he had, and he had no desire to do it again.

The next morning, Kyle was waiting at the bus stop when Stan approached him.

   “Hey, dude, where were you all weekend? I kept trying to call.”

As much as Kyle didn't want to lie to his super best friend, he did. There was that small chance that Stan might, just might, laugh at him. “Oh, we had to go to this thing in Denver,” it was half the truth, the boy thought.

   “What thing?”

   “My dad had this lawyer thing – a conference or something like that – and we all went with him.” Thankfully, Stan seemed to accept this and did not push the subject.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Kenny and Cartman.

   “'Sup, assholes?” greeted Cartman in his usual fashion and was promptly ignored.

On the bus to school, Stan filled Kyle in on what he had missed over the weekend; not much – Wendy and Bebe had fallen out again, over shoes or something this time but had made up on Sunday, and Shelley was being a real pain to Stan, due to her getting her braces tightened again. Oh, and the town had been completely destroyed by a protester who had wanted to blow up the mall, but had grossly miscalculated his dynamite usage. You know, the usual.

Throughout this, Cartman kept interjecting that the reason Kyle had gone for the weekend was because he and his family were out digging for gold.

Kyle did his best to ignore his fat frenemy; he would rather let Cartman think that than find out what he had really gotten up to at the weekend.

Kyle had a blissful, ordinary two weeks in South Park. Well, about as ordinary as South Park could get; there was the start of a riot; thankfully it had been stopped before it had properly started, but no-one was too sure what had caused it; just that another episode of “Family Guy” had aired, and then the townspeople were up in arms about it. It all seemed to have been completely forgotten about by the next day. But, that was just what they did; when all was said and done, the residents of the town were content to just go about their lives as though nothing had happened. Just another day in South Park.

Cartman had again been out fighting crime as his alter-ego “The Coon;” however, as there was little in the way of real crime to fight, he started giving villainous back stories to random strangers and using them as excuses for his 'vigilante justice.' That had earned him a grounding; not that Liane followed through with it, and the Coon was back on the streets the next day.

However, one afternoon, Kyle returned home from school to find Sheila waiting for him.

   “Hi, Mom,” he greeted as he stepped through the door.

   “Hi, bubbe. It's time to get practising.”

Kyle froze. “For what?”

   “For the pageant. I've entered you in the Little Miss Colorado pageant – don't worry, it's for boys, as well,” she added, misreading the look on Kyle's face.

   “Ma, no!”

   “What's wrong? I did this because I thought that you would enjoy it. I think you did enjoy it.”

   “You said I only had to do one!”

   “I told you, that didn't really count; it was more of a practise one. This will be the real thing, and if you win an Overall or an Optional prize, you get your fee paid to the State pageant.”

Kyle didn't understand half of what she said, but he knew that he didn't want to compete again. “You said I only had to do one, and if I didn't like it, we wouldn't do any more. I didn't like it,” he repeated, hoping she would listen.

   “What? I didn't say that.”

Kyle stared at her. “Yes, you did. That's what you said when you entered me in the first one.”

   “Well, I'm sorry, but I don't remember saying that. Now, let's get practising.”

   “Mom, I don't want -”

   “You will do as I say, Kyle!” she snapped and, of course, Kyle immediately hopped to attention.

The boy soon found himself back in the garage, practising his routines. This pageant had the same system as the previous one, with beauty wear, talent and casual wear. Again, Sheila had entered Kyle in all of the optional categories, to further improve his chance of winning.

   “Keep the head up!” Sheila reminded him, watching her son like a hawk as he practised his beauty walk. “This is a preliminary pageant; if you win, you go onto the State finals!”

Kyle kept quiet as he ran through his routines over and over again. He knew he wouldn't win, he just knew, but he carried on practising to make his mother happy. He did love his mother, and he enjoyed it when she spent time with him, instead of protesting for him, which usually led to her being so caught up in what she was doing that she ended up ignoring him. Kyle was trying to think of another activity that they both enjoyed and they could do together, but he couldn't think of any. He decided to wait until Sheila's little pageant obsession had died down before asking her.

Sheila worked tirelessly to prepare Kyle for the pageant. Just as before, every day after school, Kyle would practise in the garage while she scrutinised him, wanting everything perfect. She had purchased the official footage of Kyle's performances and scrutinized the DVD along with her uninterested son.

“See what you did there?” she pointed to the screen as Kyle watched himself stumble as he turned. “You didn't turn properly. And, there, see, you didn't look at the judges, and you've got to smile the whole time you're on stage.”

Gerald kept quiet about the whole deal; like Kyle, he thought that the novelty would soon wear off, and once it did, it would be easier to reason with Sheila.

A few weeks later, on a Friday afternoon, both Sheila and Kyle were in the car on their way back to Denver to compete in the Little Miss Colorado pageant. Kyle had planned ahead and had his homework, his phone, and some books with him, so he wouldn't be bored this time.

However, when they arrived, Sheila stayed downstairs after signing into the hotel and mingled with the other pageant parents. What she was hoping for, Kyle didn't know, and he buried his head in his phone, playing one of his “Terrence and Phillip” games.

They were in the ballroom where the pageant was to be held the following day, and the room was full of parents and children, some of them running around and playing with friends. One little girl was already practising on the stage, which was decorated in the same manner as the previous one. The air was filled with shrieks, whoops, giggles and chatter.

Sheila was engrossed in conversation with a lady who had a six-year-old daughter in the competition, and they were sat together chatting as they waited for a chance for their kids to practise on the stage.

Kyle didn't speak to anyone, however; he absorbed himself with his game, concentrating hard as it was a new one. He didn't want to be there, but he was going to have to compete and there was nothing he could do about it.

Just as before, Sheila and Kyle had an early night and they were up frightfully early the next morning because Sheila had to fix Kyle's hair.

Kyle was extremely grateful not to be a girl at that point in time; if he was, preparation would take three times as long. At least he didn't have to wear a hairpiece, or fake nails, and eyelashes, or get spray tanned.

Kyle's hair seemed reluctant to take part in the pageant as well, for Sheila simply could not get the brush through it, even after she dampened it with water, her son's curls did not want to lie flat.

As a result, Kyle had to make do with a sort of curled coif, due to Sheila's many re-stylings.

   “We'll just have to leave it like that,” she said, not looking very happy about it, applying some more hairspray onto Kyle's head. “Come on, or we'll be late,” and they both made their way down to the ballroom. Dressed in his tux, Kyle sat down next to his mother and pulled out his phone, turning the sound right down, as they waited for the pageant to begin.

The atmosphere seemed friendly enough, Kyle thought, pausing his game and observing. There were no wary parents looking for the competition, no attempts at sabotage, or arguments about who was going to win. Most of the little girls seemed to be friends with each other, as did the parents.

All too soon, it was time for Kyle to line up on stage with his age group. There were only two other boys in his group this time, and Kyle was the first in the line-up.

When his name was called, Kyle stepped on stage to the sound of polite applause. He had a better idea of what he was doing now, but he still felt self-conscious on stage and it showed. He hardly smiled and when he did, it wasn't genuine; he still hadn't perfected his walk or his turns, and he didn't look at the judges.

   “What was that?” Sheila criticized the moment Kyle stepped off stage. “You really need to start putting some effort into this. You're lucky this is only a preliminary; this won't wash at a State pageant!”

Kyle, knowing that arguing was pointless, remained silent as they headed back to their hotel room to get ready for the next event.

As it was a preliminary pageant, there was a rather large number of contestants; the preliminary competition was to whittle down participants for the State pageant. Given the frightfully low number of boys in his age group, the possibility of Kyle winning and competing in the State pageant seemed more than likely. But then the boy remembered his unpolished performance and it seemed very likely that he would go home.

The next category was Casual Wear and Kyle was dressed in his shirt and trousers again. Just as before, he was clumsy and awkward on stage and he still couldn't keep his smile in place. Even though he had been practising smiling, he still was unable to hold it in place for more than thirty seconds. Once again, Sheila was unimpressed with his performance, but Kyle only wanted to get the pageant over with.

Kyle's last category was the Talent category, which was to be held in the afternoon, with crowning taking place in the evening. His unique talent routine raised Sheila's hopes that Kyle would be scored particularly high, therefore helping to make him eligible for the State pageant. Of course, she knew he would be scored highly in the Photogenic category; how could he not be? Sheila had used a photo of Kyle sitting at a table, his head resting in his hand and another one of Kyle's latest school photo, wild curls and all. The two photos were contrasting; one posed, one unposed, and Sheila thought that these particular photos let her son's natural charm shine through. She had used these photos for their previous pageant and Kyle had won Photogenic. Sheila couldn't imagine how he could not win this time.

Just as before, Kyle's Talent routine went much better than his Beauty and Casual Wear routines. This was the only part that he truly enjoyed, because he loved playing basketball. The audience clapped and cheered as Kyle spun the ball on his finger and secured the ball in the net every time. The other two boys both sang, so Kyle really stood out.

Sheila was pleased with Kyle's performance; it was his best so far, but there was still room for improvement; Kyle could stand to show a little more personality and make more eye contact with the judges, and she said this to her son the moment he stepped off stage. Kyle remained silent, biting his lip to keep from speaking out.

After Kyle had changed out of his basketball uniform, he and Sheila headed back down to the ballroom to watch the rest of the pageant. Well, Sheila did; Kyle had brought down his homework and his phone, and he did his homework first. Maths, English, and a spelling test were what he had to complete and he finished them all in no time at all.

By the time he was finished, the pageant was still going strong, so Kyle, bored, switched on his phone and began to play.

The competition was finally over a few hours later, and after getting changed, the contestants all headed down to the outside pool, Kyle and Sheila included. Well, Kyle didn't know the hotel had a pool, so he hadn't brought his bathing suit, as had Sheila, so instead they (meaning Sheila) conversed with the competitors.

Kyle wouldn't have gone in the pool anyway; who knew the last time it was cleaned, not to mention the fact that people peed in there; along with that, Kyle pictured the makeup and the fake tan washing off and dyeing the water, and he physically cringed. You couldn't pay him to step in a public pool.

   “Your son has a very unique talent act,” one mother praised Sheila, who grinned.

   “Thank you. Your daughter is a wonderful dancer,” she returned the compliment; remembering the ten-year-old's energetic hip-hop dance routine.

   “Oh, thank you so much. Is this your first pageant?”

   “No, our second.”

   “Ah. Little Hannah's been competing for seven years now.”

   “Wow. I wish I'd started Kyle earlier,” Sheila admitted. Kyle wasn't listening to the conversation for he was talking with the other boys in his age group. Just as he had felt earlier, it was a very friendly and relaxed atmosphere. The competitors seemed genuinely interested in one another, compliments on the others' performances were sincere and it seemed that there were no enemies, only friends.

Kyle had to admit that his whole perspective on the pageant scene was slowly changing; he had always imagined them to be horribly cut-throat affairs, with none of the parents talking to each other for fear of giving away secrets and tips, contestants determined to outdo one another and the children not wanting to compete in any way, shape or form. As far as Kyle could see, the only person that didn't want to compete in the pageant was he himself.

Back inside the hotel ballroom, Kyle was wearing his tux as the crowning ceremony commenced. The youngest age category for the pageant was the three-to-five age group. Kyle was in the next group up, six-to-eight and all too soon, his group was called up on stage.

   “Ladies and gentlemen, we will first announce the winners of our Optional prizes for the boys category six-to-eight,” announced the emcee, a middle aged blonde woman by the name of Miss Waring. “Your Best Dressed goes to... Nathan Swanson!”

Nathan, a dark haired little boy stepped forward and was presented with a medallion. “Your Best Smile is... David Smith!”

David, however, was given a plaque and a customised sash was draped over his shoulder. The boy's brown eyes gleamed with delight from underneath his sandy hair. “And your Most Photogenic is... Kyle Broflovski!”

Following Nathan and David's lead, Kyle stepped forward and was presented with a plaque almost identical to the other one he had received and a sash was also placed over his shoulder. Looking out into the audience, Kyle spotted his mother; she pointed to her cheeks and smiled, indicating that Kyle should do the same and he did. He paused while the camera flashed and then he stepped back into line.

“And now for your Divisional Personality... Nathan Swanson!”

Nathan stepped forward again and was presented with a sash and a trophy. “Your Divisional Talent winner is Kyle Broflovski!”

Kyle froze before stepping forward; he hadn't expected that. Another sash was placed over the one he was already wearing and he was given a twelve-inch-high white and gold trophy adorned with jewels with three golden stars on the top, each one bigger than the one beneath it, and he struggled to balance both his heavy plaque and his trophy for a moment. Again, he hurriedly smiled for the camera, before stepping back, blinking the lights out of his eyes.

David won “King,” and was awarded a crown and trophy. “And your, King, David Smith! Remember, all of our Division winners will have their fee to the State pageant paid! Give it up for your six-to-eight boys! Great job, guys!”

Kyle struggled off stage due to his two long sashes and made his way over to his mother.

   “I can't believe you won your talent!” she beamed as Kyle removed his banners. “Do you even know what that means? Your entry fee to the State pageant will be paid!”

   “And what's the State pageant?” asked Kyle warily.

   “A bigger version of this one. The standards are higher, so we've really got to knuckle down and practise.”

Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 3

A few weeks later, Sheila and Kyle were on their way to compete in the Little Miss Colorado State Pageant 2018. His sashes, plaques and trophies were carefully displayed on and around the living-room mantel, along with framed official photographs of Kyle winning his Photogenic and Talent awards. Like the two previous competitions they had entered, this pageant was held in a hotel ballroom in Denver.

Ever since they arrived home from the preliminary pageant, Sheila had put Kyle through his paces once more, constantly scrutinizing him. Every day after school and on the weekends, he was forced to practise, his mother working him constantly.

Kyle hadn't mentioned a word of this to Stan, instead telling his best friend that he had been sick, or that he and Ike had had to accompany their parents somewhere, and fortunately, Stan believed him. Kyle truly believed that he would be competing in pageants for only a little while longer, so why bother telling his super best friend how he was made to prance around on stage, earning points for the way he looked? When the pageant scene was over and done with, Kyle might let Stan know what he had been up to, but as he found the entire process humiliating, he decided that it was easier to keep quiet.

His only problem were that his awards were proudly and prominently displayed in the living-room; as soon as one entered the room, they were incredibly hard to miss. Stan would know what he had been doing. The boy supposed it wouldn't matter that much; he and Stan were super best friends; they were supposed to tell each other everything, and as he would no longer be competing after this pageant, Kyle thought there could be no harm in telling Stan, and Stan could be trusted to keep the secret. At least, he hoped so.

One worry erased from his mind, all Kyle had to do now was get through the weekend. Once that was over and done with, he just had to try and convince his mother to put all the trophies in her room, or somewhere else his friends wouldn't see them. He dreaded what Cartman would say if he found out what Kyle had been doing.

After registration, Sheila again, chatted with the other parents. Kyle supposed she didn't want to appear standoffish and wanted to promote good sportsmanship and he followed her lead. There were a lot more boys competing in this pageant, he noticed; most of them seemed to be around his age and younger. There was a air of excitement among the competitors; a bigger pageant meant more prizes to be won.

Before they went to bed that night, Sheila had Kyle run through all of his routines in the ballroom, which was brimming with people, all of them eager to practise.

   “The stage is bigger, so you need to get in some practise on it before tomorrow,” she'd told him.

The next morning was the start of the competition. For the State competition, along with Formal Wear, Interview, Talent, and Photogenic, Kyle was also competing in the “Anything Goes” category, which was themed or costume wear. Kyle was going to dress as the classic Lon Chaney character the Phantom of the Opera; Sheila had chosen this particular costume because Lon Chaney was born in Colorado and she wanted Kyle's costume to represent that. She was sure the judges would appreciate the thought and effort she had put into it.

Kyle's Phantom costume consisted of a white shirt, a red waistcoat with gold buttons, a black jacket, with matching trousers and shoes, and a long black cape with silver lining. He also had the iconic white half-mask, attached to a stick, rather like a masquerade mask, to make it more obvious who he was meant to be.

Sheila had also made a medley of music from the stage musical and had choreographed Kyle's routine.

Kyle's first category was the Formal Wear competition, and he was already in his suit and his hair was in its usual coif. He was the fifth boy in his group line up and once again, was the only redhead. There were six other boys in his age group.

Kyle still didn't shine on the catwalk when it was his turn to do his beauty routine, mainly because he didn't want to be there. Sheila was standing off to the side, frowning slightly; Kyle wasn't showing his personality or smiling enough, but he was looking at the judges more this time.

   “Remember, Kyle,” she told him when he stepped off stage, “show your personality; look like you're actually having fun up there.”

Kyle only nodded, knowing that if he told her he wasn't having fun, she wouldn't listen to him.

The next category was the on-stage interview and Kyle remained in his suit as he and Sheila sat in the ballroom, watching the rest of the competition. Well, Sheila was; Kyle had brought his phone to keep him occupied again.

Seemingly, many hours later, Kyle found himself being led backstage again by his mother.

“Remember what I told you,” she knelt down so they were at eye level. “Speak clearly, be confident and smile. And no 'yes-or-no' answers, okay?”

Kyle merely nodded and Sheila made her way back into the audience and Kyle was called on stage not long after.

The interview round consisted of Kyle sitting in a chair while the emcee sat next to him and asked him questions.

   “Hello, there” the emcee had greeted when Kyle had sat down.

   “Hello, Mr. Smith,” Kyle had replied politely, smiling obediently, noting that it was the same man from the last pageant .

   “Can you please tell the audience your name and how old you are?” Smith held the microphone to Kyle's face. There were a small pile of cue cards in his lap.

   “My name is Kyle Broflovski and I'm eight years old.” He would have felt more comfortable holding the microphone himself, but there was only one and the emcee used it more than Kyle did. This was better than modelling on the stage, Kyle thought; he could focus on the emcee and concentrate on the answers he had been coached to give.

   “And, where do you live, Kyle?”

   “I live in South Park, Colorado.”

   “And what would you say is the best thing about living in South Park?” the emcee asked, reading off of a cue card.

   “It's very peaceful and quiet. Everybody knows each other and I think that's really nice.”

   “That's nice. What is your favourite subject at school?”

   “English, because I like to tell stories.”

Sheila had coached Kyle on what answers to give.

   “Do you think education is important, Kyle?”

   “Yes, because without an education, you won't achieve much, if anything, in life.” Kyle honestly felt that way, and he prided himself on his good grades.

   “Okay. Do you like playing games?”

   “Yes, I do. I like to play all sorts,” Kyle barely remembered to follow up his initial answer.

   “Do you prefer playing outside or inside?”

   “I like both because they both have their advantages; playing indoors is good when it gets cold,” Kyle giggled, just as instructed.

   “Okay, and for our last question, what makes you happy and why?”

   “What makes me happy is making other people happy because it's not easy to make people happy and when I do, I'm quite proud because I like knowing that I made their day a little brighter,” Kyle recited from memory, hearing a few “aah's” from the audience.

   “That's nice,” repeated Mr. Smith. “Okay, thank you, Kyle.”

Kyle hopped down from his chair as the audience applauded. Sheila was waiting for him off stage.

   “That was good,” she praised, walking towards the back of the ballroom with Kyle following. “But you could have made your answers a bit more in-depth.”

   “I just said what you told me to,” Kyle said, as they took their seats.

   “Yes, I know; you still could improvised a little bit, though.”

Again, Kyle said nothing, and continued playing one of his phone games. His age group had finished for the day, and would compete in the Anything Goes and Talent portions of the competition the following day.

When the pageant had finished several hours later, Sheila and Kyle remained in the ballroom. Sheila was again talking with the other parents, while Kyle busied himself with his game, trying to forget where he was.

The next morning, Sheila and Kyle were preparing for the second and last day of the pageant, and Kyle was getting into his Phantom of the Opera costume for the “Anything Goes” category, the first category of the day, followed by the talent portion.

They arrived at the ballroom in time to the the three-to-four year old girls competition under way. There were several Shirley Temples, a few Disney Princesses and at least one Marilyn Monroe. Kyle, again, was playing on his phone, not wanting any part of it.

However, it was soon his turn to line up on stage with the rest of his age group, and then waited backstage for his turn. The other boys in his group were dressed as Elvis, Rocky, Superman, a pirate, a 1920's mobster, complete with Tommy gun and cigar, and a sailor.

Kyle felt somewhat out of place with his long cape and mask, but before he knew it, he was being called onto the stage.

   “Our next contestant in your seven-to-nine year old boys is... Kyle Broflovski!” announced Mr. Smith as Kyle walked over to his first X as his backing music began; one note being pressed repeatedly on a piano. Kyle held his mask up to his face while he held onto his cape, then placed his left arm over his face, so he was almost completely hidden.

When the song's infamous introduction blared out, Kyle threw his left arm out, making his cape fly behind him, and walked over to the second X. Sheila had tried intensely to get Kyle to walk to the beat of the song, but her son's atrocious lack of rhythm made it a problem and she eventually gave up.

Turning to face the audience, Kyle lowered the mask, revealing the right side of his face and grinning. Grabbing his cape again, he turned on the spot, causing it to billow out, bringing the mask up to his face again, and began to walk down the runway.

Gesturing to the judges at crucial parts of the song – especially the female ones – Kyle used his mask to play hide-and-seek. Sheila had told him to pretend that one of the judges was Christine, but Kyle had no idea who Christine was. She had tried to show him the film, but Kyle, not a fan of musicals, quickly lost interest.

Walking back up the catwalk, Kyle paused on his second X and turned around to face the audience; he smiled and reached his left hand out in a gesture of longing. Drawing it back in, Kyle placed his mask back over his face and made his way over to his fourth X. He turned again, making his cape swish, and folded his arms, resting his hands on his shoulders like the classic silent movie character.

Then, just before the song was about to end, Kyle grabbed his cape and threw his arms up in the air, slightly out of synch with the final note of the song, and then pointed his mask towards the ceiling, as if he were going to bring down the chandelier.

   “And that was Kyle Broflovski! Thank you, Kyle!” said Mr. Smith as Kyle walked off stage to the sound of applause.

   “That was all right,” said Sheila as Kyle walked over to her. He waited for the inevitable 'but'. “But you needed to show some more personality and get into the character; the Phantom is a tortured soul.”

Kyle remained silent as they made their way back to their seats.

A few hours later, Kyle was back on stage, competing in the talent portion of the pageant. This was the only segment which he actually put effort into, for he enjoyed basketball and was always up for playing the sport. He finished his routine, sweating and panting slightly, and walked off stage. “You did good,” said Sheila, smiling at him. “How come you do really good here, but you don't in the other categories?”

   “I like basketball better.” Kyle was careful to add the 'better' on the end of his sentence.

   “Well, you should really put the same amount of effort into each category,” Sheila told him. “No matter how much you like basketball.”

The crowning ceremony took place later that evening; all the contestants were in their best clothes and were waiting anxiously for the emcee to start.

Being a State pageant, there were more prizes to award, even for the boys and Kyle sighed quietly, knowing that the process would take even longer than usual, but, soon enough, Kyle found himself back on stage lining up with the rest of his age group.

The Optional Titles were announced: James won the Personality title, Robert won Model, Simon won Most Handsome, Steven won Photogenic, to Sheila's dismay; she was sure that her son would win that title. Kyle won Talent and was presented with a trophy.

   “We will now announce our Prince for the seven-to-nine year old boys. Your 2018 Prince is.. Kyle Broflovski!”

Slightly shocked, Kyle stepped forward and a sash was placed over his shoulder and a golden crown with decorated with red, sparkling jewels was placed on his head. Barely remembering to smile for the cameras, Kyle stepped back into line. “Your Division King is.. James Reed!”

James, a tall blonde with brown eyes, stepped forward and was awarded a sash and a bigger crown.

Cameron won the Mini Grand Mister title; judging by the size of the crown, the prizes were being awarded from from lowest to highest, Kyle realised.

Joseph won the Grand Mister title, and received a large, fancy silver crown, sash and trophy.

   “Your Grand Mister for your 0 – 6 boys is Joseph Grant! Great job, Joseph! Give it up for your seven-to-nine boys, ladies and gentlemen!” encouraged Mr. Smith as Kyle and the rest of the boys left the stage.

Kyle walked over to his mother, removing his sash and crown.

They stayed to watch the rest of the crowning ceremony and Sheila's eyes lit up when the emcee announced the highest title in the entire pageant – The Ultimate Grand Supreme. Winning that meant that you were the best of the best, and a teenage girl won the enormous, glittering crown, along with a customised sash, and trophy.

   “Did you see the size of that Ultimate Grand Supreme crown?” she gushed in the car as she and Kyle drove home. “Amazing, just amazing. Her parents must be so proud.”

It suddenly clicked for Kyle; that was the prize she wanted him to win. The whole reason she began entering him in pageants was to prove that he was good-looking, and Kyle knew, that in her mind, that if he won the Ultimate Grand Supreme, then she would be proven right.

Truthfully, Kyle didn't believe he would ever win that; he would have to be a pageant veteran with years of experience, and that was never going to happen.

Much to Kyle's dismay, he was soon entered in another pageant, and was once again too busy practising to spend time with his friends, despite his protests.

Sheila was hooked; she loved the fact that her son was considered good-looking by complete strangers, and Kyle's plaques and trophies were confirmation of what she knew to be true.

Certainly, the judges seemed to agree; Kyle's Photogenic awards were proof of that. She was still amazed that they had only used ordinary photographs, they hadn't any professional material, and Kyle had still won, beating out others with years of experience. It only confirmed what Sheila knew all along; that her son was indeed very good-looking.

Sometimes, Sheila caught herself gazing at the photos of Kyle that she had submitted for the competition, something she had never done before, but looking at them, she could clearly see why Kyle had won; his large eyes were a striking shade of green, almost cat-like in their colour, framed with dark eyelashes, which contrasted wonderfully with his soft, red curls; his porcelain skin was smooth and pale, with not a blemish or imperfection in sight. Sheila felt blessed to have such a perfect son.

Sheila continued to enter her son in local Colorado pageants whenever one came up, which was usually every other weekend. Kyle had won another “Prince” title at a little pageant held in a shopping centre in Colorado Springs, along with “Most Photogenic”; he had also won “Most Handsome” in his division in another local pageant in Boulder, as well as another Photogenic title.

He had won so many prizes that Gerald had had to put up another shelf in the living-room. He still wasn't happy about his wife's new hobby, and he actively refused to watch Kyle compete; he thought it was wrong to dress up children and parade them around on stage to be judged on their looks, but no matter how many times he said this to Sheila, she didn't listen to him, believing the pageants to be beneficial to Kyle.

   “They're giving him confidence,” she'd argued. “They help raise self-esteem!”

Now that Kyle had been doing quite well in small pageants, Sheila had decided that it was time for them to try their luck in the big leagues, and she began to research National pageants. She became his coach, and choreographed all of his routines.

Kyle was going to be competing in the Colorado Grand Royalty Pageant the following month. Sheila hoped that this would be his last local one, because she wanted to get Kyle started in the National pageant circuit.

A few weeks later, Sheila and Kyle were on their way to Pueblo, to compete in the Colorado Grand Royalty Pageant.

Kyle was going to be competing in the Formal Wear, Casual Wear, Talent, Interview, Photogenic and Outfit of Choice categories; Sheila had naturally entered him in every single category; the more categories a contestant entered, the higher the scores, and therefore, a higher chance of winning a top prize.

Kyle had a new costume for the fairy tale themed Outfit of Choice category; a Peter Pan one which consisted of a green tunic, trousers in a darker shade of green, brown boots, and the iconic green hat with the red feather.

It was a Friday morning, and Sheila had kept Kyle off school so that they could travel down to Pueblo; ordinarily, she wouldn't do this; she had always instilled the value of education in her son, but they needed to be there a day early because a pageant preparation class was included in the entry fee, which she was not about to pass up.

They arrived at the remote hotel in Florence at 10:00am. Getting out of the car, Kyle could see a lot of motor homes in the car park with fir trees in the background. The hotel itself was a rather modern building in contrast to its rural surroundings; there were large, floor-to-ceiling windows lining one wall of the hotel, with track lighting under the awning above the revolving doors.

Entering, Kyle looked around while Sheila registered him. They were in a bare, oversized foyer, with tiled flooring, a few chairs gathered around round tables that were decorated with magazines, a few potted plants here and there, and the reception desk took up most of the back wall. A carpeted staircase was pressed against one wall, with a lift next to it, and a few doorways led off to different parts of the hotel.

Their hotel room wasn't much different than their previous ones, but the masses of pine trees made for a very nice backdrop.

   “Well, come on, bubbe; let's get going,” said Sheila after she had hung up Kyle's pageant clothes.

   “Where? I thought the pageant wasn't until tomorrow.”

   “It is; there's a preparation class we get to attend, and one-on-one consultation!”

   “No, thanks.” Kyle turned back to the window.

   “What?”

   “I don't really want to.”

   “Kyle, this class can help you; don't you want to be better at this? Look at all the prizes you've won; think how many more you could win!”

   “But I don't want to win any more.”

   “Kyle, I do so much for you, and yet you can't be bothered to do this one little thing for me!”

Kyle hung his head; he hated it when she said things like that. “Let's go,” she repeated, walking toward the door.

   “Okay,” he said quietly.

Sheila and Kyle waited for their turn to go into the meeting room that had been hired for the training; the consultants were teaching them in groups of ten, and Kyle was in the next group.

His job was rather simple; all he had to do was line up with the rest of the group against the back wall, and then each child had to model on the imaginary catwalk one-by-one.

The consultant, a slim, young-looking man in his early thirties' by name of Jimmy Booth then spoke to each child and parent individually, taking them into the adjoined room.

   “Hello, Kyle,” he smiled as Kyle and Sheila stepped into the room for their consultation. “And Mrs. Broflovski, such a pleasure, please take a seat.”

   “Thank you, Mr. Booth.”

   “Please, call me Jimmy. Now, if I can, I'd just like to start by asking you a few questions.”

   “Sure.”

   “Great. How old are you, Kyle?” he directed this question at the boy himself.

   “I'm eight, nearly nine.”

   “And how long have you been competing in pageants?”

   “Uh... two months?” Kyle had lost count.

   “How many have you competed in?”

   “Only six; one was a State pageant. This will be our seventh,” Sheila cut in.

   “I see. So you're still a newcomer?” he confirmed and Kyle nodded. “Okay, Kyle, I'd just like to have a little chat with your mother, if you wouldn't mind waiting outside?”

   “Okay.” Kyle hopped down from the chair and left the room.

   “So, what do you think?” Sheila leaned forward eagerly.

   “He's definitely got potential,” he said and Sheila grinned widely. “With some hard work, he could be quite successful.”

   “Oh, that's wonderful!” Sheila beamed. “I really want to get him started in the National circuit. What do we need to do?”

   “I would hire a photographer and get some head shots done. If you want Kyle to get started on the National pageant scene, he's going to need a portfolio.” He handed her a business card, “here's the information of a local photographer; great with kids. Don't put all your hopes on winning big first time, though; you need to really invest and put lots of effort in. Also, you need to get started right away.”

   “Why?”

   “Because a lot of pageants only go up to age twelve for boys.”

   “You mean I've only got four years?” Sheila looked slightly crestfallen.

   “After that, the only other male pageants are 'Mr. World', 'Mr. International', things like that. Mrs. Broflovski, what do you and Kyle hope to get from pageants? I mean, what is your ultimate goal?”

   “I want him to win the Ultimate Grand Supreme.” Sheila's eyes glassed over and she pictured the glittering crown in her mind.

   “Ambitious,” Jimmy nodded appreciatively. “No boy has ever won that title. You think Kyle can?”

   “Definitely,” Sheila nodded. “I'll be speaking to the photographer later. What else do we need to do?”

   “Well, for starters, do you have any photos of him competing?” he asked and Sheila handed him her phone. “Yes,” he muttered as he swiped through the pictures. “His wardrobe will need to be updated. I wouldn't put too much green on him; it will draw attention away from his eyes. Just little bits of green here and there to bring out his eyes, little dashes. No red clothing; his hair is red, we don't need much more. Just little splashes, like with the green; it can't overpower his hair or his eyes. Your best bet would be to hire a coach.”

   “A coach?”

   “Yes; they will teach him how to walk, pose, smile, how to make eye contact with the judges, teach him routines, and they'll help with wardrobe, too.”

   “Right, okay.”

   “Like I said, he's got potential; he could have a great career ahead of him. He's already got the looks -”

Sheila beamed once again, “- and all he needs is a little confidence, stage presence, and the right clothes.”

Sheila thanked him and left the room.

During the course of the weekend, Kyle competed in the Colorado Grand Royalty Pageant and ended up being crowned Prince of his division. He was presented with a silver crown with sapphire jewels, a black and silver sash, and a small silver trophy with stars fashioned on the top. He also won Photogenic and was presented with another sash and trophy.

In the car on the way home, Sheila told Kyle of the plan to make him a pageant star.

   “We're going to hire a modelling coach for you, get you some new outfits and some head shots taken,” she gushed, while Kyle remained silent in the back seat.

When they arrived home, Sheila relayed her ideas to Gerald and Kyle sat at the top of the stairs, listening to them argue.

   “No, Sheila! I don't want you putting Kyle in any more pageants!” the lawyer snapped.

   “He's not just your son!” Sheila bit back, “he's mine as well! It's not just your decision.”

   “Sheila, these types of contests are terrible! Judging children on how they look; how can you be a part of that?!”

   “These contests are giving Kyle confidence and self-esteem!” the mother shot back. Gerald couldn't deny that his eldest son had little-to-no self esteem, but from what he could tell, none of these contests that Kyle had entered had done anything to improve his confidence.

   “Look, why don't we just ask Kyle what he wants?” he suggested evenly, and to his surprise, Sheila agreed.

   “All right. Kyle! Bubbe, come down here!” she called and Kyle slowly made his way into the living room. “Your father thinks that these competitions aren't good for you,” she began. “So, we decided to ask you...”

   “If you wanna continue doing pageants,” said Gerald. “It's completely up to you; if you don't want to do them any more, then you can stop, no questions asked.”

Kyle stared up at his parents and thought. If he had been asked this question a couple of weeks ago, he would have asked to stop on the spot. Now it was different. He still didn't enjoy pageants; he still hated every aspect of them, in fact, but if he stopped competing, then that meant that his mother would stop spending time with him. She hardly ever spent time with him; usually most of his hobbies that he tried to get her interested in were 'dangerous' and 'immature', which of course lead to her frequent protests. She was so busy trying to make the world a better place for him that she didn't realise that her son might want to be kissed goodnight when she dragged herself home after spending the entire day rallying. It didn't occur to Sheila that what Kyle really needed was a mother who was there for him; she protested so frequently that he hardly saw her.

She had calmed down after the war and had began to staying home more, to Kyle's delight. But she gradually began slipping back into her old ways and soon the picket signs were back out once again.

   “Kyle?” his mother's voice jerked him out of his thoughts. “Have you made up your mind?”

   “I – I think I wanna continue competing, Ma,” he said quietly. “Just for a little while,” he added as an afterthought. He'd decided that being with his mother was worth competing in beauty pageants. The positives outweighed the negatives in his mind.

Gerald looked shocked while Sheila hugged Kyle tightly, and he grinned and hugged her back.

Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 4

To Kyle's surprise, Sheila hadn't made any mention of pageants since he admitted to wanting to carry on, so he had a much appreciated break from practising. It was nice to have his ninth birthday celebrations uninterrupted, as well.

Not for long, however. Sheila announced a few weeks later that both she and Kyle were going to go to the tailor's that afternoon. She was planning on entering him in a National pageant in July and had already bought the required outfits; now they needed to be altered.

A few hours later, Kyle found himself at the tailor's, wearing a brand new white tuxedo while the tailor measured the suit.

   “Just a few inches on the sleeves and legs; they're just a bit too long,” the tailor, a middle-aged, balding man, was saying.

Once the little suit had been altered, Kyle had to change into his new Sportswear costume, which consisted of white trousers, a black leather jacket lined with red with Formula One logos dotted on it and a matching cap, along with a black and white chequered flag.

His Runway Model outfit would be a blue plaid, short-sleeved shirt with blue jeans and white trainers, which Kyle would also wear in his upcoming photo shoot.

His Wow Wear outfit consisted of white trousers lined lined with red sequins, a white, long sleeved shirt, a waistcoat decorated with sequins to look like the Stars and Stripes flag, and a blue sparkly tailcoat.

Sheila still had the photographer's card that she had been given, but before she could do anything, she had to hire a pageant coach. She had been asking around during Colorado Grand Royalty and had found Tony Dalton, a pageant coach “with a difference,” as his flyer read.

She and Kyle were heading out to Denver, where he lived, for a consultation.

When they arrived, Tony, a young, rather dapper-looking man, greeted them enthusiastically and welcomed them into his lovely home, which was decorated in a rustic style, and photos of the pageant contestants he had coached displayed around the living room.

   “Your flyer said that you're a pageant coach with a difference.” Sheila produced said flyer after introductions had been given. “What makes you different from other coaches?”

   “Well, for starters, I never take on too many clients; that way I can give them the proper attention.” Tony smiled down at Kyle, who was wondering what he'd gotten himself into. “I also teach them different routines for their categories – I choreograph them myself – and I give mock interviews with critique, I help to develop stage presence, their personality, their confidence, and I do hair and make up and wardrobe.”

Sheila was impressed, to say the least.

   “How much do you charge per session?”

   “$40 per hour.”

Kyle glanced up at his mother, sure that she would refuse, or at least try to barter; it was rather expensive, at least it was to him. He couldn't quite believe it when Sheila pulled the required money out of her purse and suggested they start their first lesson now. “Great!” smiled Tony, standing up and gesturing for Kyle to do the same.

   “Go on,” Sheila encouraged when Kyle hesitated, and the boy joined the man in the middle of his living-room.

   “Okay, why don't we start with your beauty routine?” he asked and Kyle hesitated, not knowing what to say. Tony seemed to be expecting an answer, so he eventually nodded. “Great. Now,” he made his way over to the far side of the living room, to the doorway, “when they call our name and we come out, we've gotta put on our biggest smile and let those judges know that you wanna win – you gotta make them notice you.” He looked down at Kyle and at Sheila. “Tough being a pageant boy,” he admitted, “it can be a thankless job.”

   “Well, Kyle will stand out,” said Sheila determinedly. “I know he can do it.”

Tony grinned again and turned his attention back to Kyle.

   “Okay, let's do it; I'm gonna announce you and I want you to come out with the biggest smile you ever had, okay? Right, presenting contestant number one, this is Kyle Broflovski!”

Kyle stepped into the room, a wide grin plastered on his face, and Tony stopped him. “All right, we'll try that again, now remember to give a nice natural smile, okay? We don't want you baring your teeth at the judges.” Tony growled, and Kyle grinned in spite of himself. He kind of liked Tony; the man was exuberant, full of energy and always smiling. Kyle felt like he was the kind of person who could never get angry.

So, he tried again, this time smiling more naturally, eliciting grins from both Tony and his mother. “That's it! Much better. That's it, just carry on; we're gonna smooth everything out.”

By the end of the lesson, Kyle's routine had improved significantly; his turns were smoother, his smile was more natural, and his poses had gotten more polished. It still wasn't perfect, but there was definite improvement.

   “Right, so I'll see you next week?” said Tony as Kyle walked back over to Sheila.

   “Oh, definitely,” Sheila nodded.

   “See you later, Kyle,” Tony clapped the boy on the shoulder and Kyle only smiled in reply. “Don't forget to practise every day, okay?” he spoke to both the Broflovskis' and Sheila assured him that they would.

In between seeing Tony once a week, practising his routines every day at home, and weekly one-on-one basketball lessons to help improve his talent routine, as well as keeping on top of his schoolwork, a rather tired Kyle had little time to spend with his friends. The moment he arrived home from school, Sheila had him practise the new routines that Tony was teaching him; Wednesday afternoons he had hour-long private basketball lessons, although Kyle couldn't really complain about that, as he loved the sport and he was learning all sorts of new tricks. He also saw Tony for pageant coaching every Saturday, so all in all, he was a busy little boy.

During the week, Sheila told him that he was going to do a photo shoot that Saturday, for his pageant portfolio.

   “Is this before or after my lessons?” Kyle asked.

   “Before; it'll be easier that way.”

Kyle nodded, wondering whether he should ask his mum if he could go and see his friends. Practise for the day was over, so he didn't see why not.

   “Hey, Mom? Can I go over to Stan's house, please?” he asked. “I've already practised; I'm done, so can I?”

   “I don't know,” Sheila hesitated. “Today wasn't your best.”

   “Please, Ma? I haven't seen my friends for ages!”

   “Oh, all right,” she relented and Kyle grinned with delight, practically running over to the front door. “Just be home before dinner!” She called after his retreating form.

   “I will, Ma!” he called over his shoulder before heading off down the street.

Before he knew it, he was at the Marsh residence, and he knocked on the door, hoping Stan was in. His mother, Sharon, answered the door and smiled down at him.

   “Hello, Mrs. Marsh, is Stan in?” Kyle smiled back up at her. He liked her; she was nice.

   “Of course; he's upstairs in his room. We haven't seen you for a while,” she observed as the boy stepped inside the familiar house.

   “Oh, we've been busy,” he said casually. “Thanks, Mrs. Marsh,” he said, mounting the stairs to his best friend's room.

Knocking on the door, he opened it to find Stan trying to train his dog, Sparky, to play dead; he didn't appear to be succeeding as the dog only tilted his head in confusion. Stan looked up to see who had entered his room and his face split into a huge grin when he saw who it was.

   “Kyle!” Stan leapt up from the floor and practically jumped on him. “Haven't seen you for ages! Where you been, dude?”

   “Oh, just busy,” Kyle hesitated before answering and the two boys made their way over to Stan's bed, making themselves comfortable upon it.

   “Tell me about it! I keep trying to call, but your mom always says you're busy, and you go out almost every weekend now. What you been up to?”

   “...No, you don't wanna hear it.” Kyle found that it was extremely difficult to admit to doing pageants, much more so that he originally thought.

   “Sure, I do! How come you keep driving out of South Park?”

Kyle looked at his Super Best Friend. “You really wanna know?”

   “Yeah, dude. You're not moving house, are you?” Stan's eyes widened at the thought. “Is that what you've been doing? Going to look at houses?”

   “No.” Kyle couldn't help but laugh.

   “Then what?”

Kyle sighed. “All right, I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to laugh, okay? Promise you won't laugh.”

   “Sure, dude,” Stan nodded, wondering what the other boy had to tell him.

   “My mom's been... putting me into... pageants.” Kyle looked down at his lap while he spoke, but a stifled snigger made him look up. “Hey!” he punched Stan in the arm, annoyed. “You promised you wouldn't laugh!”

   “S-sorry. I'm sorry.” Stan fought to keep a straight face. “So, pageants as in beauty pageants?” he started grinning again, only to stop when Kyle glared at him. “They – uh – they do those for boys?” Stan bit the inside of his cheeks, hard.

   “Unfortunately, yes,” said Kyle bitterly, looking down at his lap once more.

   “Is – is it just like the ones we've seen? Like on TV?” Now that the initial shock had worn off, Stan found that he was full of questions.

   “Yes.”

   “So, so you just gotta stand there and smile?”

Kyle finally looked up. “No,” he began. “I have to model on a runway, I have to pose, smile and make eye contact at the judges; I have to do different routines for the different categories; I have to do several costume changes; I have to stand and walk and turn just right or else I'll lose points and then I won't win and then my mom'll be upset; I have to answer in-depth interview questions; I have to work with a coach who teaches me how to walk and stand and smile, and I have to have private basketball lessons to make my talent routine interesting, and I have to pose for endless photos!” Kyle's eyes were blazing; it was obvious he had been keeping everything in for a while. Kyle often vented at Stan, but the latter didn't mind; if he lived with Kyle's strict mother, he'd need to vent as well.

   “Dude...” was all he found he could say.

   “But I don't wanna do it,” Kyle admitted. “My mom wants me to; it's all her idea.”

   “So, tell her you wanna stop.”

Kyle stared at him. “It's not that simple.”

   “What do you mean? All you gotta do is walk up to her and say, 'Mom, I don't wanna do this any more'.”

   “I've done that, but she doesn't listen.”

   “Well, make her listen.”

   “I don't know how, though. You know what my mom's like; once she gets something in her head, she can't be talked out of it.”

   “Yeah,” Stan nodded in agreement. “So, uh, have you got any more.. pageants coming up?”

   “Yeah.” Kyle pulled another face. “In July, so I have to practise a lot.”

   “Why? It's only the beginning of June!”

   “She wants me to win a National.”

   “A what?” Stan looked confused and Kyle cringed inwardly at himself knowing the pageant lingo.

   “A national pageant is a big one with lots of contestants; she wants me to win something, so that's why I have to practise every day.”

All too soon, Kyle had to leave, and said that he would try to spend time with Stan as often as he could, which was difficult as the boy was kept busy with practise.

Before he left Stan's room, he turned back to face his friend. “Listen, do me a favour, and don't tell anyone. Especially Cartman,” he said, and Stan looked at him in surprise.

   “Dude, would I?” he asked, and Kyle immediately felt guilty. He knew Stan wouldn't do that.

It was Saturday morning, and Sheila and Kyle were off to the photographer for Kyle's photo shoot. Once again, Gerald was displeased at his wife and son's new activity, but as Kyle had asked to continue with pageants, he felt he had no say in the matter.

The Broflovskis' arrived in good time at the studio, and made their way inside. After introducing themselves to the photographer, a woman in her late twenties by name of Laura, Kyle changed into his white tux for the formal photographs.

As he sat in the chair, waiting for Laura to finish setting up, Sheila approached him, pulling something out of her bag.

   "What are you doing?" he asked.

   "Don't worry; it's just a bit of makeup."

Kyle's jaw dropped. "I don't want to wear makeup!" he said.

   "Kyle, these lights are going to wash you out; you need some. Just some powder so you don't end up looking shiny, and a bit of eye liner to make your eyes pop."

   "Can't they edit that in afterwards?" Kyle was getting desperate. "I don't want to wear makeup."

   "I'm afraid you're going to have to," was Sheila's answer. "It'll do you good to get used to wearing it; you're going to need it in the Nationals." Sheila was unscrewing the lid of what looked like a pen.

   "What's that?" Kyle asked, staring at it.

   "Liquid eyeliner. I got brown because it looks more natural; now keep still," she moved up to Kyle's eye, but he ducked away out of instinct. "Don't move! If this gets in your eye, it's gonna hurt, okay?” Sheila brought the pen back up to his eye and Kyle naturally cringed away again. Growling frustratedly, Sheila grabbed his chin sharply, and held him still while she applied the eyeliner across his upper lash line. "Don't look up until it dries, or it'll smudge," Sheila warned, taking a compact and a brush out of her bag.

She began to powder Kyle's face, the boy firmly keeping his eyes on the ground, and by the time she was done, Tony had arrived to help out with the arduous task of taming Kyle's hair.

Kyle didn't dare look in the mirror as he made his way over to the chair that was placed in front of a neutral cream background in the centre of the room.

Kyle sat in the chair, large mirrors placed either side of and beneath him, bright lights shining down upon him, as his mother chatted with the photographer.

   “I really want the head shots to show his facial beauty, really bring it out,” she was saying. “But I also want them to show his personality, show a bit of his playful side.”

   "All right; we'll start with the more formal looking ones first, to get them out of the way, and then we'll move on from there." Laura stepped behind her camera and the photo shoot began.

First, she shot close-ups of Kyle; of him looking straight at the camera, slightly to the right, then to the left, in a very serious manner. "Okay, Kyle, I want you to look to your right just a little bit, and then look up."

Kyle did so and she snapped the picture. "Great! Now let's have some smiling ones."

So Kyle did what he was told to do; he smiled demurely, he smiled charmingly, he grinned, all the while posing his head the way he was told to.

Then Sheila produced one of his crowns and he was photographed wearing that.

Tony and Sheila were stood behind Laura, and whenever they felt that Kyle was growing bored or tired they would mug for him to try and make him laugh, which eventually started to work; Laura managed to capture a wonderful shot of Kyle laughing, his smile was wide, his eyes were closed and his head was slightly tilted.

After an hour in the studio, the four packed up and went on location. Kyle had changed into his blue plaid shirt and his blue jeans, his hair had been brushed back out into his natural curls, and they were ready to go.

They arrived at a remote, peaceful wooded area and Kyle was instantly put into action, being sat at the base a tree.

"Put one knee up, the one closest to me" instructed Laura, "rest your elbow on it, and tilt your head, tilt it facing away from me. That's it."

A large pile of leaves were gathered and Kyle sat in the centre for a few poses, while Sheila and Tony stood above him out of sight, scattering leaves around him, before lying down on his stomach and resting his chin in his hands.

The rest of the hour was spent with Kyle posing all around the little wooded area; in the grass, standing next to the trees and even a few shots of him sitting in the branches.

In the car on the way to Tony's, Sheila handed Kyle her makeup wipes and the boy vigorously scrubbed his face clean.

   "You did good today, bubbe," Sheila praised from the front seat. "These photos are going to look amazing."

After his lesson with Tony, Kyle felt exhausted and resisted the urge to sleep in the car as they drove back home. They had been working on holding his smile without it looking fake, making eye contact, as well as standing correctly; back straight, shoulders back and head up, one foot placed slightly in front of the other, and Kyle had found it rather hard.

When they arrived home, Kyle sat at the top of the stairs once again, listening to them talk.

   "Gerald, you must come to the pageant in September," Sheila was saying, "Kyle's worked so hard."

   "Absolutely not," insisted his father. "If you and Kyle want to do this, that's fine, but I refuse to take part in something like that!"

   "But, Gerald, this will be Kyle's first National pageant. You have to come and watch him."

   "No, Sheila!"

   "I can't believe you're not going to support your child!"

   "I can't believe what you're doing to our child!" Gerald snapped back at his wife. "These types of contests are disgusting and wrong!"

   "There is nothing wrong with these contests; they're giving Kyle what he needs most; self-esteem and confidence! You've seen him, Gerald; he won't even look up when a stranger talks to him; he can't take compliments -"

   "There are other ways to develop his self esteem. Like those basketball lessons. He enjoys those."

   "We are continuing with the pageants, Gerald," said Sheila firmly. "Come and cheer him on."

   "... Fine. Just this once, and that's it!" said Gerald just as firmly.

A few weeks later, the Broflovski family, along with Tony, were boarding a plane, headed for New York where the pageant was being held. Kyle was actually looking forward to seeing New York and he hoped he would be able to do some sightseeing while he was there. Tony was going along, not only to help Kyle, but also because he had another client, a three-year-old boy, who was also competing.

As Kyle had a window seat, he was able to see the Statue of Liberty as they touched down in New York City, and he caught another glimpse of the famed statue when they left the airport, but they headed straight to the hotel where "The Beauty From Within" national pageant was being held.

   "Ma, can we go sightseeing?" Kyle asked as they entered the large hotel foyer.

   "Maybe later, if we have time," Sheila walked up to the front desk to sign them in. Gerald was lagging behind, carrying Ike but refusing to carry any of the luggage, and Tony was standing with Sheila.

After they had unpacked in their rooms, Tony (who had his own room), Sheila and Kyle went down to the ballroom where the pageant was being held; Gerald stayed in the hotel room with Ike. It was the biggest hotel room Kyle had ever seen, as well as the biggest stage, with a black sparkly background and a bulb-lined, "T-shaped" catwalk. "Right, Kyle, you better get up there and run through your beauty walk. You'll need to get used to the bigger stage."

The ballroom was filled with other children waiting their chance to rehearse; Kyle did his routine as soon as he could get on the stage, so that he could get it over with. He had to do it twice, as Sheila wasn't happy with his first attempt.

   "Remember to keep the chin up and the shoulders back," she instructed, standing in front of the stage as Kyle walked down it. He was actually trying to put effort into his routines, as he knew that his mother would not stop until he won the Ultimate Grand Supreme, and Kyle realised that as soon as he won that prize, the sooner he could quit. But he also knew that as soon as he quit, his mother would stop spending time with him, which he didn't want. He didn't know what to do.

When Sheila was satisfied, they returned to their room, where Sheila began preparing for the following day, hanging Kyle's clothes up and arranging the photographs in his portfolio.

It was already evening, so the four of them headed to bed to get a good night's rest.

Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 5

The next morning, Gerald and Ike slept in while Sheila, Tony and Kyle headed downstairs to get ready in the rooms set aside for the contestants' to prepare in.

Sitting in one of the corners, Kyle, all ready in his new white tux, could not believe what he was seeing; rows upon rows of tables littered with makeup, brushes, Styrofoam heads bearing wigs and hairpieces, rolling racks with elaborate costumes hanging from them, false teeth and eyelashes littering the floor, endless cans of hairspray, crinkled bags of snacks, nail varnish, jewellery, safety pins, hair pins, little hand mirrors, shoe polish and so much more that made the room look very cluttered.

Kyle was sat in a chair, while Tony did his makeup, and Sheila watched over them. Tony had already powdered his face, and reached into his bag and pulled out some eyeliner. Moving towards Kyle, the boy once again cringed away out of instinct.

   “Kyle, keep still,” Sheila commanded as Tony moved forward again.

   “I don't like it,” said Kyle, still trying to avoid the pen.

   “I know, but you need it,” said Sheila, reaching in and grabbing his chin once again. “Stop squirming!”

   “Look, Kyle, I'm not going to get it in your eye,” said Tony gently. “If that's what you're worried about, then you don't need to be; I've been doing this for years, and I've never poked someone in the eye.”

Upon hearing that, Kyle stopped fidgeting and Sheila let go of his face. “Okay, now just look down,” said Tony, and Kyle obeyed, and then Tony swept the pen along Kyle's eyelid. “Great, just keep looking down for a few seconds while it dries,” Tony told him, which Kyle did.

   “His make-up's smudged,” Sheila observed. No-one mentioned it was from where she had gripped her son's face, and Tony only took up the brush once again, and began to dust more powder over Kyle's face, taking care to blend it where the smudges were.

   “Okay, I've just got to put some lip balm on you, and then we're set.”

Hearing the phrase “lip balm,” caused Kyle to balk.

   “What do I need that for?”

   “To make your lips look soft,” said Sheila.

   “I'm not gonna be that the close to the judges, am I?”

   “No, but every little helps. You'll thank me for this when you're older.”

Kyle seriously doubted that he would, but he remained silent, and allowed Tony to apply the lip balm, as he had no other choice. Thankfully, it wasn't scented or coloured.

When he was ready, the three of them made their way to the ballroom, where the pageant was already in swing. Kyle had never seen so many people in one place; this made his other pageants look like a church picnic. Many contestants had brought their entire families, so they had a cheering entourage; mothers were standing behind the judges' table as their child performed, watching intently for any mistakes, gesturing wildly when they spotted one. There were contestants of every age filling the room, with glittering dresses of every colour, their hair curled, sprayed and teased to perfection. Many of the younger children were having last minute touch ups to their makeup and spray tans while they waited for their turn to impress the judges.

Gerald was sitting at the very back of the room, arms folded and scowling. Ike was next him, looking bored and climbing over the seats. The crowd were cheering and clapping as one little girl performed her beauty routine up on the stage. The other girls in her age group were waiting by the side of the stage, their dresses sparkling under the lights. “This time, you line up after you've performed,” Sheila told him as they hung around near the double doors. “And you just do what you usually do.”

   “We line up after?” said Kyle, looking over at the stage.

   “Yes, that's right. You know what to do.”

All too soon, it was time for the 7 - 8 boys beauty wear category. Kyle was the fifth in his group out of seven, and he was watching the preceding contestants. They were very good, he realised, very professional and poised; he didn't think he could stand a chance against them. Then again, he didn't want to win, but he knew his mum wanted him to, so all could Kyle could do was perform to the best of his ability and just wait and see what would happen.

As contestant number four finished his routine, the emcee, a middle aged man by name of Mr. Jones, thanked him, and the audience applauded, Kyle hitched his smile into place.

   “And now, please welcome number five, Kyle Broflovski!”

Gerald gasped in horror as his perfectly coiffed son stepped out on the stage to polite applause. His normally unruly hair had been smoothed down, straightened and styled, and he was wearing a little white tuxedo with emerald green (to match his eyes) satin lining the lapels and jacket pockets, and a matching emerald green waistcoat, which peeked out from underneath his buttoned up jacket. Tony had suggested the waistcoat to help break up the white. He was also wearing a green satin bow tie, and white, shiny shoes. “Kyle has vivid red hair, and emerald green eyes,” said Jones as Kyle made his way to his first X, spotting the judges, and smiling charmingly at them. He posed and then twirled, before moving onwards to the second one. “His hobbies include playing basketball, reading, and helping to take care of his little brother.”

His smile never faltering, Kyle walked down the runway and turned perfectly on the spot at the end, tilting his head. Before making his way back up the catwalk, Kyle blew a kiss to the judges and smiled adoringly. Back on the second X, Kyle turned around once again, before walking over to the fourth X, keeping his face turned to the audience, and his eyes on the judges. On his fourth X, just before he left, Kyle saluted, pointed at the judges, and turned to his left, placing his hands on his hips, and looking over his shoulder at the judges, smiling. “With an ambition to play professional basketball, this is contestant number five, Kyle Broflovski! Thank you, Kyle!”

Gerald scowled again as Kyle left the stage to more applause and made his way over to Sheila and Tony, who were waiting for him just off to the side.

   “You did good,” Sheila told him, as they walked over to where Gerald was sat. Kyle waited for the inevitable 'but', only it didn't come, and he was confused.

   “I did good?” he repeated, sitting down next to her. “Just good?”

   “Considering this is your first National pageant, I think you held your own up there,” she said, causing Kyle to grin in genuine delight. “With some more hard work, imagine how much better you can become.”

The smile dropped from Kyle's face. He had put his all into his routine, and he wasn't sure what he could have done to make it better. “It wasn't bad, bubbe, just I know you can do better.” Sheila must have noticed the look on his face.

Kyle didn't have much time to dwell on this, for the last contestant in his group had finished, and now they were due to line up on stage. After making sure that he was in numerical order, Kyle and the rest of the boys climbed back on stage and lined up along the back, smiling out at the judges. He stood up straight, the way he had been taught; chin up, shoulders back, hands placed by his sides, (or behind his back, if he wished), one foot placed slightly in front of the other, and, of course, a smile on his face.

   “Ladies and gentlemen, presenting your 7 – 8 boys,” announced Mr. Jones, and the crowd whooped and clapped. Sheila was standing and observing Kyle; apart from being the shortest, he looked as though he belonged up there with the other boys.

   “His tux looks good; it stands out,” she said to Tony, who nodded and smiled. Kyle was the only one wearing a white tuxedo, and even from the back of the room, the emerald satin was visible, drawing attention to his eyes. Again, he was the only redhead in his group, which helped him to stand out even more.

   “Contestants, please make sure you are in numerical order, numerical order.” The emcee paused for a moment to allow the boys to correct themselves. “And now, contestants, please turn around now, and face the back of the stage.”

Okay, that was weird, Kyle thought, turning along with the others, and allowing the smile to drop from his face. No other pageant had done this before. Maybe it was because it was a National. “Contestants,” continued Mr. Jones after a moment, “if you would give us your best smiles, turn around and face the judges. Once again, here are our 7 – 8 boys, please send them off with a nice round of applause, thank you!”

The crowd clapped and Kyle followed his group off stage and headed back to his mother.

The next round of competition was the interview, and as Kyle didn't need to change his outfit, he remained in the ballroom with his parents, and continued to watch the rest of the pageant. Tony was with his other client; Kyle had only caught a glimpse of him in the dressing room; a little blonde-haired, blue eyed child, who was full of energy, but Kyle hadn't seen him compete yet.

Kyle watched as the 9 – 10 girls battled it out for the beauty round, disinterested. Because he was staring up at the stage, looking bored, he didn't notice the parents of the other contestants turning around and looking at him. As Kyle was new to the National circuit, nobody knew who he was, and so everyone was sizing him up. It was soon decided, silently, unanimously, that although he was good-looking, he was no threat.

Kyle was growing extremely bored with watching, but he had left his phone, and books upstairs in the hotel room, and he doubted Sheila would let him leave to go and get them. He was just about to ask his father, when Sheila turned to him.

   “You'll be going up for the interview soon,” she told him in a low voice, so as not to disrupt anybody. “You remember what you have to say?”

   “Yeah.” Kyle knew his interview questions and answers off by heart; Sheila had been researching the typical and not-so-typical pageant interview questions and had given Kyle answers for almost all of them. He was just going over them in his head, when the interview category for his age group was due to start, and so he lined up with the rest of his group. Just as before, they went on one by one, and the emcee asked them just a few questions.

When he was on stage, Kyle focused on sitting up straight while the emcee picked an array of questions for him. This time, the emcee was sat on a chair next to him.

   “Hello, there,” Mr. Jones smiled, and Kyle smiled back politely. “Can you please tell me your name, and how old you are?”

   “My name is Kyle Broflovski, and I'm nine years old.”

   “Hello, Kyle. What is your best friends name? Why do you like him or her?”

   “My best friend's name is Stan, and I like him because he's a good friend; he's kind, always there for me and is fun to be around.” Kyle didn't need to be coached for a question like that; he and Stan were super best friends.

   “What is more important - beauty, wisdom, or wealth? Why?”

   “Wisdom, because beauty and wealth will fade, but you can always learn new things.”

Hearing Kyle's answers lifted Sheila's hopes; her son's eloquence would probably receive high scores,

   “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

   “I want to be a basketball player, because I love playing basketball, and.. it's a really fun sport to play.” Kyle forgot the rest of the answer, and had made something up, pausing only momentarily. He had supposed to say “it's a good hobby because it keeps you active and healthy.”

   “Thank you so much, Kyle. Let's give him a big round of applause,” said the emcee, and Kyle hopped down from his chair and left the stage where Sheila was waiting for him.

   “You forgot the answer,” was all she said, taking his hand and leading him out of the ballroom.

   “Only part of it,” said Kyle, trying to match her pace.

   “You still forgot! How could you forget?” she barked. “You need to really start focusing, bubbe.”

They had arrived at their hotel room, where Kyle began to change into his talent wear. He had a new outfit, which consisted of a white vest top and shorts, with orange and emerald green piping down the sides of the shorts. His name was emblazoned on the chest in matching green sequins and he had new white trainers decorated with more green sequins. He also had white sweat bands for his head and wrists with green piping. He actually liked the new outfit; it was a nice change from his boring school issued uniform. Kyle grabbed his basketball and headed back down to the ballroom with Sheila.

Tony was waiting for them; his other client was done for the day, but he stayed to give Kyle support.

   “Hey, Kyle” he greeted happily upon seeing the boy. “Ready to kick it?”

   “Yeah,” said Kyle, smiling back. The 7 – 8 girls talent category was already in full swing; most of the little girls sang or danced, but there was one who played a slightly out of tune rendition of “God Bless America,” on the violin, and another who did magic tricks.

So far, out of all the pageants he had done, Kyle had never seen another basketball player. He lined up with his group, actually looking forward to the event; he'd been working hard with his coach, and had learnt some new tricks. Although, technically, if he had to be pedantic, what he was doing was considered 'street basketball,' as it had lots of fancy tricks, but nothing that would help win a real game. Still, the purpose of the talent category was to show off one's skill, and the tricks he had learnt would impress his friends, so Kyle couldn't really complain.

   “Okay, that was contestant number 18, Sarah Barker, thank you, Sarah!” said Mr. Jones, as Sarah, who had tap-danced, stepped off the stage to cheers and applause. “If I could have our 7 – 8 boys line up next to the stage for the talent round? The 7 – 8 boys, please?”

Being sure that he was again in numerical order, Kyle lined up with the rest of his age group. This time, he noticed the people in the audience staring at him, and looking at his outfit. Some of them were smiling, but Kyle didn't think it was because they were happy. Some of them were whispering to their neighbours, covering their mouths, some were sniggering, and one or two even pointed. Kyle directed his attention to the stage as the first contestant stepped on, trying not to think about what they could be saying, but he overheard some snippets of conversation.

   “Does he know we're not doing Sportswear?” one woman muttered just loud enough to be heard, causing her and her friend to erupt in giggles.

   “Hope he's got something ready.”

   “Man, he needs to get more prepared.”

Kyle bit his lip nervously even though he had no reason to be nervous; he had a routine for talent, and he also had one for sportswear. He had different outfits, so he definitely didn't mess them up; he was prepared for the correct category, and he knew that, but he just couldn't stand to be laughed at.

Sheila and Tony then approached him, and Sheila made some final adjustments to his clothing.

   “You nervous?” Tony asked, and Kyle shook his head, hoping that he hadn't heard the comments.

   “Kyle never gets nervous for Talent,” Sheila told him, straightening Kyle's vest.

   “Great; well, good luck,” Tony grinned, clapping Kyle on the shoulder.

   “I'm gonna get your hoop ready,” said Sheila, referring to Kyle's basketball hoop, which she placed on the stage before Kyle's routine so that it was ready for him. “And I'll be behind the judges, okay? Good luck, bubbe.”

As she left, Kyle turned his attention back to the stage, where number four had just finished his street dancing routine, and the crowd were cheering.

   “Thank you, Steven, number four!” cried Mr. Jones. “And now, please welcome with a nice round of applause, number five, Kyle Broflovski!”

The crowd applauded politely as Sheila quickly set up the hoop on the far side of the stage. Kyle waited until his music, “Get Ready For This”, by 2 Unlimited, began to blare out of the speakers, and he stepped onto the stage, stopping at his first X and smiling at the judges.

His routines didn't vary much from when he had first started out, but for the talent category, Kyle added two more tricks that he had learnt. First, he bounced the ball, as usual, swinging his legs over it, and changing hands, then he dribbled over to his second X, and began to bounce the ball once again, this time through his legs in a figure of eight pattern, and the crowd began to clap.

He then balanced the ball on the back of his hand, and rolled it up his arm, letting it rest on the back of his neck for just a second, before rolling it down his left arm, and catching it in his hand. The audience cheered, and Kyle repeated the move, sending the ball back the same way.

Kyle then half-ran down the catwalk, bouncing the ball between his legs every so often, and paused on the third X, being sure to keep the smile on his face. He took a step back, and did what was known as the “arm roll,” where he would place his arms in front of him in a circular position, and roll the ball up one arm, across his chest, and down the other arm, keeping the ball circling. The crowd were enjoying it, but when Kyle spun the ball on his finger, they lost their minds, cheering, whooping, clapping as loudly as they could.

Giving his best smile to the judges, Kyle turned and made his way back on the catwalk, dribbling the ball all the time, and went over to his fourth X. There, he spun the ball on his finger again, and the crowd went wild, before performing few set shots and jump shots.

As the music ended, Kyle caught the ball one last time, and turned to face the audience, grinning widely. They were still applauding and cheering, and Sheila came running up to the side of the stage. He had to admit, it felt good to have people cheering for him.

   “And that was contestant number five, Kyle Broflovski! Thank you, Kyle!”

Kyle stepped off the stage as Sheila grabbed the hoop, and they walked to the back of the room where Gerald was still sat.

   “Well done,” she smiled, the compliment causing Kyle to grin up at her. “I think that was the best you've ever done it.”

   “That was great!” a little girl piped up as Kyle passed her. He noticed now that nearly all of the people in the audience were smiling, and this time they looked happy.

   “Thanks!” he beamed, as Tony came running up to him.

   “You did amazing!” he gushed, giving the boy a high five. “Just amazing!”

Kyle looked over at his father, who was no longer scowling.

   “You did great,” he said, “Those are some cool tricks.”

   “Thanks,” said Kyle.

He didn't have much time to relax, however, as Mr. Jones was calling for his age group to get ready as they would be lining up after the girls. Kyle placed his basketball on a chair, and re-joined his group and they lined up along the back wall at the little girls had their turn on stage.

   “Okay, give it up for your 7 – 8 girls, ladies and gentlemen!” called Mr. Jones as the little girls exited the stage, and the audience clapped and cheered. “Okay, now if I could have the 7 – 8 boys line up on stage, the 7 – 8 boys, please.”

Kyle followed the rest of his group and again lined up along the back of the stage, smiling out at the audience. He could see Sheila standing behind the judges' table, along with a few other parents, watching them.

Just as before, Mr. Jones asked them to turn and face the back, and Kyle did so, letting the smile drop from his face to relax his aching cheeks. “Once again, your 7 – 8 boys; give it up for them!” said Mr. Jones after the boys had turned around once more, and they walked off the stage.

Kyle was now done for the rest of the day, and so the four of them decided to head back to their rooms.

Once there, Kyle changed back into his everyday clothes, and shoved his hat over his coif. Gerald came into the bathroom while he was scrubbing his face clean.

   “Do ya wanna go out and do some sightseeing?” he asked in a low voice, and Kyle turned around.

   “Really?” he asked.

   “Yeah. Why not, we're in New York. Come on.”

Kyle followed his father to the door. Ike was sat on one of the beds, playing on his phone. “Honey, we're just going to have a look around; I need to stretch my legs!” Gerald called as he opened the door.

   “Okay, well don't be too long; Kyle needs to get some practise in for tomorrow!” Sheila had her back to them, and was arranging Kyle's clothes for the following day; he was going to be competing in Sportswear, Wow Wear, and Casual Wear.

   “We won't!” Gerald called, and closed the door. “Where do you want to go first?” he asked his son as they walked quickly through the halls.

   “Um, the Statue of Liberty – no, the Empire State Building! No, the Natural History Museum!” Kyle almost ran through the hotel lobby towards the front doors. He couldn't wait to get out and start exploring.

Gerald had to laugh as his son waited impatiently for him; it was nice to see Kyle excited and acting like a kid for once. “Well, we'll find out which one's the closest and do that one,” he decided, stepping out onto the bustling street, and looking for a map of some kind.

As they were the closest to the Empire State Building, that was where they decided to go, and to perhaps visit somewhere else the following day.

Luck seemed to be on their side that afternoon as there was only a minimal wait after Gerald had purchased tickets, and they were soon in the queue waiting to up to the observational deck.

   “I wanna go right to the very top, and then we can see everything!” said Kyle, his eyes glowing with happiness. “And they even have these binoculars you can look through! I'm gonna see if I can see the Statue of Liberty; I'll bet we can see it pretty close up!” Kyle barely stopped chattering until the they had reached the very top, and he exited the lift as quickly as he could, and ran onto the deck. Gerald spotted him over by the railings, looking out at the skyline. “Wow!” Kyle's eyes widened as he looked over the city. Being born in South Park, he had never seen a major metropolitan city before, whereas Gerald and Sheila had, and he realised what a treat it was for Kyle to see something like this. “I never knew it was so big,” he admitted; he could never have imagined people living in a city this size. They probably never got bored.

   “It's amazing, isn't it?” said Gerald and Kyle nodded. For a while, the both of them continued to gaze out over the skyline, silently. “So...” asked Gerald after a few moments, “what is it you like about pageants?”

   “Look! You can see even better through here!” Kyle had moved over to where the binoculars were and was looking through them intently. “The Statue looks really close,” he observed, changing the angle, so that he was looking at the people on the ground waiting to go up to the famed statue.

   “Kyle, what do you like about pageants?” Gerald repeated, turning to face his son.

   “I just like them,” Kyle said, still looking through the binoculars.

   “But what is it?” Gerald pressed. “Is it the being on stage? The awards? What? I don't understand.”

   “I just like them,” Kyle repeated, not looking at his father. “I mean, without them, we would never have gone to New York; so I get to travel. That's good. And,” his voice grew quiet, “I suppose it's nice to hear people cheer for me.”

   “So, that's why you like them?” asked Gerald. “Because people cheer for you? You know, you get that if you join the basketball team. Why don't you do that?”

   “I can't join the team,” muttered Kyle angrily. “I'm too short, and I'm not black.”

   “That doesn't mean anything,” Gerald said a little sharper than he had intended. “Look, just because you're short and white doesn't mean you can't play basketball. You're good at it! You are! I have no idea where you get it from, because your mother and me are both terrible at sports.” He saw that Kyle was refusing to look at him. “All I'm saying is, if you want people to cheer for you, you don't have to do pageants. There are other things.”

   “You don't understand,” Kyle muttered, but Gerald heard him.

   “So, help me understand,” said Gerald. “I just don't get why you're doing this just to please your mom!”

   “That's why I'm doing it!” Kyle snapped suddenly, finally turning to face his father. “Don't you understand? This is the most time she's spent with me since I can remember! I like that, didn't you know? So, I don't really care that I have to do these stupid things, at least I get to spend time with my mom!” Kyle turned around and resumed looking through the binoculars. Gerald was slightly stunned. He understood now.

   “Okay,” he said, looking down at his son. “You do what you gotta do.” And no more was said.

They arrived back at the hotel a few hours later, as evening was falling. As they had left the Empire State Building, Gerald had quickly glanced at his phone, and noticed the missed calls and unread messages from Sheila. He checked the time, and realised that they had been gone for at least three hours.

As soon as they had entered the room, Sheila was standing there, waiting for them, glaring, with her hands on her hips. Gerald felt Kyle shrink next to him, quavering under his mother's stare.

   “Just going to have a look around?” she said, and Kyle's gaze turned to the floor.

   “That's what we did,” said Gerald brightly, not quite meeting her gaze.

   “You didn't say you were leaving the hotel; I've been looking for you for ages.”

   “Kyle wanted to go sightseeing.”

Kyle's head whipped up to look at Gerald. He was not going to let his dad pin this on him.

   “You asked me if I wanted to go!”

   “Well, we're in New York,” Gerald directed this at Sheila. “Why shouldn't we go sightseeing?”

   “That's not the point; I didn't know where you were! I kept trying to call. I didn't know where my son was!”

   “You knew I was with him! Kyle's not gonna go wandering off with a stranger – he's not stupid!”

If Kyle were a little bit younger, he would have covered his ears the way he used to when his parents argued.

   “You should have said you were leaving,” said Sheila. “I told you Kyle needs to practise for tomorrow; now he doesn't have time!”

   “It's okay, Mom; I know my routines,” Kyle told her, wanting them to stop.

   “I know, bubbe, but there's no such thing as too much practise,” Sheila said, sighing. “We're just gonna have to make sure you get some practise in tomorrow.”

When Kyle nodded, having no other alternative, she smiled. “Good; now get to bed. You need your sleep.”

The next morning, Kyle was awakened several hours earlier than he would have liked in order to practise his routines. He, along with Sheila and Tony were in the hallway, and Kyle was going through his steps. It was too early to play music, so instead Sheila counted to four over and over again, to help Kyle keep his time.

It was Tony who had introduced the counting. Kyle's lack of rhythm was still atrocious; he couldn't seem to move in time, no matter what he did, and he couldn't hear the beat of the music. So, Tony had begun counting, and Kyle's sense of timing had improved slightly.

   “Don't forget to make that spin nice and sharp,” Sheila instructed quickly, before resuming counting. Kyle only kept quiet as he did as he was told.

When Sheila was satisfied that his routines were up to scratch, the three of them then went back to their room to get ready. Kyle's first category was Wow Wear, and he was getting into his costume. He really disliked the outfit; the sparkles, the ridiculous tailcoat and waistcoat; all of it, really. But he didn't have a say in the matter, that was plain, and so all Kyle could do was get into the costume and hope that Sheila would find a different one soon.

When he was dressed, they headed down to the dressing room to do Kyle's hair and makeup. They sat in the same corner they had the previous day, and Tony got to work on Kyle's hair. Sheila always wanted them to be ready with plenty of time to spare, because her son's hair took almost half an hour from start to finish, and there was always that chance that the pageant could start early. If a contestant was late, points were deducted, and one or two points could mean the difference between winning and losing.

When he was finally ready, Sheila and Kyle made their way to the ballroom to watch the pageant, while Tony remained in the dressing room to prep his other client. The pageant had not long begun, and the babies' category was in full swing. Music was playing, and the crowd were cheering as one little girl was paraded around on stage by her mother.

Kyle had managed to grab his phone, and so he was playing that as the pageant progressed, becoming completely engrossed in his game that he forgot all about the competition.

However, all too soon, it was time for his age group to line up, and Kyle reluctantly put his phone down, and made his way to the side of the room, Sheila following him, and Gerald and Ike remained in their seats. As he waited for his turn, while Sheila fussed over his clothes, Kyle observed the other boys and what they were wearing. As Wow Wear was more or less the same as Outfit of Choice, the costumes were rather varied. There was a Peter Pan, an Elvis, a Spiderman, Mick Jagger, amongst other well-known characters. Once again, Kyle felt rather out of place, but there was nothing he could do, as it was time for him to go on stage, and he hitched his smile into place.

He stepped onto the stage, smiling brightly as the crowd applauded. Taking a moment to spot the judges and make eye contact with them, Kyle posed and then twirled. He then marched over to his next X, saluting all the while, before twirling again, hoping he didn't look as ridiculous as he felt.

The crowd were applauding politely, and Kyle spotted his mother standing behind the judges, watching him. He couldn't read her expression, so he continued with his routine, and made his way down the catwalk. Once at the third X, Kyle bent down on one knee, placing his right hand on his left shoulder, smiling all the while. Standing back up, he turned around, and walked back up the runway. Back on his second X, he turned and paused with his back to the audience, and looked over his shoulder at the judges, smiling, before completing the turn. He then placed one hand on his sparkling lapel, and turned again, before walking over to his last X. There, he did another salute and winked at the judges, before waving and walking off stage to more applause.

His mother was waiting for him as usual, and he followed her back to where they had been sitting. Gerald was again scowling, and Ike was playing on his phone, completely disinterested in the whole event.

   “How did I do?” he asked, as they walked to their seats.

   “Okay. You looked a bit bored up there,” she told him. “We need to work on that.”

   “Well, I still feel silly,” he said, as they sat down, lowering his voice.

   “If you'd just put some effort in, then you wouldn't feel silly, bubbe,” she said, facing him. "Trust me, it looks sillier when you're up there doing it half-heartedly, than when you're putting 100 per cent in.”

Kyle only looked back up at the stage, where the last boy in his age group was just finishing up to applause. “We'd better get changed for Sportswear,” said Sheila, standing up and Kyle did the same.

Fifteen minutes later, Sheila and Kyle returned to the ballroom, with Kyle now dressed in his white trousers, his black leather jacket lined with red with Formula One logos dotted on it and matching cap, along with a black and white chequered flag.

A lot of the boys were dressed similarly to him, with racing themed outfits, although there were a few wearing football and wrestling outfits.

After this, Kyle only had the Casual Wear category to compete in, and then he was free until the crowning ceremony in the evening. The Portfolio category had already been completed that morning, as all the judges did was review photos of each contestant, and the results were tallied onto the scoring sheets.

Kyle was wondering what he would do to pass the time after his final category when his age group was called, and so he lined up with the rest of the boys. Sheila and Tony were standing beside him as the first contestant stepped onstage.

All too soon, it was his turn to perform once again. His routine was pretty much the same as his previous one, except the saluting was replaced with flag waving, and Kyle did as he had been told and posed and twirled and smiled, trying to forget where he was. He was counting to four over and over again in his head, trying to keep in time with the music, and also to make sure that he didn't go over the time limit. Kyle made his way back up the catwalk, and turned around to face the judges, smiling at them.

Sheila was watching from her usual spot behind the judges' table. She felt that Kyle had as good a chance at winning than everyone else. Even though he was still new to the circuit, she was certain that the judges' would look past this and score him on his looks and personality. Although, she had to admit, Kyle still wasn't showing his personality. It was embarrassing, she thought, as she watched him pose and turn on his last X before stepping off stage. She was hoping for a “King” title, as Kyle hadn't won one yet, and if he won his first King at a National pageant, she would be beyond overjoyed. It would be a huge deal for a newbie to win that title, and Sheila was sure that Kyle would do it.

When he had finished, she was waiting for him at the side of the stage, and she wasted no time in telling him what he had done wrong.

   “Honestly, Kyle, it's like you're not even trying,” she said as she marched him back up to their room, so that he could get changed for the last category. “Don't you want to win? The stakes are so much higher now; you've gotta put everything into it.”

   “I'm trying, Ma,” Kyle said, as they entered their hotel room.

   “You could try a lot harder, bubbe,” she handed him his clothes, and Kyle went into the bathroom. “I just want what's best for you,” she continued. “This will do wonders for your confidence!”

Kyle privately thought it would do nothing of the sort, but he didn't say this. He came out of the bathroom, wearing his blue plaid, short-sleeved shirt with blue jeans and white trainers, and Sheila smiled at him. “You look great,” she said, before heading over to the door and gesturing for Kyle to follow her.

When they arrived back in the ballroom, the eldest age group was just finishing up, and the nine young ladies stood on stage in their group line up.

   “Ladies and gentlemen, these are our 16 – 19 girls, and it's a pleasure to present them to you one more time! Give it up for them!” Mr. Jones encouraged, and the audience applauded as the young women left the stage. “Okay, up next, we have our last category of day; Runway Model, so could I please have our 0 – 18 month contestants lined up next to the stage, please?”

As he waited for his age group, Kyle again took out his phone and resumed his Terrance and Phillip game. He was more than halfway through it now. He became so engrossed in his game, that he didn't hear the emcee announce for his age group to line up. It was only when Sheila took the phone from his hands and nudged him.

   “You've got to go up there!” she whispered, gesturing for him to stand, and so he and Tony followed her to the side wall, where the other boys were already lining up. “Remember to just do your best up there,” she told him, as Tony smoothed down a stray lock of hair, quickly whipping out his hairspray can to fix it in place. “Don't let your smile slip,” Sheila reminded him as the first boy stepped on stage.

   “I'll try,” said Kyle honestly. He had been practising, but his cheeks started to twitch after about a minute, and then he struggled to hold it in place, especially without it looking fake.

   “Well, just keep it natural,” she said. “You know how to do that.”

   “Okay, Ma,” he said, as the emcee announced his name.

   “And presenting our next contestant, Kyle Broflovski!” Mr Jones called, and the audience applauded as Kyle stepped onto the stage, smiling.

Standing on his first X, he spied the judges, and he smiled at them. Placing one hand on his hip, he turned, and then moved on to the next X. He stood there for a moment, still smiling, before making his way down the catwalk. Once he reached the end, Kyle twirled again. He then placed both hands on his hips, and turned to the left, looking over his shoulder at the judges and nodding, before completing the turn.

Kyle walked back up the catwalk, allowing the smile to drop from his face. When he returned to the second X, he resumed smiling before looking back over his shoulder, and turning back around. Despite him doing this, he was beginning to struggle with his smile, and Sheila noticed.

   “His smile's starting to look a bit strained,” she said to Tony, frowning. Tony nodded in agreement and continued watching the boy.

   “And that was contestant number five, Kyle Broflovski! Thank you, Kyle!” called Mr. Jones, and Kyle stepped off stage to polite applause. Sheila was waiting for him, looking displeased.

   “Hey, Ma, I'm done; can I take the makeup off now?” he asked

   “Not just yet,” she told him, as they went back to their seats.

   “Why not?”

   “Because I said so. Now, sit down.”

Kyle did as he was told, and he sat there silently as the pageant progressed. “Now, crowning will start in a few hours,” said Sheila, completely ignoring Gerald and Ike. “I want you to be ready nice and early; which means we'll have to redo your makeup. It'll be easier if you left it on.”

Kyle thought about this. Having the makeup on was awful, and he would rather not take it off, and then have to put it on again, and take it off again.

   “All right, I'll leave it on,” he relented.

   “All right, then, bubbe. Come on then,” Sheila stood, and the rest of her family followed suite, and they left the room.

When they were back in their room, Kyle changed into his regular clothes. Ike had flopped down on the bed, playing on his phone, and looking bored out of his mind, and Gerald was talking with Sheila.

   “So, after this, you'll be done? No more pageants?”

   “Well, Kyle is really starting to get into this now, so we're going to keep doing this for a little while longer.”

   “How long? I don't think Kyle's enjoying this as much as you think he is.” Gerald tried to get her to see reason. He didn't want to mention his conversation with Kyle yesterday just yet; he didn't think that Sheila would listen.

   “Oh, he is, Gerald,” said Sheila earnestly. “He's really enjoying it, and once we get into the swing of things, it'll be even better.”

   “If you're sure,” said Gerald, sighing inwardly. “I just don't want you pushing him too hard; he's only a kid.”

   “I'm not pushing him!” Sheila sounded slightly defensive, “I just want him to do his best, and at Nationals, you have to be the best of the best, and what's wrong with that?”

   “I'm just saying, go easy on him,” Gerald kept his voice low. “It's not the be all and end all if he doesn't win.”

   “I know that, Gerald; I just want what's best for Kyle.”

A few hours later, the Broflovskis, plus Tony, were back in the ballroom for the crowning ceremony. Kyle was back in his tuxedo, and Tony had touched up his makeup before they re-entered the ballroom. Kyle was just waiting for the ceremony to be over and done with so that he could wash his face.

Not unlike the previous pageants, the youngest boys group would be awarded first, followed by the youngest girls, and then they would move on to the next age group. Tony's other client, Bobby, had been crowned Prince of his category, and had been given a crown and a trophy. Tony and Bobby's overjoyed mother, had both hugged him when he got off stage.

Before too long, his age group was called, and Kyle got in line with the other boys. Sheila followed him. “Good luck, bubbe,” she said, and Kyle looked up at her. “Congratulate whoever wins, and keep smiling, okay?”

Kyle only nodded, and she left to go and sit down. He truthfully didn't know what was going to happen; one on hand, he felt as though he had as good a chance as anyone else, but on the other hand, he didn't feel experienced enough to have competed in a prestigious national pageant.

   “Could I please have our 7 – 8 boys on the stage, please? The 7 – 8 boys!” called Mr. Jones, and Kyle and the others climbed on stage, and lined up along the back. Kyle made sure to smile at the judges; he wasn't sure if he was supposed to, but that's what he had been doing at every pageant so far. “We will first give out the side awards,” announced Jones. “Then we will crown our Prince, and our King. Okay, your Best dressed is... Zack Greene!”

Zack, the last boy in the line up, raised his hand, and a medal was placed around his neck, while the audience clapped and cheered. “Your Most Photogenic is...”

Sheila held her breath. “Sean Atkinson!”

Her jaw dropped as the blonde haired, blue eyed boy raised his hand and accepted his medal. She had been certain that Kyle would win that; his new photos were amazing, and she thought they really showed off his looks. She was barely able to stop herself from scowling. “Your Best Eyes is... Kyle Broflovski!”

Kyle did what the previous winners had done, and raised his hand as a gold medal was placed around his neck. He looked up, still smiling (although it was looking more and more fake by the minute), and spotted Sheila standing off to the side. She didn't look happy, he noted, and he was sure he knew why; she wanted him to win a crown. He felt slightly upset that he hadn't done a good enough job. He stood there, as Jack Collins and Ethan Kelly were crowned Prince and King, respectively. “Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for your 7 – 8 King, Ethan Kelly!” called Mr. Jones, and the audience clapped and cheered as Ethan stood front and centre, a crown on his head, and a sash, grinning widely. “Let's have a hand for all of our boys!” Urged Jones, and the audience applauded loudly as the boys stepped off stage.

Kyle made his way back over to Sheila, who was still looking disappointed.

   “Well, come on then,” she said. “Let's go back to the room.”

   “Aren't we going to stay and watch the rest?” Kyle was confused; Sheila had always insisted on staying until the end; it was good sportsmanship, she said.

   “We have an flight in a few hours, and we need to get packing,” she told him, heading to the back of the room, with Kyle following.

   “Is that it?” asked Gerald when his wife and son approached him. He felt quite shocked when Sheila nodded. They had seriously flown to New York and shelled out hundreds of dollars... for a medal? “Do you really think that it was worth it?”

   “It's all trial and error,” said Sheila, crossing over to the window and closing the curtains. “Nobody wins big at a National first time; you gotta work for it. Besides, he still won something.”

   “Yeah, a flimsy little medal,” Gerald muttered under his breath. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Well if you think you know what you're doing,” was all he said, heading off to the bathroom, where Kyle was washing his face. “How was that for you?” he asked quietly, and Kyle looked at him in the mirror.

   “All right,” he said. “Pretty much the same as usual.”

   “And do you think it was worth it?”

Kyle hesitated.

   “Yes and no,” he said. “I got to see New York, didn't I?”

Gerald didn't say anything, and instead left the room, shaking his head.

The next morning, the Broflovski family were back in South Park, and Kyle was back in school. They had arrived home at 4:00am after a six hour flight. Ike had pretty much slept throughout the entire plane ride, and had only awoken when he was put into the car. Kyle had fallen asleep on the plane, as well, and had awakened when they had landed. He'd fallen back asleep in the car, and had woke up again when they arrived home. Kyle had then dragged himself up to his bed for a much needed extra two hours sleep.

Stan made no comment on his absence over the weekend; he knew where Kyle had been, and what he had been doing, and he wasn't going to mention it in front of Cartman.

Kyle had simply said that he had been sick, but he was feeling better now. He was actually still tired from the journey home, so it was easy for him to be convincing.

Cartman claimed that he didn't even know that Kyle had been gone over the weekend. All in all, it was a normal Monday morning.

Kyle just carried on as normal, which was mainly arguing with Cartman, who seemed to be trying extra hard to push Kyle's buttons that morning.

Whenever Kyle spoke, Cartman would mimic him in a high-pitched voice, and he constantly kicked the red head's chair. Just one of those things was enough to drive Kyle crazy, but the combination of both, plus his exhaustion, made him snap.

   “God damn it, leave me the fuck alone, fat ass!” Kyle twisted around in his chair and screamed in Carman's face. Cartman opened his mouth to retaliate, but before he could say anything, Mr Garrison spoke.

   “All right, that's it! Kyle, Eric – counsellor's, now!” Anything to get them out of his hair.

   “Ay! That's not fair, why should I have to go?!” snapped Cartman. “Kahl's the one that disrupted class!”

   “Oh, for God's sake, Eric, just get out!”

Cartman purposely kicked his chair over as he stormed out of the room, with an equally angry Kyle following him. Stan could only pinch his nose and groan.

Both Kyle and Cartman were sat outside Mr. Mackey's office. Kyle was fuming, but Cartman couldn't care less; this was a weekly occurrence for him, and he got to skip class, so he was happy about that.

   “Seriously, though, what's your problem?” asked Cartman, as Kyle stared ahead, scowling. “Too much sand in your vagina?”

   “There's no sand in my vagina!” Kyle snapped.

   “Kahl, your vagina is so full of sand right now, I'm seriously. It's falling out!” Cartman gasped dramatically and pointed to the floor. Fortunately, he was saved from Kyle's wrath by the voice of Mr. Mackey calling them inside.

   “All right, boys, what seems to be the problem, m'kay?” asked the counsellor as both boys sat down.

   “Oh, nothing, Mr. Mackey; just that my friend Kahl here has a load of sand trapped in his vagina.”

   “Shut up, fat boy!” Kyle snapped.

   “I'm not fat, you anorexic Jew!” Cartman snapped back, and Mackey only buried his head in his hands.

   “M'kay, boys, you need to understand that treating people like that is bad, m'kay? Are you going to start being nice to one another?”

   “Fine. Whatever,” Kyle muttered, crossing his arms and scowling. Cartman merely placed his hands behind his head and grinned.

When they were dismissed, it was break time, and so they headed out to the playground. Finding Stan and Kenny by the roundabout, they made their way over to their friends.

   “What's up, dudes?” asked Stan, looking up from his phone.

   “Just Cartman driving me crazy, as usual,” said Kyle, kicking the snow bitterly.

   “Not my fault you're as uptight as a horny nun!” snapped Cartman, causing Kenny to burst into laughter.

   “Shut up, fat boy!” said Stan, rolling his eyes, and Cartman and Kenny continued to laugh. “You okay?” he asked Kyle quietly.

   “Yeah,” said Kyle, “just feeling a bit tired, you know?” Stan nodded.

   “You got any more coming up?” he asked out of curiosity, and Kyle shrugged.

   “I don't think so,” he said.

How wrong he was.

Over the next two months, Kyle competed in five more pageants, two of them National ones, and lost them all. To his surprise, Kyle was feeling rather upset over this, and he was ashamed.

He knew he shouldn't be as upset as he was, but he couldn't help it. The whole idea of the pageants was for Sheila to prove that he was good-looking, and in Kyle's mind, because he hadn't yet won, then it must mean that he wasn't.

Deep down, Kyle knew he shouldn't care, but he couldn't help it. With every loss, it was like being slapped in the face with that list over and over again, and he hated it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop himself from feeling down, and Sheila noticed.

   “Don't feel bad, bubbe,” she had told him, after driving him home from one Colorado pageant. “Just because you don't win, doesn't mean you're not good; it just wasn't your time. You just need to work harder next time.”

But how could he work better on being good-looking, Kyle wondered miserably. He was already wearing nice clothes and makeup, what more could he do?

He had taken to inspecting himself in front of the mirror when he brushed his teeth at night, scrutinising himself. On the surface, he couldn't see a problem, but once Kyle started mentally dissecting his face, he began to see flaws. He began to wonder if his eyes were too far apart, or maybe he was too pale, or maybe he was just plain ugly.

His nose wasn't all that big, in all honesty, but Kyle still felt like it was too big to fit on his face.

That evening, he frowned at his reflection as he brushed his teeth.

   “What am I doing wrong?” he asked himself, hating the fact that he cared.

At the end of the week, Kyle, Sheila and Tony were back in Denver for the Colorado Beauty National pageant, and they were in the ballroom.

Kyle had spent the weekend competing in the Beauty, Talent, and Casual Wear categories, and now he was waiting for his age group to be called. He didn't think he had done particularly well in this pageant, but surprisingly, Sheila had disagreed, saying that it had been his best ever.

All too soon, Kyle was lining up on the stage with the the other boys. There were six, including him, and he was second in the line up.

   “Ladies and gentlemen, our 7 – 9 boys, give it up for them, they've been great!” called the emcee, whose name was escaping Kyle, and the audience applauded and cheered. “We will first announce our Optional titles. Your Best Hair is... Milo Jenkins!”

Milo, a little dark haired, cheeky looking boy, raised his hand, and a small, knee high trophy was placed in front of him.

Best Eyes went to another little boy, Best Smile went to.. not Kyle. Most Photogenic was not Kyle, and the redhead couldn't help feeling disappointed. He mainly wanted to win something so that he could quit, but now the desire to prove that he could win was burning. Just one title, and then he wouldn't care. He hated the fact that he wanted to win, but if he did, then at least he would have proof that he wasn't ugly.

But today, that seemed unlikely, as the last of the side awards were given out, and Kyle hadn't won anything.

The Prince, Robert Haddely, an exceedingly handsome nine year old, crowned, and Kyle sighed inwardly. Robert had wavy, golden blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a charming smile. He had also won Most Photogenic, which Kyle knew he would, and he couldn't understand why Robert hadn't been crowned King.

“And your 2018 King is... Kyle Broflovski!”

Kyle froze, the smile slipping off his face. He looked over at the emcee, who was smiling and clapping, as were the other boys. Following a gentle nudge, Kyle stepped forward as a lady approached him, holding a rather elegant imperial-style crown with a red velvet cap with a gold frame, along with a sash. Kyle stood on the second X, looking out at the applauding audience as he was crowned King. He couldn't help himself.

He smiled.

Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 6

Kyle soon began to regret his win. If he thought that Sheila had been working him hard before this, it was nothing compared to what she was doing now.

She had held off on the pageants for the moment, as she and Tony were preparing him for the National circuit, which meant new, original routines, and a different routine for every category. Kyle had to practise them every day at home, doing it over and over again until Sheila was satisfied.

Each lesson was devoted to perfecting a new routine, with fifteen minutes set aside at the beginning to practice turns and smiling for the beauty section.

   “Right, bubbe,” said Sheila on the drive to Tony's, “you have a National coming up in two months, and we need to be more prepared than we were last time, which means you need to know your routines back to front.”

Kyle only nodded, not really having a choice in the matter.

Once settled at Tony's, they immediately got to work. Sheila was very insistent that his smile be natural, and that Kyle be able to hold it for his allotted time on stage.

Kyle had to admit, he was getting better; the corners of his mouth didn't twitch so much any more, and his cheeks didn't ache. Of course, this was mainly down to the secret Tony had taught him, and a little trick Kyle had discovered.

Tony's secret was that when one's back was facing the judges, to just relax the smile by letting the mouth hang open, quickly replacing it before turning around. Kyle was surprised to find out that it worked; those few seconds of relief really helped his smile to stay put.

Kyle's own trick was to not let his teeth touch. He found that, more often than not, he would end up clenching his teeth, which in turn, made his smile look strained. So, he would keep his teeth just a tiny bit apart, barely a millimetre, to create the illusion of a natural, relaxed smile.

These two tricks did wonders for him, as Sheila heaped praise on him over and over again.

A few days before the pageant, Kings and Queens of America in South Carolina, Sheila took Kyle to the mall.

   “Where are we going?” he asked, as he followed her.

   “You'll see,” was all she said.

Kyle couldn't help but hope that it was to the toy store, perhaps for a new game. Perhaps this was his mother's way of rewarding him for his hard work?

To his dismay, they stopped outside the beauty salon.

   “Are – are you going to get your hair done?” he asked apprehensively.

   “No, bubbe. You are. I've booked you in for a full treatment.”

Kyle's eyes widened. “Ma, no!” He could take being dressed up, made up, and paraded around like a show dog, but he drew the line at stepping into a beauty salon.

   “Kyle, you need this,” she told him. “All contestants have it; it'll be good for you to stand out.”

   “I've never had to have this done before, so why now?” he argued.

   “Kyle, this is a Southern pageant, okay? Some of the contestants there have been doing this since they were babies; even the boys. We need to do everything we can to make the judges notice you, and that means doing this.”

Kyle's protests were ignored, as Sheila pulled him inside the salon. There, he stared at the ground, beet red, while Sheila confirmed his appointment, and he was led over to a chair.

To his dismay, his hat was removed.

   “What are you doing?” he asked, as the lady placed his treasured ushanka to one side.

   “I'm just going to wash your hair,” she smiled.

   “Oh, no,” he said, “I already wash it at home.”

   “Kyle, this is a special wash to get your hair soft and shiny,” said his mother, settling down on the chair next to him. “All that hairspray will damage your hair overtime.”

   “Then stop using hairspray.”

   “I can't do that,” Sheila said. “You can't do competitions like these with your natural hair.”

   “He's got lovely hair,” smiled the hairdresser, playing with one of his curls, before getting to work.

Kyle could only sit there and pray no-one walked past and recognised him, as his hair was washed with several different lotions, before being dried and brushed. His hair didn't feel any different to him. As soon as he was allowed, he jammed his hat back onto his head.

He had thought that that was it, but he was led over to another chair. There was a lady sat behind a desk, which had a large light on the side. He realised what it was as soon as he sat down.

   “Right, hands on the table, bubbe,” said Sheila. Kyle, wishing that the floor would just open him up and swallow him, reluctantly placed his hands on the desk.

   “What are you going to do?” he asked.

   “I'm going to buff your nails, clean up the cuticles, get rid of any hangnails, and polish them.”

   “No polish!” he insisted.

   “It's not that kind of polish,” Sheila told him. “It's just something to make your nails look shiny.”

Kyle could only groan and close his eyes as his hands were worked on. The sound of the nail file made him want to rip his teeth out. It seemed to go on forever, and when the lady was done, she rubbed his palms with a pumice stone, before following it up with a moisturiser.

   “What's the occasion?” asked the lady. “Wedding? Hand model?” she grinned at Sheila.

   “My bubbe does pageants, and we have a big one coming up.”

It was clear from the look on the lady's face that she was not expecting that answer.

   “Oh.. how nice,” she said. “I didn't know they did pageants for boys. How long has he been doing them?”

   “About six months.”

   “Ah.”

He had thought he was done, but the next thing he knew, he was soaking his feet in a tub of warm, pleasant smelling water.

   “What is this?” he asked.

   “Bubble bath and Epsom salts,” said the lady. “Just sit and relax.”

When his feet were dry, again, his nails were trimmed and buffed, the hangnails were removed, and his feet were exfoliated and moisturised. He was actually squirming with embarrassment, and he hoped that would be it.

He and Sheila were then taken into the back room, where there was a table in the middle of the room. Kyle was then told to lie on the table.

He then had to lie there for almost an hour while the beautician rubbed various creams and moisturisers into his face.

When he was done, he left the salon as quickly as he could, hoping that he would never have to do that again. The total humiliation of it was enough to make him never want to leave the house again.

It wasn't the end, though; he now had to wash his face every morning and evening, and use cream. Exfoliating and moisturising, Sheila had called it. As much as he hated to admit it, his skin was feeling much smoother and softer.

Less than a week later, he was on a plane, heading to South Carolina. He wasn't too nervous; this was just another pageant. It didn't really matter if it was a National; all he could do was do his best, like he had been doing.

Tony was also with them, and, as usual, the pageant was being held at an old hotel.

However, as soon as they entered the lobby, Kyle knew this pageant was going to be different. This one made the other Nationals he had competed in look like small, local contests. It wasn't just contestants and their parents; it was entire families come to support them. Many of them were wearing T-shirts or badges with the pageant kid's photo on it.

Nobody seemed very friendly, Kyle thought, observing the kids, mainly little girls, standing there, their hair in curlers. Many of the adults were eyeing the other children, trying to suss out the main competition. This was the cut throat affair he had always imagined pageants to be.

   “This is the big leagues,” Sheila said to him, once they had finally registered. “They take it very seriously here, so you really need to be on your toes.”

Kyle sat on the twin bed, looking out at the window, while Sheila continued. “It's not just crowns and trophies you win here; you can win money. And some pageant offer cars, cruises, modelling contracts. A contract would be amazing. You'd like that, wouldn't you, bubbe? To be on the cover of a magazine?”

Kyle didn't answer as she happily prattled on, organising his clothes, and photographs.

   “Ma, what categories are there?” he asked, turning around to look at her.

“Beauty, Talent, and Outfit of Choice,” she said. “Your outfit is your sparkly tailcoat. We're getting some more costumes for that category, so you'll have to make do for now.”

Kyle only nodded. “There's also the portfolio category; that's why I have your photos here. Oh, by the way, in about two weeks, we have another photo shoot; you need new photos.”

Kyle only nodded again, breathing deeply and clenching his fists.

The next morning, Kyle, in his white tux and makeup, hair coiffed and sprayed to perfection, entered the grand ballroom. He had never seen such a crowded room. There were so many people that there weren't enough chairs, and lots of them had to stand.

As a rule, he never paid too much attention to the other contestants, but even he could see that these kids were at the top of their game. It was going to be extremely difficult to win, or even place.

   “Right, Kyle, your age group is up next, are you ready?” asked Tony.

   “Yep.”

   “Show me your smile,” said Sheila, and Kyle obediently grinned up at her. “No, your pageant smile.”

Kyle let his jaw drop, before settling into his 'pageant smile'; eyebrows ever so slightly raised, teeth barely touching, and Sheila nodded in approval.

It was almost time for his group, and so he lined up with the rest of the boys. “The way I see it, your main competition is him,” Sheila pointed to an adorable little boy further up the line. “I watched him practise last night; he's amazing; he's what you should be like. Watch him.”

Kyle watched as the boy stepped onto the stage. He had dimples, and fluffy golden-brown hair, and he was very playful on stage, flirting with the judges. Kyle sighed, sucking in his cheeks as he prepared to go onstage. He had his work cut out for him.

Sheila and Tony stood at the side, watching as Kyle did his beauty walk. Sheila smiled; Kyle was starting to look more comfortable and natural on stage; his smile didn't look forced, and he was good at making eye contact with the judges.

Kyle reached the end of the catwalk, and paused, taking his time to spot the judges, he blinked deeply as his smile deepened, another trick Tony had taught him, before turning. As he'd been working at it, it looked really natural, and it looked like he was happy to see them.

He paused with his back to the judges, and looked over his shoulder at them, before completing the turn.

   “His smile's looking good,” said Sheila.

   “Yeah, he's gotten really good at holding it.”

When Kyle had finished his routine, he left the stage and approached his mother.

   “That was really good,” she told him, and Kyle grinned.

   “Thanks, Ma,” he said, before a voice calling him caused him to turn.

   “Hey, you were really good,” said the little boy, who had been the first in their age group.

   “Thanks; you were, too,” said Kyle. “I'm Kyle, what's your name?”

   “I'm Fred.”

Grateful to have someone to talk to, Kyle and Fred chatted happily until they had to go back onstage for the group line-up. When that was over, Fred went and sat with his mother, and Kyle did the same.

It was rather a confusing weekend for Kyle; these people took pageants very seriously. The parents of the contestants' constantly fussed over them, making sure they looked absolutely perfect; a lot of parents would help the children by performing their routines behind the judges' table. Kids would practise in the halls only moments before going on stage. It all felt too much for him.

Sheila had begun mingling, trying to make friends; to Kyle's surprise, lots of people were very warm and friendly, and gladly accepted her.

He was glad that his only category for the first day was Beauty, and so he was able to relax. Like his mother, he'd made a few new friends; the kids were very eager to play. At that moment, he and three other little boys were sat on the floor, playing together on their phones, sharing tips and tricks to beat the bad guy.

After a while, they grew bored of sitting around, and went to explore.

   “Wanna play hide-and-seek?” asked Archie.

   “Okay,” Kyle grinned.

   “I'll be It!” Archie bounced excitedly. “Hotel only; no going outside!”

   “Close your eyes and count to 100!” cried Kyle over his shoulder, as he Fred, and Tim took off running.

Being a hotel, there were several places to hide, and Kyle crouched down behind a large, potted fern. He peeked through the leaves as Archie ran through the lobby, looking left and right. He couldn't see where the others were.

   “Found you!” cried Archie and Fred, looming over the plant. Kyle leapt up and joined them in searching for Tim.

They spent the rest of the afternoon playing various games; tag, more hide-and-seek, sardines, and generally just burning off all of their pent-up energy. Whatever they did, it was better than sitting in a chair for hours on end.

The following day, Kyle was back in his tux in the ballroom, onstage with the rest of his age group for the crowning ceremony. His talent routine had gone very well, with the audience practically exploding when he did his moves. His Outfit of Choice had been okay, but by now, both Kyle and Sheila knew that “okay” meant “no win.”

In the end, he ended up winning “Prince,” which wasn't bad, but it wasn't King.

So, that was now Kyle's life; if he wasn't preparing for a pageant, then he was travelling to one, or he was competing. If he wasn't doing those, then he was being fitted for costumes, posing for photos, and taking basketball lessons. He was soon exhausted.

   “So, hopefully, pretty soon, we'll start winning the National and Supreme titles,” Sheila was saying, on the way to yet another pageant. “Then our hard work will start paying off.”

They had been doing Southern pageants almost exclusively, driving across several states in order to save money.

Kyle believed he was getting better, but he still never won anything outside his age group, and he honestly believed he never would. This was not good news for him, as Sheila recently mentioned her dream for him to win a National title in every State.

   “How did I get myself into this?” he muttered, lying down in the back of the car for a much-needed nap.

The pageants had completely consumed Sheila; Kyle was now competing every single weekend. When there were no Nationals coming up, she had Kyle compete in small, local ones, much like when he first started out, “to keep him in practise,” she'd said.

   “You can't get sloppy,” she said. “You need to be at your best, every single time.”

   “I am doing my best, Ma.”

   “I know, bubbe, but once we get that first win, then the others'll follow. So, we've got to work extra hard to get there.”

They were in Denver, at a National pageant, “Little Beauties of America,” and the very small amount of boys, not just in his age group, but throughout the competition, gave Kyle hope that he would win.

However, Sheila was no longer content with Prince and King titles. Kyle didn't care either way, but Sheila was almost desperate for “National Beauty,” or “Overall Photogenic Supreme,” any high title that paid cash, really. Or a modelling contract.

As per usual for him, he won the King title, leaving Sheila unimpressed.

   “I don't think I'll ever win big, Ma,” he tried to placate her in the car on the way home.

   “You will, if you just keep practising.”

He said nothing, and they made the rest of the trip in silence.

   “So, Sheila, where have you been?” asked Sharon, sipping on her coffee. The two of them were sat in Sheila's kitchen, while Kyle and Stan were upstairs, playing.

   “Oh, my little Kyle and I have been very busy.”

   “Oh, really? Doing what?”

   “Kyle's been doing beauty pageants.”

Sharon almost choked on her tea. “Beauty pageants?”

   “Oh, yes; at first he wasn't too sure, but now he loves them, and they've done wonderful things for his self-esteem. He's won a fair few now, and he's so much more confident.”

   “Oh, well, that's interesting.” Sharon rubbed her chin thoughtfully. Her little Stanley didn't have problems with confidence or self-esteem, as far as she knew, but maybe this would be good for him? The idea of her handsome little man winning a trophy made her smile.

   “Oh, yes! You should give it a try.”

   “Maybe I will. Stanley!” she called upstairs. “Stanley!”

Loud thudding preceded the boys appearance. “I was just talking with Kyle's mother, and she told me about the pageants.”

Stan kept his face neutral, while Kyle blushed and ducked his head. “How would you like to give it a try?”

   “No, thanks, I'm good.”

   “Well, all right, it's your decision; if you change your mind, let me know. Perhaps Kyle can give you some tips.”

   “I'm good,” Stan repeated, and Sharon nodded. Kyle stared; how come she wasn't pushing him? “But Kyle's doing one this weekend in Denver, can I go with him?”

   “If it's all right with Sheila.” Sharon looked over at the woman.

   “Oh, it's fine with me,” she said, and the two boys grinned.

   “Yay! We haven't hung out in ages!” cried Stan.

So Stan accompanied Kyle, Sheila and Tony to the National Beautiful Heart pageant in Denver. The two of them turned the back seat of Sheila's car into their own personal den. Spread over the middle seat were several different bags of snacks, their new hand-held Okama Gamesphere consoles, earbuds, their phones, Stan's iPad, and drinks. They were only going to be in the car for an hour and a half, so they didn't bring too much, but it was enough to keep them entertained.

Kyle now considered himself something of a pro when it came to passing the time during long car journeys, but it was much better now that Stan was there with him. The two of them chatted about things that made no sense to adults, and they moaned about school, about Cartman, homework, Cartman, grown-ups, and Cartman in between playing their games.

It had been the best car trip Kyle had had in a long time, and he was actually a bit sorry when they arrived at the hotel in Denver.

Stan didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't what he saw. These people were serious, even Sheila. Especially Sheila. Armed with her suitcase, entry forms, and Kyle's portfolio tucked under her arm, she and Tony wasted no time in lining up at the front desk, waiting to be registered, as did every other parent.

While they waited for the seemingly never-ending line to shorten, Stan and Kyle hung around nearby, talking about anything and everything except the reason why they were there.

Kyle was beginning to regret inviting his Super Best Friend; now Stan would have to watch him practise, and perform in his makeup and hair, and he was dreading it. He still knew that Stan would never tease him about it, but the thought of his friend watching him go through the process of actually competing (especially now that he put effort into it), was embarrassing enough to make him want to sink into the floor.

   “Hi, Kyle!”

   “Hey, Kyle!”

   “Kyle! Good to see you again!”

   “Who are they?” asked Stan, as a group of kids greeted the redhead, as they walked by.

   “I don't know,” said Kyle honestly. Due to his success, and the fact that he had recently been on a winning streak, meant that he was becoming quite well-known in the pageant world, but Kyle didn't realise this.

Far too soon for Kyle's liking, Sheila and Tony were done, and after unpacking in their hotel rooms, the four of them headed to the conference room where the contest was to be held.

Thankfully, to his immense relief, Stan seemed to really want to go and explore during this time. Kyle knew what he was doing, and shot Stan a grateful smile before his friend ducked out of the room.

Stan slept in the next morning while Kyle got ready, and only awoke in time to dress before Kyle's age group was set to compete, another thing Kyle was grateful for. It was bad enough that he had to wear makeup, but to have his best friend watch while it was applied? Utter humiliation.

When Stan arrived at the conference room, he could not see Kyle, and so he located Sheila and made his way over to her. She and Tony were standing near the judges' table, and they both greeted Stan with a smile, before returning their attention to the stage.

When Kyle stepped onto the stage, Stan was shocked; Kyle had been trained to be a performing doll, nothing more. Everything was rehearsed: the smile, the wave, the walk, the turns. He was trained to keep a smile on his face no matter what.

   “What has she done to you?” he whispered in horror, chancing a quick glance at Sheila.

Kyle had a new category; Western Wear, and was in his new outfit; cowboy hat, neck tie, plaid shirt, vest, chaps, boots with spurs on them, holsters with toy guns on his belt, and a Sheriff badge. He watched as Kyle walked down the runway, spinning the guns on his fingers; seeing the look of concentration in his friend's eyes.

Kyle looked over at his mother, hesitating slightly, before ripping off his Velcro-secured chaps to reveal a set of denim shorts underneath. Stan was sickened when he saw it; even more when that the crowd went wild. He had to look away.

After the crowning ceremony, Kyle came off stage, and ran straight to Stan, avoiding his mother. He'd only won a small medal for “Best Eyes,” no King or Prince, and he knew she would be disappointed. He really did not want her to chew him out in front of Stan.

   “Well, it's over,” he joked and Stan looked over at the stage.

   “They're still calling names out.”

   “That's for the older kids,” Kyle said, feeling that it would be too complicated to explain.

Stan didn't understand how the pageant scene worked, but he was going to make a point to go and see Kyle whenever he competed in a Colorado contest, as he knew it was likely going to be the most time he would get to spend with his super best friend outside of school.

Kyle ignored the MC as he chatted away to Stan; boys never won anything outside of their division, and he had stopped listening as the titles were announced long ago. Never-the-less, he and Sheila always stayed until the end of the ceremony, if only to promote good sportsmanship.

The two boys laughed and joked and groaned at the seemingly never-ending wait for the new Okama Gamesphere game to be released when...

   “ - Kyle Broflovski!”

Kyle was jerked back to reality when he heard the emcee calling his name, and he whirled around, confused. At first, he thought that there had been a mistake with crowning; maybe the awards had gotten mixed up, but then he saw that everyone around him was applauding.

Tony appeared as if out of nowhere and picked Kyle up, running towards the stage. Much to Kyle's surprise, he was placed on the stage as a young lady standing next to a five-foot tall trophy beckoned him towards her.

A sash was placed over his shoulder and a crown atop his head. Kyle wanted to read the sash, to see what title he had won, but the cameras were flashing and he was obligated to smile; he caught sight of Stan looking slightly bemused and his face broke out into a genuine grin and he had to bite back a laugh at the look on his friend's face.

“Ladies and gentlemen, once again, your Novice Supreme winner: Kyle Broflovski!” Kyle stepped off stage to more applause and made his way over to Sheila.

   “I can't believe you won a Supreme title!” she gushed. She held out her arms, and Kyle, beside himself with happiness that she was proud of him, leapt into them, hugging her tightly.

Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 7

It had been four months since his Supreme win, and Kyle was absolutely exhausted. He'd not won any major titles since the National Beautiful Heart pageant, and not for want of trying.

At that moment, he was trying to catch a quick nap before evening practise began. On top of the pageants, and the preparation, Kyle was now a regular at the salon; he had his weekly lessons with Tony, his basketball lessons, plus getting measured for clothing, photographs, not to mention keeping on top of his schoolwork, and Kyle felt like he was spreading himself a bit thin.

Sheila wanted everything perfect; with perfection came the titles, she told him.

Too soon, Kyle found himself in the garage, ready to rehearse.

   “Are you ready, bubbe?” Sheila asked, hand hovering over the play button.

   “Sure,” was all Kyle said, getting into place.

   “Remember, we're gonna start aiming for the high titles, okay?”

   “I know.”

   “Once we get there, then we're there, you know? Once we reach those titles that give cash prizes; that's where we wanna be. Now, get ready.”

Kyle set his smile in place as Sheila pressed play, and announced him. “Kyle, remember to look at the judges; look at them.”

   “I am.”

   “No, you're not; you've got to look at the centre judge; look in their eyes.”

Kyle, too tired to argue, only nodded.

As per usual, he thought of things he enjoyed, to make his smile seem genuine. It worked, as Sheila couldn't fault that, but she always seemed to find some other area where he needed to improve. “Head up!” she ordered, watching her son like a hawk, Kyle complying. “Remember, keep the shoulders back. All right,” she paused the music, and Kyle stopped. “Right, listen, we're gonna have to come up with some signals,” she told him. “On stage, I can't shout out to you what you're doing wrong, so signals with help.”

   “Okay, Ma.”

   “Right,” Sheila said after a while. “When I do this,” she flattened her hand, and placed it under her chin, “that means you lift your chin slightly. Don't make it too obvious; it's gotta be subtle. And when I do this,” she smiled widely, and pointed to her cheeks, “that means your smile's slipping. Again, make it subtle; they'll take points off if it looks fake.”

Kyle nodded once again. “All right, let's do it one more time, and then we'll work on Casual Wear.”

   “What's the one this weekend called again?”

   “It's the America's Showcase of Beauty in Atlanta, and next month, we have the National Citrus Pageant in Florida.”

   “A.. citrus pageant?”

   “Mm-hm,” Sheila nodded. “It's a big one, with good prizes. It's a natural one, though, so no make-up allowed, so you make sure you continue with your skincare routine, okay, bubbe?”

   “Okay, Ma.”

   “Sheila, are you sure this is.. good for Kyle?” asked Gerald that evening, when the kids had gone to bed.

   “Of course it is!” she said. “You should have seen how happy he was when he won the Supreme title.”

   “But apart from a crown, what is it really giving him?”

   “Confidence; I keep telling you. It's improving his self-esteem.”

   “But I haven't seen any changes in his confidence levels, or his self-esteem.”

   “Well, it doesn't happen right away, you know!” she said sharply. “These things take time.”

   “But you've been doing it for over a year! You've sunk I don't know how much money into this, and for what? A couple of cheap plastic trophies?”

   “You don't get it,” she shook her head. “You don't win big right away; no one does. He's working hard, and pretty soon, he'll start winning the kind of titles that award cash.”

   “That's not the point -”

   “You're the one who brought up money.”

   “These sort of contests aren't doing anything for his self-esteem,” said Gerald. “How is letting a group of strangers judge him by the way he looks helping his confidence?” Selfishly, he wanted Kyle to quit the pageants because, well, it made him feel weird to see his son wearing makeup and posing. It was wrong. Boys didn't wear makeup. Although their town was close-knit, they were also close-minded. If anyone found out about what his kid was doing, they would never let him hear the end of it. He'd be the lawyer with a fairy for a son.

   “They do help; if you actually came along more often, you'd see it.”

   “I think they're more for you.” Gerald regretted it as soon as he said it, but it was too late to take it back.

   “What's that supposed to mean?” Her eyes narrowed.

   “Nothing; I was just saying -”

   “You were saying that I was doing this for me? That I don't care about my son? I care way too much; that's why I'm doing everything possible to make him happy! Kyle asked to do this, don't forget. If it makes him feel better about himself, is that so bad?”

   “Well... no, but -”

   “Then it's settled. Kyle and I will continue with the pageants, and you will keep your nose out.” Sheila nodded curtly, rose, and went upstairs.

   “Dude, you really need a break,” Stan said, when Kyle arrived at the bus stop. “You look exhausted.”

   “I do?” Kyle looked to the ground self-consciously.

   “Yeah.”

   “Thanks.” Kyle managed to smirk. “Don't worry; as soon as I start winning big, then I can relax.”

   “You sure?”

   “Yeah, course.”

   “Okay, then.” They waited companionably for a few moments. “So... do you have any more coming up?”

   “Yeah. A big one this weekend in Atlanta.”

   “What's it called?”

   “I can't remember,” Kyle admitted.

   “You look like shit, Kahl,” came Cartman's gleeful voice as he waddled up to them, grinning widely.

   “Stop smiling, Cartman; your mouth will never be as wide as your ass,” Kyle snarled.

   “Ay! What's your problem? Oh, I know! You were up all night with explosive diarrhoea, weren't you?”

   “You been spying on him?” grinned Kenny, joining the group. Cartman pulled a face.

   “You couldn't pay me enough to spy on that boring piece of crap there!” He pointed at Kyle, who only groaned, filled with relief when the bus turned up.

As he climbed on, Kyle caught sight of his reflection in the window. Much as he hated to admit it, Cartman was right; he did look awful. He was paler than usual, and had dark circles under his eyes. He felt a twinge of – was it disgust? – at the sight of himself, as his mother's words ran through his head. 'You need the make-up.' She was right.

After school, Kyle was right back to practise, as he couldn't afford to be rusty, or so his mother said. He didn't think he could handle competing for much longer, and that was why he had to give it his all. Like he said, the sooner he won, the sooner he could stop.

   “Come on, energy!” she called, as Kyle ran through his casual wear routine. “You need to keep that energy up!”

Kyle focused on focusing and smiling on the imaginary judges, while Sheila called out orders. He didn't bother answering her; that meant he wasn't focusing. “Right, I wanna run something by you,” she said, when he had finished.

   “What is it?” He took a seat.

   “I was thinking that we could turn the spare room into a trophy room.”

Kyle, who had been taking a sip of water, froze. “Is that.. necessary? I mean, can't we keep them in your room?”

   “We have been, but I'm running out of space. Have you forgotten how much you've won already? I think having your own display room would be great. You'd like that, wouldn't you, bubbe?”

   “I suppose.”

   “You suppose?” she looked down at him disapprovingly. “You don't want to display all the crowns, trophies, sashes, and all the prizes that we worked so hard for? Or did you just want me to toss them in the trash?”

   “No.”

   “Well, that's what it seems like to me.”

   “No, a – a trophy room would be cool, Ma,” said Kyle, and Sheila smiled. As she walked away, Kyle face palmed; he was in too deep now, and he knew it. He didn't think there was any going back now.

Kyle yawned as he sat in a hotel ballroom in Atlanta, waiting for his age group to compete. He was sat on one of the chairs as he watched the eight-year-old girls compete in the Beauty section.

   “At least we've only got this today,” Jake leaned over and whispered in his ear, and Kyle nodded. He'd met Jake a few pageants previous, and they'd become friends.

   “Yeah, at least we can do stuff afterwards,” he said quietly, resisting the urge to scratch his combed, sprayed hair.

Just as before, the ballroom of the hotel was packed, and the audience was cheering loudly for every contestants. Kyle now expected to see parents with badges and T-shirts with their child's face on, and parents miming their kid's routine behind the judges, and just generally a lot of eagerness, and excitement, and tension. It was just what was expected on the National circuit.

   “Kyle, get ready, bubbe,” said Sheila, and Kyle and Jake slid off their chairs, and lined up by the side of the stage.

Even at Nationals, there still weren't that many boys competing; the most Kyle had ever seen was seven in his group, including himself, and so it was easy to recognise fellow competitors, and make friends. “Remember the chin; keep it up, and keep the shoulders back, okay? Keep one eye on me, and watch out for my signals, and remember to keep it subtle.”

   “Okay,” said Kyle, as the emcee called for them to line up. He dropped his jaw, and settled into his 'pageant smile,' as he stepped onto stage with the rest of his group.

To his dismay, he was standing next to Alex, one of the best competitors Kyle had ever seen. He was an endless bundle of energy, and played right into the judges hands, winking, bowing, and blowing kisses. His heart sank; he'd never beaten Alex before, and now, he honestly just wanted to quit and go home.

Nonetheless, he smiled out at the judges, letting his mouth hang open, when they had to turn around.

   “Please welcome, with a nice round of applause, number two – Kyle Broflovski!” announced the emcee, and the audience clapped and cheered, as Kyle stepped onstage for the beauty round. He smiled brightly, keeping his eyes on the judges, as he walked over to the second X. His turns were smooth, his poses natural, and it was clear to see that he had improved a lot. Kyle was sure to keep his peripheral vision focused on his mother, who was standing behind the judges table, keeping an eye out for her signals.

He saw Sheila place one hand under her chin, and he lifted it slowly and slightly, the way he had been taught. Keeping his smile bright, Kyle salute and pointed to the judges. “Okay, that was contestant number two; Kyle Broflovski! Thank you, Kyle!”

The audience applauded and cheered, and Kyle stepped off stage, letting his smile drop.

   “Well done, bubbe,” said Sheila, smiling at him. “I think you're finally getting the hang of this.”

   “Thanks, Ma,” Kyle tried not to let his surprise show on his face. “Hey, since I'm done for today, can I go see my friends?”

   “All right,” she relented, “but don't leave the ballroom.”

   “Aw, okay,” he said, before darting into the crowd. He soon became aware of cameras, not small video camcorders like many of the parents used, but huge movie-type cameras, with external lights and microphones. There was a small team of men and women nearby, all of them wearing identical black shirts, and the cameraman had a pair of headphones on. Kyle stopped walking and stared at them, wondering who they were filming. They didn't seem to be focusing on any one particular contestant, and so he shrugged it off, and continued walking through the crowd, soon spotting his friend.

   “What are all these cameras for?” he asked Jake, as they lounged on the floor near the back of the room.

   “Oh, didn't you know? They film “Toddlers and Tiaras” at this pageant,” said Jake, and Kyle looked up at him in horror. Admittedly, he had thought it was an overzealous family supporting their kid.

   “What?!” Oh, God, this was bad; this was very bad. “Toddlers and Tiaras” was Cartman's favourite show; if he spotted Kyle... he couldn't bear to think of it. “They don't film us, do they?”

   “No,” said Jake, and Kyle relaxed slightly. “Usually, they call you, and ask if you wanna be on there. They do film the whole pageant, and just use the bits they want.”

   “Hope they don't use us.” Kyle looked over at the cameras apprehensively. “How do you know this? Were you on it?”

   “Yeah, about two years ago. It was all right; they were only with us about a week,” Jake shrugged, leaning back on his hands as he watched the competition. “Worst part was school, though; kids teased me.”

   “That's why I'll never go on the show,” said Kyle determinedly. Jake only nodded politely, biting back what he longed to say; 'I've seen your mom; if she says you're going on the show, then you're going on the show.'

   “It was okay,” Jake confirmed, “they didn't do much of that crazy editing; worst they did was use all that dramatic music, before the competition, when I was getting ready to go on stage.”

   “Still, they shouldn't do that at all. It's a kind of clickbait, you know, using angles and music to make people keep watching; it's wrong.”

   “Yeah, I didn't like it, either, but it's not like there was anything I could do about it.”

   “Couldn't you have told your mom you didn't want to?”

   “I could've, but I wanted to be on the show.”

At this, Kyle turned to look at Jake, surprised. “You did? Why?”

   “Well, I wanted my friends to see what it was like; they'd never come and watch, you know, and they think that we're basically dressed up like little girls, and things like that. And I thought it'd be cool to be on TV,” he admitted.

   “Fair enough,” Kyle nodded. “Do you think it was worth it?” he asked, and Jake paused.

   “I guess,” was all he said. Kyle said nothing, and continued to watch the competition, glancing over at the cameras every so often.

The following day, Kyle and Sheila were back in the ballroom, ready to compete in the Swimwear category. Kyle had yet another new outfit; white swimming trunks, patterned with green and orange palm leaves, and white flip flops. His hair was curly, but still styled neatly.

He tugged on the waistband, trying to be sure that it hid the scar on his back from his kidney transplant. He felt rather exposed and self-conscious.

Before he was called to the stage, Kyle pulled up his shorts once again, before putting on his smile.

   “Contestant number two, Kyle Broflovski!” called the emcee, and Kyle stepped on stage. He felt lucky that he didn't really have a proper routine; he just had to strike a pose and a twirl on each X. He did have to walk a bit faster, as his music had an upbeat tempo. As usual, he kept his eyes on the judges, smiling widely. As he walked bouncily down the runway, he subconsciously held his breath, hoping the judges wouldn't notice his scar. It wasn't the fact that he may get marked down, it was the fact that it could be seen, and he didn't want attention drawn to it. Because then they would ask why he had it, and then they would ask why he needed surgery; a kidney transplant, to be precise. And then they would ask why he was diabetic. It was the same old thing every time. Lots of people looked at him weird when they discovered he had diabetes; like it was catching.

Nonetheless, he grinned at the judges, before turning on the spot and facing them again. He clenched his fist under his chin, and tilted his head slightly before making his way back up the catwalk. On the last X, Kyle held out his arms, and turned once again, smiling at the judges. “Give it up for Kyle Broflovski; thank you, Kyle!”

Kyle then stepped off the stage, the sound of applause and cheering ringing in his ears.

   “That was okay,” said Sheila, as the two of them walked to the back of the ballroom. “It was your first time with this category, so it's nothing more practise can't fix. Right, you'd better get changed for Casual Wear.”

Kyle nodded, and then ran back up to the hotel room to change, Sheila hurrying along behind him.

Later that evening, Kyle and Sheila were back in the ballroom, ready for crowning to begin. Kyle was back in his tux, and he was sat at the front with Jake, and few other friends. Sheila was sitting with Jake's mum, and they both stopped chattering as the 7 – 9 boys made their way to the stage. Sheila still thought Kyle was the best looking one up there; even if she wasn't his mother, she would think that. Again, he was the only redhead, which definitely made him stand out.

As per usual, the smaller, divisional prizes were awarded first. Kyle raised his hand as his name was called, and he was given a small trophy for “Best Smile.” Jake won “Best Personality,” and the adorable Alex won King, much to no one's surprise.

When the boys awards had been given out, they left the stage, and Kyle continued sitting with Jake, chatting quietly. He knew his mother was disappointed with him; he knew she expected him to do better at this point in time. But, the scoring was down to the judges, and their opinion was their opinion.

   “Okay, ladies and gentleman, we're going to start awarding our Supreme titles, are you ready?” called the emcee, and the crowd cheered wildly. “Okay, your 0 – 5 Novice Supreme is... Kayla Leigh!”

Kyle applauded along with the rest as four-year-old Kayla toddled on up to the stage and was crowned. She stood next to her five foot high trophy, and was handed $100 in cash.

There came a steady stream of winners, ranked from lowest to highest. 6 – 10 Novice Supreme, 11 and Up Novice Supreme, Overall Novice Supreme, Mini Overall, Mini Overall Supreme. “And the Mini Supreme winner – Kyle Broflovski! Come on up, Kyle!”

Kyle's jaw dropped, before he headed up onstage. A sparkling silver crown – his biggest one yet – was placed on his head and a sash was draped over his shoulder, and a wad of dollar bills was put into his hand. Still feeling a bit shocked, Kyle held the money tightly as he smiled for the cameras, and then he was free to go.

Grabbing the five foot trophy; red and gold, and covered in jewels, Kyle stepped off stage and was greeted by his mother.

   “Well done, bubbe!” she grinned, and Kyle grinned, too. He arranged the money into a neat pile, and placed it into the envelope he had been given. “How much did you win?”

   “250 dollars,” he said, which was quite exciting; his first cash prize. He didn't think he'd ever had so much money. Maybe he could finally get that new tablet, or tickets to see Robert Smith in concert?

   “Right, I'll take the half of it when we get home,” said Sheila, and Kyle's face fell.

   “What? Why?”

   “For your college fund.”

   “But I already have one.”

   “Every little helps, right?”

   “But.. I won it,” said Kyle slowly. “Shouldn't I get to choose?”

   “Bubbe, it's only half; it's not like I'm taking everything. Besides, it's not 'taking'; this is for your future. You don't want to have a crappy, half full college fund, do you? For God's sake, I'm trying to help you, here.”

   “I thought you said that my college fund had interest?”

   “It does, but that doesn't mean we can't add to it. It doesn't hurt to have a little nest egg, to have some money left over.”

   “Okay, Ma.” Kyle held back a sigh, and the two of them went up to their hotel room.

Back at home, Kyle was getting a bit of rest before his coaching lesson, while his mother cleared the spare room, putting the boxes of stuff they didn't really need up in the attic. Then, after that, shelving and hooks were installed, and his awards were displayed all around.

Privately, Kyle thought the room looked a bit bare; the trophies barely lined one wall, but he soon realised that Sheila probably wanted to room to be full to the point of bursting. Or perhaps she just wanted one Ultimate Grand Supreme trophy. Or both. Kyle didn't know. He didn't know which would be worse.

He wondered if he could keep the door closed (and locked); it was so embarrassing having a room dedicated to his awards.

On the plus side, they were no longer in the living-room, which meant they weren't instantly visible, so he could be thankful for that.

   “You're doing so well,” Tony praised, during a quick little break, and Kyle couldn't help but smile. "None of my boys have won Supreme titles before. Now, since we want to keep you winning them, we're gonna make some changes to your routines.”

   “Yeah?”

   “Nothing major; just some extra steps to really make you stand out. These steps can be used in all your categories, except Beauty – your Beauty one is fine. But Sportswear, Casual Wear, and the others? They could use a little something, you know? A little oomph.”

   “What do we do?”

   “Well, we'll run through Casual Wear, and I'll tell you when to stop, and we'll add some things, okay?”

Kyle nodded and got into position, waiting for the music to start. When it did, he smiled, and walked over to his first X. As usual, he placed a hand on his hip, and turned, and was just about to continue walking, when Tony paused the music. “Right, stop there for a minute; I think we can add something to that,” he said, walking forward. “Okay, here's what we'll do,” he said after a minute. “When you step on stage, go to your first X, but don't turn; instead, put your right hand on your hip, and turn to your left, and tilt your head back just a little bit. Come on, do it with me,” and Kyle copied him. “Look at the judges, and then nod, and then you can turn around. Let me see you do it.”

He watched his young charge, hand on chin thoughtfully. “Hm, it still needs something more. Oh, okay, after you nod at the judges, turn back to the front, and then hold both arms up – no, not all the way, about halfway up, with your palms flat.” Tony watched Kyle attempt it, and smiled patiently. “Imagine you're holding a pizza in each hand,” he moved forward, and adjusted Kyle's arms. “That's it; keep your elbows bent, and your palms flat, and now do your turn. Great! Then bring your arms down, and then lift your hands to place them on your hips. Good; now, walk over to the second X. You can take your hands off hips; that's it, just keep 'em loose. Here, you can just turn, it's fine, and then you walk down the runway.”

Once Kyle had reached the end of the imaginary catwalk, Tony stopped him once again.

   “What do I do now?”

   “We're gonna change things up here. First...” Tony hesitated, narrowing his eyes, “I want you to.. when you reach the end of the runway, put your hands on your hips and do a half turn, so your back is facing the judges. And then I want you to stretch out your left leg, and point your toe – keep the foot on the ground; good – and stretch out your right arm, so it's pointing up diagonally, and stretch your left arm down diagonally.” He again helped Kyle get the right positions. “And you're gonna quickly do all three of those at the same time; let me see you do it. That's it; remember to keep the moves quick and sharp. Okay, okay; now, as you put arms out, give the wrists a quick flick, like so.” Tony quickly moved his wrists in a small, circular motion, as he stretched out his arms. “It's little things like that that really draw attention to the routine,” he explained. “Okay, so show me that; nice and quick. Okay, not bad, but don't worry; we'll work on it. So, after that, in one quick movement, I want you to bring your left leg in, put your left hand on your hip, and your right one to your head, like you're holding on to the brim of an imaginary hat. Good! Now, bend your knees, a quick little bounce, and turn all the way around to your left to face the judges. Do a little nod. Keep the pose! Don't move your feet; keep 'em crossed, and then turn to your right; all the way around, and face the judges again. Good. Remember your smile. Step out to the left, and then the right, and keep your right hand flat and straight, as you move it across your forehead. No, remember; in time with your other moves. Let me show you quickly.”

Tony planted out his left foot, as his right hand, his elbow raised so his face could be seen, gently touched the left side of his forehead, his fingers flat and straight, like he was saluting. When he repeated the move with his right foot, the hand slid across the hairline. “The trick is,” he said, “when the hand is on the left side of the head, look slightly to the right and vice versa. Like I said, tiny things like that just elevate the whole performance.”

Kyle only nodded. “Because when you turn back to face the judges, your feet are still gonna be crossed, so this is why we step out like that; to uncross them. And after that, we need one more thing here...” Tony trailed off again. “We need a pose,” and he turned to Kyle. “What do ya wanna do?”

   “I don't know,” said Kyle honestly.

   “All right, maybe you could blow a kiss, or something; we can work that out later. Anyway, once you do that final thing, what you're gonna do is, you're gonna put your hands back on your hips, and start walking forward – that bouncy walk, remember? – and you're just gonna take two or three steps, before you walk in like a tight, little semi circle, and start going back up the runway. Okay, got that? You wanna just do that little part for me, the walk?”

Kyle did so, he got his pageant smile ready, placed his hands where they needed to be, and started walking. Unlike the Beauty section, the other walks were expected to be lively, perky, like they were having fun. You were supposed to make it like you had a spring in your step, and move your arms, as well. For the girls, it was known as the “sassy walk;” thankfully, Kyle didn't have to sway his hips like they did.

He walked forward, keeping his eyes on the pretend judge, and began to walk in a small half-circle. As he did so, he looked over his shoulder, keeping his gaze fixed on the empty sofa, until he couldn't turn his head any further, and then he walked back up the runway.

   “Like that?” he asked.

   “Very good!” Tony beamed. “I just wanna make one addition; about halfway up the catwalk, do a turn.”

   “A turn? Like, I stop?”

   “No, no stopping. Just walk, and walk, and then, in quick movement, cross one foot in front of the other and give me a nice, sharp turn. Wanna give it a try?”

   “Okay.” Kyle moved back down towards the other end of the living-room, and did his little half-circle walk, and made his way back up the pretend catwalk. At around the halfway point, trying not to slow down, he gave a quick spin, before carrying on.

   “That was good,” Tony nodded, “but we'll need to work on it.”

Kyle needed to keep both feet on the ground, and his hands on his hips. With his spinning on one foot and his flailing limbs, he did resemble a rag doll just a little bit. But that was what practise was for. “And then, when you reach this X, this second one, give me a one-and-a-half turn. So, right now your back's facing the judges; we wanna do a quick 360, and then carry on so you end up facing them.”

   “Sure.” Kyle gave it a go, but ended up somehow getting his legs tangled together, and he tripped and fell.

   “It's all right; it's why we practise,” he grinned, as he helped Kyle to his feet. “I'm gonna show you a little trick. I'll do the turn; watch my feet, okay?”

Kyle stepped back and observed Tony start the routine from the runway walk onwards. At the halfway point, his right foot turned inward and the man turned crisply, ending with his ankles crossed, and he carried on walking. He then quickly hopped onto his left foot, and crossed his right ankle over his left, and gave a full turn. When he had done that, he repeated the same little hop, to uncross his feet, and did a half turn, so he was back facing the front. “Did you see what I did? The hop? That's what I want you to do; great way of preventing your legs all tied up.”

   “Okay,” said Kyle, and he went back over to the end of the room.

Pretty soon, he had almost perfected it, and they had filled in that missing move; Kyle would simply place his hands at his shoulder line, and then bring them down and out, like he was presenting his clothes. He thought it was incredibly stupid, but Sheila had made it clear she trusted Tony's input over his.

   “So, these moves will set you up for Casual, Sportswear, Outfit of Choice, and Western Wear,” Tony said after Kyle had run through the routine more times than he could keep track of. “But I think we could step up Swimwear a notch. Talent and Beauty are fine.”

   “Wonderful,” said Sheila, getting up from her spot in one of the comfy armchairs.

   “The next pageant is National Citrus Model, isn't it?” Tony clarified, while Kyle helped himself to some juice.

   “Yeah, it's a natural one, as well.”

   “The good thing is, we won't be needing these routines,” said Tony, and Kyle almost spat out his drink. Then why the hell had they wasted a whole lesson learning these moves, if they weren't going to use them? He would have much rather practised the stuff he would be needing for this new pageant.

   “Yeah, we're gonna compete in all the optional events,” said Sheila, which was news to Kyle. “The modelling is very simple, isn't it? I couldn't find out much on the website.”

   “Yeah, it's just a simple runway, with four X's, and you do one turn on each X. Kyle can do that in his sleep,” Tony smiled, and Sheila nodded in agreement.

   “I'm hoping it will help our chances,” she admitted. “The simple modelling, I mean. It's a different system, so we've gotta do what we can, right?”

   “Every little helps,” Tony agreed. “Kyle?” he said, and the boy looked up at him. “We've got fifteen minutes left; wanna work on a new move?”

   “Sure.”

   “Okay, I'm gonna teach you how to remove a jacket. That little one-and-a-half turn we did? That's when you'll take the jacket off. Now, since we don't have any of your costumes here, we can just practise with your own.”

   “Okay.”

   “Right, first I'll teach you how to remove it, and then we'll work on doing it while turning.”

Kyle put on his jacket, but left it unbuttoned, and faced Tony. “It's really very simple; you just grab the lapels, and move your shoulders back, letting your arms go straight.” He and Sheila watched Kyle attempt it; it was okay; the shoulders jerking back needed to be a lot more subtle, and he needed to keep his head still. Still, it was his first try. “The important thing is to not let the jacket fall to the ground,” said Tony, as Kyle bent to pick it up. “The judges will take off points for that.”

   “They will?”

   “Yeah, so we wanna keep hold of it, and carry it with us.”

   “But what if it just slips out of my hands?”

   “I have another little trick for that; the moment you feel the jacket go back past your elbows, hold your hands out, like so.” He held his arms down, his hands raised up so they were flat. “The jacket falls onto the hands and stays there.”

   “Okay.” Kyle tried the move again, and that time he didn't drop the jacket.

   “Great. Then, after you've done that final turn, grab your jacket, try and grab it from the neckline, and swing it over your shoulder, and then go over to your last X. Do another turn – wait, do a half turn, and then look over your shoulder at the judges. Look over your left shoulder, and wink, all right? Then turn to the front, and that's it,” Tony beamed once again.

   “I think I got it,” Kyle said honestly.

   “You'll get the hang of it,” the coach said kindly. “After Citrus, we'll carry on working on these moves, okay? Don't forget to practise what we did today.”

   “All right,” was all Kyle said, putting on his jacket.

   “I'll record myself doing the routine, and then I'll send it to you. All right? See you next week!”

   “Bye.”

   “Exciting, isn't it?” said Sheila, during the drive back home. “Just think; none of the other boys have these kinds of routines; they'll really make you stand out.”

Kyle only hummed in response. “Bubbe, what's wrong? Don't you like the moves?”

   “I do,” Kyle lied. “But shouldn't we be focusing on the one that's coming up, where I won't need them?”

   “Kyle, you need to get these moves down, and the more you do them, the sooner that will be.”

   “Well, yeah, but...” he trailed off. “Couldn't we have worked on stuff for this next pageant?”

   “We don't need to,” Sheila told him. “You won't need any routines for Citrus; all you do is walk normally to every X, and then turn; it's that simple. Were you even paying attention?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Then, I don't understand why this is confusing for you. We work on these new routines, so that when we go to a new pageant, they're perfect.”

   “Okay, Ma.” Kyle regretted even mentioning it.

Stan, Cartman, and Kenny had become accustomed to hanging out without Kyle. It had been several weeks since Stan had spent any time with him outside of school, and he didn't like it. It seemed that Kyle barely even had time to answer his text messages. Stan didn't agree with any of it, but he was just a kid; it wasn't like there was anything he could do about it.

Cartman, of course, was over the moon that the annoying Jew was hardly there to spoil his fun. At last, he was free to do whatever he wanted in peace without Mr Buzzkill ruining everything with his preachy speeches.

The three of them were at Cartman's house, watching television. It felt weird, only having three of them there, but it was even weirder having Butters there, which was why Stan had vetoed the blonde joining them that day. It felt like Cartman was trying to replace Kyle, and he wouldn't allow that to happen. They were the original friend group, and that wasn't going to change (and holding auditions for a new friend after Kenny died didn't count).

   “Ugh, “Toddlers and Tiaras” again?” he complained, as Cartman switched channels just in time for his favourite show to start.

   “What?”

   “Can't we watch something else?” It wasn't that the show reminded him of Kyle; it was just that it was a terrible show.

   “Hey, if you don't like it, then leave, hippie.”

Stan said nothing, but stayed where he was.

As the show went on, he buried himself in his phone, glancing up every once in a while to shake his head at the nonsense playing out on the screen.

   “Oh, my God! Look, you guys, it's Kahl!” gasped Cartman, and Stan's head whipped up just in time to see a flash of red hair. It was less than half a second, so he wasn't certain, and he really, really hoped that Cartman was wrong.

   “That's not Kyle. Just because he has red hair,” said Stan casually, feeling a bit sick. He dreaded to think what would happen if Cartman found out about Kyle's new 'hobby', and his fingers hovered over his keypad.

   “No, look! I'll prove it to you guys!” Cartman grabbed the remote and rewound the show, until the back of a red-haired boy appeared on the screen. He turned and Stan and Kenny saw that it was indeed Kyle. Although, the boy was only shown for all of two seconds, there was no doubt that it was their friend, and Stan's stomach dropped.

Cartman was knelt in front of the television, filming the show with his phone, cackling.

Trying to keep a neutral face, Stan texted Kyle, while simultaneously wondering how he could somehow get hold of Cartman's phone and delete the video. He knew that whatever Cartman was planning, it wasn't going to be good.

   “What are you gonna do?” he asked.

   “Why, nothing,” said Cartman sweetly, but Stan knew from experience that his sugary tone didn't mean squat.

   “Cartman,” he warned, “don't do anything.”

   “What makes you think that I would wanna do anything to my dear friend, little pageant princess Kahl?”

   “Cartman, I swear to God, if you say anything about this -”

   “Did you know? You did, didn't you?” Cartman's eyes widened with glee. “Oh, my God, you knew he was doing this?! Is that why he's been so busy lately?”

   “Give it a rest, fatass,” said Stan sharply. “I didn't know, all right?”

   “Yeah, enough already,” said Kenny, though he was shocked (and very amused) at what he had seen. “Go burn off some of that hatred, and take a walk.”

   “Don't tell me what to do, you poor piece of crap!” Cartman snapped, waddling back to the sofa. “Surprised you didn't know, Stan; Kahl's your butt buddy, isn't he? I thought he'd tell you.”

   “Look, this is probably the first time he's ever done this; why would he tell me?”

   “'Cause you two are butt buddies!” said Cartman.

   “God damn it, fat ass, get over it!” Stan snapped. Far from being shocked, Cartman was grinning.

   “Yeah, you knew about this,” his smile grew wider. “I feel very upset that my good friend Kahl has been keeping secrets from me; makes me feel angry, you know?”

   “What are you planning?” asked Kenny, as Stan glanced down at his phone. Still no answer from Kyle, but Stan felt that the least he could do was warn him that Cartman knew. At least then, Kyle could prepare himself.

   “Nothing; what do you take me for?” Cartman didn't even try to contain the evil glint in his eyes, and Stan decided to drop it. For the time being, he was powerless.

For once, fate seemed to be on his side, as he noticed that Cartman's phone had slipped out of his pocket, and was now wedged in between the sofa cushions. All he had to do was wait, and he wouldn't have to wait too long.

As predicted, Cartman soon got up, citing the need for more snacks, and as soon he was out of sight, Stan grabbed his phone, and deleted the video. He sighed, before quickly replacing the phone. Kenny opened his mouth, but quickly closed it, when Cartman reappeared.

Now, Stan could relax.

Kyle, determined not to let his grades slip, was doing his homework in his bedroom, when a knock came at the door, and his mother entered.

   “Kyle?”

   “Yeah?” he put down his pen, and turned in his chair.

   “I've got some good news.”

   “What is it?” he asked, noting her pleased expression. Lately, her idea of 'good news' was anything and everything to do with pageants, and so he was wary.

   “I just got off the phone with someone, and they offered us something amazing.”

   “What?”

   “They offered us a spot on 'Toddlers and Tiaras'!” she beamed, and Kyle's jaw dropped. “Isn't that great?”

   “No!” he cried, and Sheila looked disappointed.

   “No? But, bubbe, they asked us; it could be great.”

   “Ma, I really don't want to do it.”

   “Why not? It might do wonders for you; you might get noticed.”

   “Get noticed for what?”

   “Some of the kids that have been on that show have been offered modelling contracts! That would be perfect for you.”

   “I don't want to do it,” he repeated. “I don't want to be on the show.”

   “Kyle, we've only been doing this for just over a year now, and they called us. Some of the kids on that show have been in pageants for at least four years! You should be proud.”

   “I -” he didn't want to say that he wasn't proud. “I just really don't want to.”

   “I think it'll be really good for you.”

   “I don't. Being on TV isn't for me.”

   “You're actually going to turn this down?” She looked upset. “After all the work we've put in?”

   “Mom, we can still do pageants, just not on TV.”

   “Well...” she paused, and Kyle waited, knowing that she was trying to get him to agree. “If that's what you want, then fine, we won't do it,” she said eventually, before walking out. Kyle just stared after her. Had she actually given in? He felt weird; that never happened.

Still reeling, Kyle returned to his desk, and pulled out his phone. He saw he had a text from Stan, and he opened it.

'Dude Cartman saw u on tv and he knows about the pageants.'

Kyle's heart almost stopped. What was he going to do? But the most important question was, how did he get on television? His stomach sunk as he remembered the camera crew at Showcase of Beauty; the camera must have got him.

Another text drew him from his thoughts, and he looked back at the phone. 'He got a video of it but I managed to delete it but I wanted to let u know.'

'Thanks dude', Kyle texted back, dreading Monday. Knowing that the video had been deleted didn't make him feel any better. Just knowing that Cartman knew about the pageants was enough to make him want to move out of the country. He suddenly didn't feel like doing any homework.

The next morning, Kyle braced himself as he approached his friends at the bus stop.

   “Hey,” he said, standing next to Stan, as always.

   “Piss off, Jew,” Cartman kept his gaze fixed ahead of him, and Kyle stared at him, confused.

   “Whatever, fat ass; why don't you try coming up with something original, for once?”

   “Oh, you want me to come up with something original? How about this – 'Princess'? It suits you,” he smirked.

   “What are you talking about?”

   “Nothing, Princess.”

   “Don't call me that!” Kyle could feel Stan giving him a warning look, but he was past caring.

The bus pulled up, and they all climbed on.

   “Calm down, Kahl; can't have you popping a vein, now can we? Wouldn't want to ruin your face.”

   “I have no idea what you're talking about!” snapped Kyle, taking his seat, wishing with everything he had that Cartman would just shut up.

   “Why are you being so defensive? Popped veins don't look good, and that's a fact.”

   “Why would you even care?”

   “Oh, my God. Guys, can we just, please, have one day – one day – where you don't fight or argue?” Stan sighed, pinching his nose.

   “I can do that, if Kahl can,” Cartman smiled sweetly. Kyle, in no mood to fight, simply slumped against his seat, remaining silent until they arrived at school.

To his surprise, Cartman left him alone, and didn't insult him in any way. Not that it made him feel better; he knew that Cartman was up to something.

After lunch, it was time for them to present their project, and Cartman asked to go first.

   “Go ahead, Eric,” Mr Garrison waved his hand, and Cartman went up to the front of the class, with Butters obediently pulling down the projection screen.

   “Thank you, Mr Garrison. I know my project was supposed to be about Thomas Jefferson, but I found someone much more interesting, so I started over. My project is...” Cartman pushed a button on the small remote he was holding, “Kahl.” And a picture of Kyle appeared.

A few of the kids turned to glance at him, but many of them didn't care; the rivalry was nothing new.

   “What are you doing?!” Kyle snapped.

   “Now, now, Kahl, please don't interrupt; it's so rude. Now, as I was about to say, Kahl Broflovski is just a nine-year-old boy, and like many other boys his age, he has hobbies. Some of these are normal. He enjoys texting, gaming, hanging out with his friends.” As Cartman listed these off, he clicked through a series of photographs showing Kyle doing just that. “But,” he continued, “some people have hobbies that they don't like to share with other people. Maybe they're shy; maybe they're embarrassed.”

Kyle's head snapped up; he knew where this was going, and he stood.

   “Cartman!” He walked up to the front of the class, and tackled the boy, knocking him to the ground. Cartman managed to keep hold of the remote and clicked it, revealing a photo of Kyle being crowned at one of his pageants. “I'm gonna kill you!” he screamed, punching the laughing boy in the face.

   “Kahl does pageants!” Cartman yelled, seemingly not caring about the blows being landed on him, and he pressed the button again, revealing another pageant photo.

   “Oh, no,” Stan groaned, as laughter began to arise, and the kids gawked in amusement at the photos. They were so entertained by the thought of a boy doing beauty pageants, that none of them paid any attention to the full-on fight happening on the floor, which never happened. Fights between Cartman and Kyle were always fun to watch. “They're not real!” Stan cried, unable to see his friend like this. “You know that Cartman is good at Photoshop!”

The kids were still pointing and laughing, except for Kenny, Wendy, Butters, and Bebe, though she was staring at the pageant crown with wide, admiring eyes. “Cartman faked them; you know how he likes to annoy Kyle!”

Cartman, though still being viciously attacked, pressed the button one final time, showing the same “Toddlers and Tiaras” clip he had filmed.

This caused the students to erupt in full-blown, finger pointing laughter, and Stan turned to Mr Garrison, only to find the teacher laughing, as well.

Kyle threw Cartman to the ground, and looked up at the class, his cheeks burning. He shook his head once or twice, before running out of the room. “Damn it, Cartman!” Stan snapped, before taking off after his friend.

He ran through the halls; he checked the bathrooms, the library, the broom closets, but he couldn't find Kyle, and so, he headed back to class.

Cartman was now back in his seat, looking very innocent, and the rest of the class were still talking about what they had seen. “The hell is wrong with you, fatass?” Stan hissed as he sat back down.

   “What? I'm just sharing his hobby.”

   “That's not what you were doing, and you know it!”

   “Jeez, Stan, don't get your dick in a twist. What's the big deal?”

   “Kyle didn't want people to know for a reason; because he knew you would do this to him!”

   “Well, maybe next time he won't be so secretive!”

   “You're such an asshole!” he snarled. “How did you even get that video? I deleted it!”

   “Yes, I thought you might do that,” Cartman nodded. “That was why I left my cell; I was testing you. I simply watched the episode on catch-up and recorded it then.” He looked way too pleased with himself, and Stan buried his head in his hands.

Kyle had fled school property, but had not gone home; he didn't want anyone asking questions. Instead, he'd gone to the public library; hardly anyone ever went there, and so he wouldn't be disturbed. He closed his eyes; how was he supposed to go back to school? His mother wouldn't understand, so he couldn't tell her, and his father would be no help at all. Ike had been unusually distant from him, like he was embarrassed to have Kyle as a brother.

Kyle sighed; he really needed to win that Ultimate, and finally quit.

When school had finished, Kyle remained in the library, until he was sure that everyone had gone home. He found Stan waiting outside his house, and Kyle ducked his head, blushing furiously.

Without saying a word, Kyle headed into the house, Stan following him, and they went up to his bedroom.

   “Kyle, I never told anyone, I swear,” said Stan, as his best friend flopped down onto the bed.

   “I know you didn't,” Kyle nodded. “I know.” He paused, the both of them looking awkward. “How did he find out?”

   “After he saw the video, he went online, and did a little digging. They're on, like, the official website. Like I said, I deleted the video, but he just watched the show again, and got it.”

   “Right.” Kyle nodded again, cursing his wins.

   “What are you gonna do?” he asked.

   “I don't know,” Kyle admitted. “I have to go back to school, but I really don't wanna deal with that.”

   “I'm sure they'll get over it eventually,” said Stan, sitting down next to his friend.

   “I can't wait for 'eventually'!” Kyle snapped. “Anyway, I – I can't focus on this right now; I have to practise.”

   “Now? School's just finished!”

   “Yep, now. Mom says you can never have too much practise.” Kyle slid off the bed, rubbing his temple.

   “Okay,” Stan took the hint, and stood also. “Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

   “Probably not. I'm gonna fake sick.”

Stan did a double-take. “You are? Are you sure your mom will fall for it?”

   “She will.” Kyle had never faked being ill before – he got sick enough as it was – but he knew that his mother would keep him off for a few days if she thought he was unwell. The Citrus pageant was that weekend, and they had to be there on Friday, and as it was taking place in Florida, they had to leave on Thursday. They would be flying, but Sheila wanted to get there early to help eliminate jet lag. He knew she wouldn't want to miss the pageant, and so she would do whatever she needed to do to keep him healthy.

   “Well, all right, dude; do what you gotta do. See ya.”

   “Bye, dude.”

Kyle's strategy worked; he spent the next two days at home, and soon enough, he, Sheila, and Tony were in Florida, at one of the many Hilton hotels. It was just as chaotic as he expected, and now they were in the ballroom, waiting his turn to practise on the stage. The stage itself was raised a few feet off the ground, with large spotlights lining it. Black sparkly curtains formed the back, with thin satin drapes of orange, green, and yellow here and there, to bring out the citrus theme. That evening was the talent competition, which was completely separate from the rest of the pageant.

Sheila insisted that Kyle run through his Beauty walk, along with Citrus wear first, as there wouldn't be time after the talent category.

   “Remember to keep your head up,” said Sheila, as Kyle stepped onto the stage, looking for the judges' table. He only nodded, and settled into his smile.

Although he was glad that the modelling was simple, Kyle felt even more nervous; this was a huge event, and none of the kids were allowed to wear makeup of any kind. “Okay, good,” she said, when he'd stepped down. “Do you remember what you have to say?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Okay, good, now let's go upstairs so you can get changed.”

   “All right, Ma.”

Twenty minutes later, they were back in the ballroom; Kyle was in his vest and shorts, along with his sweatbands, and was holding his basketball, and Sheila had his hoop.

It seemed that every contestant was also participating in the talent competition; it was a chance for an extra prize. The ballroom was almost full to bursting point, and that didn't include some of the crazy props some of them had brought.

   “Right, you know how to do this, so you don't need to worry,” said Sheila, as his category (ages 7 – 10) began to perform. “Just do what you always do.”

Kyle nodded, gripping the ball tightly. He stared at the ground, not wanting anyone to catch his eye.

When it was his turn, he walked up behind the emcee, up to the curtain that hid the waiting contestants from view. He saw Sheila approach out of the corner of his eye, and hand the CD to the emcee.

A smiling lady was waiting behind the curtain.

   “Hello,” she grinned, and Kyle smiled weakly. “I just need to make sure you're not wearing any makeup,” she said, and pulled out a facial wipe. Having no choice, Kyle only nodded, and she swiped it over his face. “Okay, you're good.” She turned and saw the previous contestant leaving the stage. “Okay, the stage is yours.”

   “Thanks,” Kyle said, watching as his mother quickly set up the hoop. He could hear intrigued muttering.

   “Please welcome, in the 7 – 10 age division, number four, Kyle Broflovski!” called the emcee, and the crowd applauded. He stepped up on to the stage, and briefly hesitated, before walking out from behind the curtain. Facing the audience, he smiled as his music started to play.

He'd been doing this for so long that it had become muscle memory, and he had learnt long ago to not focus too much. He'd done that in the past, and ended up literally dropping the ball, possibly costing him a high title.

It was easy for him to smile and look happy while he performed his tricks to a cheering audience; he genuinely enjoyed this part of the competition. He was playing his favourite sport, and getting heaps of praise for it, and he'd won awards for it. That was the dream, right?

He kept his smile bright as he reached the end of the catwalk, spotting the judges, and spun the ball on his fingers, and the crowd went wild as usual.

Listening to his music, Kyle went back up the catwalk, and began his jump shots. He was still no good at hearing the beat, or counting in time, but he knew he only had two minutes, and he was pretty good at counting that. “And that was contestant number four, Kyle Broflovski! Thank you Kyle!”

Kyle stepped off stage to applause and cheering, panting slightly, while Sheila grabbed the hoop.

   “I think that was the best you've ever done it,” she said, as they returned to their seats.

   “Thanks, Ma. Hey, can I go and get changed now?”

   “No; crowning will start soon,” she said, and Kyle blinked.

   “What?”

   “This is separate to the actual pageant, remember? So they crown right away.”

   “Oh, okay.” Kyle settled back in his chair, and watched the rest of the competition. It was mainly singers and dancers, although there were a few cheerleading routines, and one magician.

Soon enough, the competition was over, and he was back up on stage with the rest of his age group.

   “Ladies and gentlemen, your 7 – 10 category! Weren't they great; give it up!” the emcee roused, and the audience whooped and cheered. “This was a tough age group to judge,” he continued, “there were so many good acts. But we have the winner here, and he is... Kyle Broflovski!”

Kyle was actually gobsmacked, and he stepped forward, as everyone clapped for him.

A large red and silver crystal crown was placed atop his head, and a monogrammed sash draped over his shoulder. A large, gold trophy was put next to him, decorated with yellow, orange and green crystals, and a handful of dollar bills was given to him.

As he smiled for the cameras, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment. He'd won a national award for his talent; this must mean he was good!

As he stepped off stage, he couldn't stop smiling, and he was still beaming when Sheila approached him.

   “Well done!” she grinned, and Tony slapped him a high five, and they walked back to their seats.

   “I can't believe I won,” Kyle said, removing the crown; it and the sash were of no interest to him, but the trophy and money were proof of his accomplishments. Sitting down, he counted out the money: $200. No, only $100, he reminded himself, after remembering that his mother would take half. He folded them money up, and placed it in the envelope, concentrating on making it all neat when his mother's voice caught his attention. “What?”

   “I said, are you looking forward to it?”

   “Looking forward to what? The pageant?”

   “No. Weren't you paying attention to the emcee? Each talent winner gets to perform at the crowning ceremony on Sunday!”

   “Oh.” He supposed that would be okay. Performing his favourite sport without all the usual pressure? He couldn't see a downside. “Cool,” was all he said.

   “Right, we'd better get to bed; we have an early start tomorrow.”

The following day, Kyle was in the ballroom, dressed in a black T-shirt with a bright orange slice on it – the official Citrus logo, and was also wearing black jeans, waiting to go on stage for his interview. He didn't have any makeup on, and his hair was brushed, but still curly. He was fiddling with his fingers as he nervously chewed his lower lip.

   “Stop that,” Sheila admonished, leaning down over him. “You're gonna make it swollen.”

   “I don't think I can do it, Ma,” he admitted, feeling his stomach churn at the mere thought of going on stage. How could he be expected to go up there with no makeup on, where everyone could see how hideous he was? They would laugh him off the stage, and then he would lose, he just knew it.

   “What are talking about?”

   “I can't do this one; I just can't.”

   “Why? This is no different to any of your other pageants; in fact, this one's easier. All you have to do is go to each X and turn.”

   “Yeah, I know.”

   “Then what is the problem?” she asked. Kyle looked over at the stage, his voice failing him.

   “Nothing, Ma,” he said eventually.

   “Okay, well, it's almost your turn; remember what you have to say?”

   “Yeah -”

   “Okay, you've only got 45 seconds, so make them count. Speak clearly and loudly, and don't stumble over your words. Make sure your head's up, and you're looking at the judges.”

   “Okay, Ma. I have to go on now,” Kyle pointed to one the backstage crew gesturing for him, and Sheila stepped back. He quickly settled his mouth into his 'pageant smile', before realising that he didn't need it for this pageant. He had to be natural.

   “Good luck, bubbe.”

Kyle nodded, and stepped onto the stage, and walked down to the third X, hoping his smile looked okay.

   “Hello,” smiled the centre judge, a middle-aged man with short blonde hair and brown eyes. “Please tell us your name and your hobbies.”

   “My name is Kyle Broflovski. I enjoy playing basketball, swimming, and playing with my friends.”

   “What would you like to be when you grow up?”

   “I'd like to be a professional basketball player,” he answered, remembering to keep his voice clear and loud, but not too loud, and making eye contact with each judge, just the way he had been taught.

   “And what is your favourite thing to do?”

   “My favourite thing to do is play with my little brother.”

   “And what has been your greatest accomplishment?”

   “My greatest accomplishment would be overcoming my stage fright to do pageants,” Kyle reeled off from memory.

   “Okay, thank you very much, Kyle.”

   “Thank you, judges.” Kyle nodded politely, before turning and walking off stage. As soon as he was out of their eyeline, he suddenly found that his legs were shaking a little bit. He was more nervous for this pageant than he had been for anything in his life, because he wasn't allowed to wear makeup. His bare face wasn't good enough to win; if it was, then he wouldn't need makeup; even his own mother had said it. If he didn't win a decent title here, she was going to be very unhappy.

   “There, that wasn't so hard, was it?” said Sheila, as they headed back to their seats. “I don't know what you were so worried about. This will be the easiest pageant; the modelling is so simple, you can do it in your sleep!”

The following day, Sheila, Kyle, and Tony were back in the ballroom, as the crowning ceremony officially began. Kyle had already performed his basketball routine to a very appreciative audience, and when he'd finished, Sheila had made him change back into his black jeans and black Citrus T-shirt. Certain that he was going to win a high title, she wanted him to look decent for the cameras.

Kyle was feeling rather frazzled. True, the modelling had been simple, just like his mother had said, but he felt extremely anxious, and he was dreading how disappointed Sheila would be when he didn't win, because he knew he wasn't going to.

His age group had already gone up for awards, and he'd won a medal for “Best Smile,” but hadn't won King.

Chewing on his lip again, Kyle began to nervously tap his feet, wanting it to be over already.

   “Stop that,” Sheila leaned down, keeping her eyes on the stage. “People can hear you.”

Kyle stopped, but then he began to swing his legs. At least that made no noise. He could hear Sheila and Tony talking quietly to one another – about what a tough competition it was, how they were only giving out two major titles; one Overall Winner for the 0 – 6 group, and one for ages 7 and up, and so it was going to be very difficult. Kyle only had one chance, and it was a very slim chance.

   “The prizes are amazing here,” he heard Sheila say. “I mean, the opportunities alone could be great.”

   “And now, our first Overall Winner...” began the emcee, and you could have heard a pin drop. “Can I get a drum roll, please?” he called, and the audience instantly began drumming their hands on their knees. “Your 0 – 6 Overall Winner is... Georgina Matthews!”

The audience erupted as little five-year-old Georgina toddled up onto the stage and was crowned. “Well done, Georgina!” praised the emcee as the girl was photographed. “Okay, we have our second Overall Winner here,” he held up a small card. “First off, I wanna congratulate all of our wonderful contestants here; haven't they been great?” he enthused, and the audience applauded once again. “Okay, the scores have been tallied, and your Overall Winner for the 7 and up age group is... Kyle Broflovski!”

Kyle, who had been too worried to pay attention, heard his name be called, and he looked up. Sheila was on her feet, being hugged by numerous other parents, while Tony had grabbed his hand, and was taking him to the stage. The entire room had erupted in cheering and clapping, and Kyle stepped on stage, and stood on the X at the end of the catwalk.

As he tried to figure out exactly what was going on, a flurry of activity surrounded him. A large silver crown decorated with orange and green jewels was placed on his head, and an embellished sash was placed over his right shoulder.

Still feeling quite confused, Kyle managed to remember to smile as a fur-lined velvet robe was draped around his shoulders, and he was handed a bouquet, a sceptre decorated in little crystals, and a large wad of dollar bills. A five-foot tall golden trophy, decorated very similarly to his talent one, was placed next to him, and the cameras flashed as the crowd cheered. “Ladies and gentlemen, your 7 and up Overall Winner: Kyle Broflovski! Give it up for Kyle!”

Weighed down by everything, Kyle clumsily got off stage, where Sheila and Tony were waiting for him.

   “Bubbe!” Sheila hugged him tightly. “Do you realise what you've done?” she asked, her arm around him as they walked back to their seats. She was holding the trophy and the bouquet, while Kyle kept hold of the money and the sceptre.

   “No.” Kyle examined the sceptre, and waved it about like it was a lightsaber. He decided this wasn't too bad – it could come in handy if he ever needed to knock Cartman out (though he didn't really need a weapon for that.)

   “Bubbe, you beat everyone here except for one person. Look at all this!” she gestured to the crown and trophy. “Look at that crown; it's like it was custom made for you!” she gushed. “But that's not all!” her eyes began to gleam, and Kyle that familiar sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach.

   “What?” he dared to ask.

   “You get a modelling contract!” she cried, and Kyle's heart sank.

   “Oh, really? That's cool,” he lied.

   “Isn't it? Of course, it doesn't mean they'll sign you – but they'd be crazy not to – but the contract from one agency is available, and then there's a contract for another agency, and you get to be interviewed for another contract with another agency; isn't that exciting?”

   “Sure.” Kyle hoped he sounded interested.

   “And there's even more; you get free entry to two National pageants, and a complimentary professional photo shoot, and you get to be in the official Citrus parade!”

   “Wow. Sounds great, Ma.” Kyle swallowed hard, staring straight ahead, even forgetting to count the money.

   “So, how much did you win?” she asked, and he looked down at the money in his hand, and he began to count it.

   “$1,000?!” Now there was expression in his voice. “Wow!”

   “Remember, bubbe -”

   “Yeah, yeah, I know; you take half.” Kyle realised what he had done, but it was too late to take it back.

   “Kyle!” she looked shocked. “What's with the attitude? You know I'm only doing this to benefit your future!”

   “I know, Ma,” said Kyle quickly, not wanting her to chew him out in front a huge ballroom, packed with tonnes of families. “I'm just tired, I'm sorry.”

   “Well, we'd better get to bed, anyhow; we're flying home tomorrow.”

   “Okay.”

   “Great job today, Kyle,” Tony grinned, rising and stretching.

   “Thanks,” the boy smiled. He and Sheila said their goodnights, before heading up to their room.

   “By the way, bubbe,” Sheila asked, as she stood in front of the mirror, removing her makeup, “when are you going to actually start looking happy when you win?”

Kyle, in the middle of double-checking the contents of his suitcase, looked up at her. “I wasn't expecting it; I was a little bit shocked, that's all,” he said honestly.

   “You shouldn't be shocked by now; you win more often than not.”

   “I just wasn't expecting to win here; there was a lot of tough competition.”

   “I know, but you have to have confidence in yourself. That's part of why we do these contests, so you should have some by now. You've got to get rid of that silly, deer in the headlights look, okay?”

   “Okay, Ma.”

   “Good. Now go to sleep; we have an early flight.”

Not being used to warm weather, Kyle found it hard to sleep. He lay awake for hours, feeling as though there were snakes writhing around in his stomach, but he didn't know why. All he knew was that he was dreading going back to school.

Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 8

   “Your Mini Supreme is... Kyle Broflovski!”

   “Your Amateur Supreme – Kyle Broflovski!”

   “Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this year's Overall Supreme, number 18, Kyle Broflovski!” 

   “Once again, give it up for Kyle Broflovski, your National Photogenic Supreme!”

Sheila was right; once Kyle started winning the high titles, there was no stopping him. Again and again, his name was called, and he would come up on the stage, and smile graciously as he was crowned, and given trophies, sashes, and money.

Sheila was actually disappointed at all these titles; Kyle had won one of only two major titles in a prestigious National pageant, and for him to win things like Mini Supreme, Mini Overall, which were the lower Supreme titles, felt like a huge step backwards for her.

She channelled her frustrations into Kyle's routines, making him practise over and over again.

   “You have got to get these routines down,” she repeatedly told him. “Look at the judge! Judge, judge!” she added quickly, as Kyle stood at the end of the pretend catwalk. “Come on! You should know what you're doing by now!”

All Kyle could do was keep on going, doing what he was told. The sooner he did that, the sooner practise would be over.

Truthfully, he kind of welcomed the relentless practising; the more time he spent at home, the less likely he was around others, and therefore less likely to be teased for his new “hobby”. The rest of the kids in his class never passed up an opportunity to tell him how hilarious they found the idea of him competing in pageants was. It was all just one big joke to them, and Kyle had had enough, and now spent all of his free time at home. It meant spending countless hours in the garage running through his routines, but it was better than the alternative.

One evening, after he had finished for the day, Kyle sat on the sofa, absent-mindedly scrolling through Facebook, and he heard his mother talking on the phone in the kitchen. He frowned as he received yet another text from Cartman.

'How is the Princess doing today? My little Jewish Princess boy XD'

His jaw clenching, Kyle deleted it, as he did for practically every message Cartman had been sending him lately. Kyle rubbed his head, squirming at the headache that had just appeared. He'd been getting those a lot lately, too, and a lot of stomach aches. He didn't tell anyone about these, not even his mother; why would he? Everyone got headaches; he was no exception.

He heard Sheila stop talking, and then she entered the living-room.

   “Who was on the phone?” he asked, removing his hand from his forehead.

   “Just someone,” was all she said, looking at him, then at the television. “You better get to bed, it's late.”

   “Okay,” Kyle slid off the sofa, doing his best to keep his face neutral.

   “Don't forget to brush your teeth,” she said, holding out her arms for a hug.

   “I won't, Ma,” Kyle hugged her, burying his face into her abdomen, revelling in the darkness it brought.

   “Good. And don't forget to exfoliate and moisturise,” she said, and Kyle, who had already pulled away, stopped.

   “Can't I just skip it tonight? I'm tired,” he lied. Sheila looked aghast.

   “No, you can't skip it,” she told him. “If you skip one night a week, then next you're gonna end up skipping two nights a week, and before you know it, you stop doing it altogether. No, you do it tonight, and every night, okay?”

   “Okay,” Kyle sighed.

   “I'm only doing this to help you,” she reminded him, and Kyle only nodded. “Off you go, then; you have school tomorrow.”

Kyle nodded again and trudged off to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, and washed his face, using the special sponge Sheila had bought for him, before massaging moisturising cream into his skin. He did it as quickly as possible, just wanting to go to bed, hoping that a good night's sleep would help him feel better.

Teeth and face clean, he headed to bed, pulling the blanket up over his head.

   “Good moooorning, Princess!” Cartman grinned when Kyle arrived at the bus stop the next morning.

Kyle, tired and still suffering with a raging headache, could only find the strength to roll his eyes, surprising the other three boys.

   “Dude, you okay?” asked Stan.

   “It's fine, guys,” said Cartman, “he just doesn't like his new nickname. Which do you like better, Kahl? Princess, or Queen? Or JonBenet?”

   “Don't care,” Kyle muttered, rubbing his forehead once again.

   “Hm, I can't decide; I guess it'll have to be all three,” Cartman smirked. But Kyle only stared straight ahead, and the fat boy frowned slightly. “Hey. Hey, Kahl, what do you think of being called Princess Queen JonBenet? Huh? Is it annoying you, Princess Queen JonBenet?”

   “Dude, fuck off,” Stan moved closer to Kyle. “You all right, man?”

Kyle shook his head slightly, and turned to face his best friend.

   “Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine.”

   “You seemed outta it for a moment, there.”

   “Yeah, I just got a headache, is all,” said Kyle truthfully, and Stan nodded.

   “All right, children, let's take our seats.” Mr Garrison strode in late as usual, ignoring the fact that the kids were all already seated. He approached his desk, and began rifling through the papers on it. “I hope everyone's completed the homework I set for you. All except Kyle..” Mr. Garrison started to snigger, “who has an excuse.”

Kyle's jaw clenched again and he stared at his desk as, again, laughter began to arise from around him.

   “I did the homework,” he growled, gripping the paper so hard he was surprised he didn't tear it, silently fuming. How much longer was he going to have to put up with this?

   “Oh, great,” Mr Garrison grinned, as the laughter died down to snickers.

   “Yeah, Kahl, it's nice that you took the time from putting on makeup and posing to do your homework,” said Cartman, and the laughing started up again.

   “Fuck you, Cartman,” Kyle growled, hardened gaze still fixed on the desk.

   “All right, all right,” Mr Garrison waved his hand. “I could do this all day, I really could, but you guys have a pop quiz on Friday, so you need to focus.”

The kids groaned, and finally quietened. None of them made any further remarks to Kyle, who kept his eyes down. “Okay, children, who can tell me what a complex sentence is?” asked Mr Garrison, who was now standing in front of the blackboard, chalk in hand. He turned to face the students.

   “Maybe we should ask Miss America over there,” Cartman pointed to Kyle, before bursting into hysterical laughter, as did a few of the others.

   “Fuck you, fatass!” Kyle hissed.

   “Damn it, Eric, I don't want to get a call from Kyle's mother, so keep your mouth shut!” the teacher snapped, and Cartman immediately stopped laughing. He angrily folded his arms.

   “That damn Jew bitch is always spoiling my fun!” he complained, but Mr Garrison ignored him.

When it was break time, Stan approached Kyle, who was still in his chair.

   “Dude, you okay?” he asked again, and Kyle lifted his head.

   “Huh?”

   “Are you okay?”

   “Oh, yeah, I'm fine,” said Kyle, but Stan wasn't convinced.

   “Dude, you can't fool me; I know you too well. What's wrong?”

   “I'm just not feeling too great,” he admitted. “You know, I think I'm gonna go to the nurse.”

   “Why? What's the matter?”

Kyle had to smile a bit at Stan's concerned face. “It's nothing, dude; just a headache. Maybe she can give me something for it.”

   “All right, then. Do you need me to come with?”

   “Sure, if you want.”

The two boys left the room, and walked down the halls. Stan just prayed that none of the kids would say anything to Kyle, or that they wouldn't bump into Cartman; it was the last thing they needed.

He waited while Kyle sat on the bed in the nurse's office, a place that the redhead spent far too much time in, and waited for the nurse.

   “Well, what seems to be the problem?” she asked, looking him up and down. “You look fine.”

   “I have a bad headache,” Kyle told her. “Can you give me anything?”

   “I can give you some Tylenol,” she said, before looking at him more closely. “Actually, you do look a little peaky,” she observed. “I think you should stay in here for break.”

   “Fine,” Kyle shrugged, not really caring either way. At least in here, he couldn't be harassed.

   “I'll stay with you,” Stan volunteered, taking a seat next to bed, and Kyle smiled at him. The nurse, fully aware of their closeness, only nodded, and left to get the medicine.

Kyle lay back on the bed, pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes, breathing in a small sigh of relief at the darkness. “Dude, I'll say it again; you really need to quit,” said Stan, concern written all over his face.

   “Yeah,” he agreed, not even bothering to say that he couldn't afford to take a break. He was on another winning streak, and he knew that his mother wouldn't allow him to potentially ruin that.

   “So, are you gonna tell your mom?” Stan asked, and Kyle smiled lightly.

   “The season ends in about a month or so; then we take a break,” he informed his friend, hating the fact that he actually knew this stuff.

   “What?”

   “Each year is like a season, right? Around August, they stop, and start back up again in September, kinda like school.” It was only partly true; there were at least three National pageants that ran all throughout the year, and Sheila was of course going to enter him in those.

   “Oh. Okay. Well, at least you get breaks,” Stan shrugged. He supposed that was better than nothing, but his face said it all.

   “Look, dude, I just have a headache because I didn't sleep well last night, that's all,” said Kyle, sensing that Stan wanted to say more. “It's just a one time thing.”

   “Yeah,” Stan said, deciding to keep quiet. All he could do was support Kyle and hope that he didn't burn himself out.

He hoped that, soon enough, he would be able to hang out with Kyle more; hearing that there would soon be a break in the competing gave him hope. Of course, travelling across several States to watch Kyle compete was always an option, but he just found the whole thing too creepy. It made Stan feel very uncomfortable to watch, and he would much rather play and chat with Kyle, rather than watch him walk around on stage, a plastic smile on his face.

Again, all he could was be a friend, and that meant being there.

Later that evening, the Broflovskis had just finished dinner, and the family had broken off to go and do their own thing. Gerald had retreated to his office, and Ike had gone to his room to continue gaming. Kyle was just about to go to his own room when the doorbell rang.

   “Kyle, can you get that, bubbe?” called Sheila, who was busy washing the dishes.

   “Sure,” said Kyle, wishing he could just hide upstairs; he just knew that Cartman was at the door. He was surprised to find Bebe standing there, and she was smiling at him.

   “Hi, Kyle,” she chirped, grinning sweetly.

   “Uh, hi.” He was confused; Bebe never came to his house, and he started to maybe think that she was playing some kind of trick on him. His eyes quickly darted around, but he couldn't see anyone hiding. Maybe they were just too well hidden.

   “Aren't you going to invite me in?” she asked, and Kyle stood aside to let her enter.

   “What do you want?” he asked.

   “I came to ask about the homework?”

Kyle noticed that she wasn't looking at him; rather, she was scanning the walls of the living-room, her neck craning.

   “Homework?” Since when did Bebe care about homework? And since when did she come to his house to ask about it? Something wasn't right.

   “Yeah, like, I totally wasn't paying attention, and I don't know what the homework is, can I read your notes?”

   “Uh -” Kyle barely had time to comprehend this, before Bebe began walking around the living-room.

   “Where's your backpack?” she called, looking behind the sofa, while a very confused Kyle looked on. He had no idea what was happening, even as she ran upstairs. “Is it in your room?” came her voice, and Kyle followed her. He entered his room to find Bebe searching it.

   “It's, uh, it's -” he headed towards his backpack, but Bebe had already left the room. Again, he followed, wondering just what she was doing. He opened his mouth, but didn't get a chance to speak, as he saw her head into his parents' room. “You can't go in there!”

   “But I need to find your backpack!” she insisted, making Kyle even more confused.

After a quick, cursory search of his parents' room, she left, and went back into the hallway. Kyle saw the door she was headed to, and his stomach churned; the trophy room.

   “You don't wanna go in there!” He practically leapt in front of the door, and tried to lead her away, but Bebe wasn't having it, and flung the door open.

   “Wow,” she breathed, her eyes gleaming at the sight of all the crowns and small trophies, which rested on newly built shelves, with poles underneath that displayed his sashes. His larger trophies were stood against the walls, and his plaques were mounted above the shelving. “Let's, uh, let's worry about the homework later.” She stepped further into the room, grinning widely.

   “I'll give you the notes tomorrow.” Kyle tried to pull her out of the room, but she wouldn't budge. He cringed internally as she walked up to one of the shelves displaying his crowns.

   “These are really something, you know?” Her eyes never left the jewels and crystals decorating the crowns, and she reached out to gently touch a trophy.

   “You really shouldn't be here; I'm not supposed to have people over,” Kyle lied, his hand gripping the door handle.

   “I won't be long,” she assured him, examining the sashes.

Kyle gulped and looked around the room; the crowns and trophies seemed to be laughing at him, but he couldn't help but look at the sashes and read the titles he'd won. “Mini Mr Colorado”, “Prince Charming USA”, “Citrus King”, “Best Dressed”, “National Portfolio”, and "Overall Personality” to name a few. Kyle quickly counted them, his stomach dropping when he realised that there was more than thirty individual awards. He didn't realise he'd done that many competitions. Okay, some of them were from the same pageant; usually the smaller divisional trophies, but lately, he was getting the big trophies.

   “Bebe, I'm really not allowed to have people over,” he said, taking a step back and looking down the hallway. It was empty and he sighed in relief. Turning back, he saw that Bebe was wearing one of his biggest crowns, and she'd draped one of his sashes over her shoulder, a bejewelled sceptre in the crook of her arm.

   “What do you think?” she grinned, looking around the room at her imaginary audience, while Kyle stared in horror. “This crown is really heavy, how do you do it?” She was wearing one of his Supreme crowns, which tended to look more like tiaras, in terms of appearance, albeit several inches high, and he could see why she'd chosen that one. It was at least ten inches high, silver, and decorated with silver jewels and edged with gold. The name of the pageant, “Glamorous Beauties”, was written in black jewels along the base.

   “Uh, it's uh -” but Kyle was quickly cut off by the excited Bebe.

   “It's so pretty!” she gushed. “I have the exact perfect pair of shoes to go with this! What did you win it for, by the way?” She wasn't even looking at him, far too absorbed in looking at the rest of the crowns.

   “Um, Portfolio,” Kyle muttered, and she turned to face him.

   “Portfolio? Like, pictures?” she asked, and Kyle nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. “Wow, so you can really win a prize for everything, can't you?”

   “Yeah.”

Bebe's eyes gleamed again, and she began to slowly walk the length of the room, waving and blowing kisses, while Kyle stood there awkwardly, watching. She couldn't keep her hands off the crown, and she kept twirling the sceptre between her fingers. “You've won a lot,” she observed after a while, stopping her imaginary catwalk to continue staring at the trophies. “You must be good.”

Kyle said nothing, instead biting back the bitter remark that at least it was proof he wasn't the ugliest boy. He tried not to think about that; whenever he did, it put a dampener on his whole day. “These crowns are so gorgeous,” she was practically drooling. “I can't believe you get to wear them whenever you want.”

   “Well, I don't,” said Kyle. “I don't care about them.”

   “No?” Bebe faced him. “Why not?”

   “Because I don't,” was all he said.

   “Huh.” She pulled the crown from her head, and held it up to her face, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Well, that's a shame; I think they're amazing. It must feel great when you win.”

   “I suppose,” Kyle sighed, just wanting her to leave.

   “What?” She lowered the crown and stared at him. “I would love to win a crown like this!”

   “Well, then, you enter a pageant,” said Kyle shortly.

   “Oh, I never thought of that,” she said honestly. “Well, I don't think I could. But maybe, if you don't like these crowns, you could donate them? Perhaps to some kids who would get a lot of use out of them?” she hinted, practically hitting him over the head with her subtlety.

   “They're – well, uh, my mom knows how many there are, and she'll know if one disappears.” Frankly, Kyle couldn't care less about the crowns; he considered them more Sheila's than his; it was her idea, after all. But he knew she would flip if ever got rid of any of them. “I'm sure you can buy crowns online,” he said, and Bebe's eyes lit up again.

   “Ooh, you're right!” she grinned. “Every girl needs a crown, wouldn't you agree? I mean, it's every girl's dream to be a princess, and to wear all these gorgeous clothes, and have everyone stare at you...”

Kyle zoned out as she prattled on, wondering if he could convince her to put on a red wig and take his place in the American Beauties and Cuties pageant that weekend. Bebe definitely wouldn't mind, and he was sure his mother wouldn't see through the disguise, paper thin though it would be.

Before he could fully commit to the idea, Bebe was carefully placing the crown, sash and sceptre back on the shelves and rail, and was taking a last, longing look around the room. “Well, I suppose I'd better get going,” she sighed, her eyes lingering on the crowns.

   “Okay.”

Eventually, Bebe left the room, walking as slowly as she could, and kept looking back over her shoulder.

   “Hey, thanks again for the help with the homework,” she said at the door, a far off look in her eye. Kyle didn't bother replying, knowing that she was far too caught up in her fantasies. “See ya!” she beamed, before skipping away.

Closing the door, Kyle leaned against it, breathing a huge sigh of relief.

On that Saturday morning, Kyle walked through the halls of the Holiday Inn hotel in Austin, Texas with Jake, chatting animatedly. They were both competing in the National American Beauties and Cuties pageant, and were dressed in their tuxes, with their hair and makeup already done. Kyle felt so relieved that he had makeup on; he still hated wearing it, but it covered up all his flaws, and if the judges couldn't see his flaws, then they would score him highly. The higher the score, the bigger the title, and that meant with each win, he was closer to quitting. Of course, then he hated himself for being relieved about wearing makeup.

Kyle was wearing his new tuxedo jacket; white, with emerald satin lining the lapels and jacket pockets, just like his old one. But this jacket was styled to look like a tailcoat, and he also had on an emerald green cummerbund. The style looked a lot cleaner than his old jacket, and the new cummerbund helped to draw even more attention to his eyes.

Sheila and Tony had also made some minor changes to his routine for the beauty round, despite Tony previously saying that he didn't need to. Now, Kyle would just smile at the judges and turn on the first X, rather than posing. When he would reach the end of the catwalk, he would take a moment to make eye contact with the judges, before doing a turn, and then he would blow a kiss, and tilt his head. From then on, the routine remained the same.

There weren't any major differences, and so Kyle hadn't found it too hard to memorise the new routine.

It was swelteringly hot, and he was extremely grateful for the air conditioning. All around them, pageant kids and their families darted around, some of the kids in their formal wear outfits, the mothers chasing their daughters with hairspray and lip gloss. It was chaotic as per usual, and the sound of excited shrieking, laughing, and chattering could be heard throughout the hotel.

Kyle stopped to examine some posters hanging above a potted plant. Nothing too interesting, just advertising a few plays at the local theatre, and some upcoming art shows. Nothing to catch his eye, and so they continued walking.

He was very glad his mother was beginning to loosen up a tiny bit, and allowed him to walk around and explore before the pageant started. They had at least thirty minutes before his age group were due to be called, and Kyle was determined to back in good time. If he could prove that he could be trusted, then Sheila would give him more leeway.

She appeared to have realised that giving him a bit of time to relax and release a little bit of energy would help him in the long run. Kyle had to admit, it was nice to just walk around freely, without his mother or Tony following him, constantly reminding him to keep his head up and shoulders back, remember to not let his smile slip, always fussing with his hair or his clothes.

He didn't know whether it was Tony who had gotten Sheila to back off a little bit, but he was grateful; now he didn't feel so tense when he was waiting for his turn to perform.

   “Are you gonna get Pixie Stix?” asked Jake as they entered the large, modern looking lobby. He'd spotted a table, near the room where the pageant was being held, whereupon dozens of Pixie Stix were resting, waiting to be sold. Mothers usually fed them to their kids to give them the energy needed to go on stage.

   “Nah; I don't really like them,” Kyle lied.

   “You don't? I love them,” Jake approached the table and bought two. He offered one to Kyle, who only shook his head.

   “We don't need 'em,” he said honestly. “We don't have to do as much as the girls.”

   “Yeah, you're right,” said Jake, as the two of them loitered outside the ballroom, where mellow pop music and cheering could be heard. “But I like to have the extra boost, especially if I wanna win King.” King was the best he could hope for. Now that Kyle was off winning the Supreme titles, Jake and the other boys actually had a chance at winning King.

   “Kyle!”

Kyle looked over to see a girl about his age running up to him, dressed in her jewelled cupcake dress and shiny white shoes, her hair in rollers. “You're here! I've missed you!” she cried, hugging him.

   “Um, thanks?” he awkwardly returned the hug, not recognising her.

   “It's me, Brianna,” she explained, letting go of him, and taking a step back. “We met at the National Kings and Queens of America pageant?”

   “Oh, yeah! Hi,” he smiled at her, and she smiled back. “I also saw you at Regal Gems, as well, didn't I?” he asked, and she nodded.

He felt bad for not recognising her without all the makeup she usually had on. It was a shame, really, because she really didn't need it, he thought, as she turned around for him.

   “Do you like my new dress?” she asked. “Mommy had it special made; I love the roses on it, and all the little gems and crystals. What do you think?”

   “It's really nice,” said Kyle honestly, taking in the large, crystallised roses decorating the sweetheart neckline, and the bodice that sparkled with silver jewels. Even though he was ignorant of such things, the new, slightly darker shade of pink complemented her skin much better than her previous pastel dress.

   “I'm glad you like it,” she beamed at him, her voice slightly breathless, playing with the stiff edges of the skirt. “I wanna wear it every day.”

   “Wouldn't you get sick of it after a while?”

   “I don't think so. You know, I think you'll win something big today,” she told him. “You're good.”

   “Thanks,” said Kyle politely. She did this to him every time she saw him, but he didn't really mind; he liked her boundless energy. She always greeted him with a hug, as well. He didn't really mind it; in fact, it was quite nice. “I think you'll win something big, as well. You're really good, too.”

   “Aw, you're sweet. Well, I gotta go; I gotta get into hair and makeup. But I just wanted to show you my dress. I lost another tooth, so I use a new flipper now.” Brianna pointed to her missing tooth, before darting down the hallway. “See ya!” she cried over her shoulder.

   “You know, if she falls, that dress will make her spring right back up,” said Kyle, and Jake laughed.

   “It would be a lot easier if we had that. Last time, I was running and I fell over, and got my knees dirty, and my mom was annoyed because she couldn't get them clean in time before I had to go on stage.”

   “Oh, man, that's gotta suck,” said Kyle sympathetically. “I don't wanna imagine what my mom would do.” He tried to chuckle, but the knowledge that Sheila would be very, very unhappy with him made the laughter die on his lips.

The two of them entered the ballroom, and stood near the door, watching the pageant, where the six-year-olds were competing in the Beauty category. After a while, they walked down the side of the room, towards the front, and found some chairs, where the other waiting contestants were sat. As they passed Sheila and Tony, she caught his eye and tapped her wrist, indicating that he should keep an eye on the time, to which Kyle nodded.

   “Hey, Kyle,” several kids, mainly girls, but a few boys, greeted him with a smile, which Kyle returned politely. He knew pretty much all of the boys, due to the small number that competed regularly, but there were so many girls, he couldn't keep track of them all. He only knew Brianna because she'd been hanging around him a lot.

One of the boys had some small toy cars, which he shared with Kyle and Jake, and the three of them began to run them over the chairs, racing one another. A few other little kids nearby were laying on their stomachs, colouring, waiting for their turn.

   “Hey, check this out.” Kyle pulled his phone from his pocket, and showed Jake a video compilation of people coming round after anaesthetic. Okay, they were cheap laughs, but the video was amusing, and they enjoyed watching it. Looking to pass the time, they watched more videos, quickly becoming engrossed in the screen.

Soon after, Kyle was tapped on the shoulder, and looked up to see his mother.

   “You'll be getting ready to line up soon,” she said, holding her hand out for his phone, which he gave to her. He and Jake stood, waiting for the emcee to call for their age group. The two boys stood near the wall, and Sheila and Tony approached Kyle, while Jake's mother came up to her son.

Sheila began adjusting Kyle's tux, making sure it looked neat and tidy, while Tony checked to make sure Kyle's hair and makeup looked perfect. Kyle just stared ahead, wanting them to just stop and leave him alone.

   “Remember,” Sheila bent down and muttered into his ear, “when you're on your first X, take the time to spot the judges. Remember to keep the turns smooth, and your smile bright. Keep an eye out for my signals, and keep your back straight. And...”

Kyle looked down at the ground as she went on and on, as if he hadn't heard it all a million times before. Biting the insides of his cheeks, he took a deep breath, hoping for the nausea to die down.

It wasn't until he was due to go on stage that they left to go and watch from the audience.

   “Hey, Kyle!” Brianna plopped down next to him after the Talent round, beaming. “You did great in Talent today. Well, you always do, but today was really good.”

   “Thanks,” he smiled, resting his basketball on his knees. “You were great, too; you're a really good dancer.” He wasn't just saying that to be polite; Brianna was a very talented dancer, doing all sorts of impressive flips and spins on the stage, which had the audience on their feet.

   “Thanks!” Brianna swung her legs happily, the spangles on her shorts jingling. “I've been disco dancing like this since I was three, and I also used to do dance competitions, too, but I can't do dance and pageants.”

   “Why not?”

   “Not enough time to do both,” she shrugged, itching her eye, taking care not to get glitter on her fingers. “There's too much practise. Hey, will you teach me to spin the ball on your finger, like you do?”

   “Sure, I guess.”

   “Really? It's so cool how you do it!” Her eyes wandered to the basketball nestled on his lap.

   “It's hard to learn, but you can with practise,” he said. “I don't think you could do it with those nails, though,” he pointed to her French manicure, and Brianna giggled.

   “It must have taken you ages to learn. I guess we'll have to do it after a pageant, 'cause that's when I can take my fake nails off,” she said, and Kyle nodded. She reached up into her mouth, and pulled out her flipper, the top row of fake teeth many contestants wore to hide gaps from missing teeth.

For all his experience, Kyle had not known about this, and he was surprised that Brianna apparently had a second row of teeth.

   “Oh! For a second there I thought you had a second lot of teeth; like a shark,” he laughed, and Brianna laughed, too.

   “Yeah, it's my flipper. You're lucky you don't need one. If you lost a tooth, would you have to wear one?”

   “I don't know.” Kyle had never thought about it before. The rules for the boys weren't as strict as they were for the girls, but he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he did lose a tooth. He doubted Sheila would make him wear a flipper, as he had pretty much all of his adult teeth, but he'd seen other boys with missing teeth, so maybe it wouldn't matter either way. To be fair, those boys didn't have Sheila Broflovski for a mother.

   “I guess you won't need to. Want some candy?” Brianna produced a bag and offered it to him.

   “What are those?” Kyle looked in the bag to see pastel coloured chewy squares.

   “They're called Squidglets; they're really yummy. Try some!” She waved the bag in front of him, and Kyle hesitated. He hadn't eaten since that morning, bar a snack after the Beauty round. He supposed a little bit of candy would be okay.

   “Sure, thanks,” he reached in and took one.

   “Come on, take more!” she prompted, putting a few more in his hand. Kyle allowed her to do so, and popped a sweet into his mouth.

   “Mm! You're right; these are yummy!” He had to eat another one, they were so good.

   “I told you. I have these all the time.”

For a moment, they sat in silence watching the other contestants perform their talent routines. As per usual, it was mainly singers and dancers. “Well, I gotta go get changed now,” Brianna said, after the pre-teen age group had finished. “Outfit of Choice is one of my favourites, 'cause I get to wear my Popcorn outfit.”

Brianna usually wore a Popcorn Girl costume for her Outfit of Choice; a red and white striped two-piece dress, with a red, ruffled petticoat underneath. The skirt was decorated in fake popcorn kernels, and she had a mini popcorn box attached to her headband. “You've never seen it before, have you? My Popcorn outfit?” she asked, and Kyle shook his head.

   “Don't think I have.”

   “Well, stick around when you're done, so you can watch my routine.”

   “All right,” he agreed, unable to resist pulling a displeased face. “Ugh, I hate doing Outfit of Choice.”

   “Why?”

   “I hate my outfit. That stupid cowboy thing.” Whenever a pageant had the Outfit of Choice category, Sheila always made Kyle wear his Western Wear attire, and he hated it with every fibre of his being.

   “Oh, I think it looks nice. Well, see ya in a bit!” Brianna jumped up from the chair, and waved at him as she left the room.

Kyle continued to watch the pageant by himself; Jake was off somewhere, and Kyle didn't feel like going to look for him.

He yawned just as Sheila came to get him, and without thinking, rubbed his eyes, smudging his makeup.

   “Kyle!” she grabbed his arm. “Now look what you've done! Come with me.” She took him back into the back room, where the contestants got ready, and pointed to a chair.

Kyle sat, and Sheila began removing the makeup. “Did you forget you were wearing it, bubbe?” she asked, and Kyle nodded. “You must remember not to rub your eyes in the future; now we need to do your eye makeup all over again.”

   “Oh, no,” Kyle groaned, and Sheila frowned at him.

   “You wait right here; I'm gonna go get Tony. You need to get changed soon; you can't be late on stage,” she said, before leaving the room.

She soon returned with Tony, who smiled sympathetically at Kyle.

   “Rubbed your eyes?” he asked, and Kyle only nodded, not looking forward to this. “Don't worry; you know I'll be gentle,” Tony assured him, pulling out the dreaded eyeliner. Those words meant nothing to Kyle, as he leaned back in his chair as Tony held up the pen to his face.

   “Kyle, you know you have to keep still,” Sheila told him.

   “I don't like the eyeliner; I hate it,” Kyle admitted, shocking himself. He supposed it was because he was tired. He hardly dared look at his mother.

   “Well, I'm sorry, bubbe, but you need to wear it. This is non-negotiable. Now, keep still.”

Of course, Kyle did as he was told, his face contorted with discomfort.

   “Welcome back, Miss America!” Cartman beamed as Kyle walked into class on Monday morning.

   “Fuck off, Cartman!” Kyle snapped, the faint circles under his eyes betraying how angry he was.

   “Jeez, Kahl, what's your problem? Did you lose? Did you lose the beauty pageant?” Cartman grinned, clearly having the time of his life.

   “None of your business, wide load,” Kyle scowled as he sat down.

   “Oh, so you did lose, then? Did you come in last place?”

   “I said, fuck off!” Kyle growled, as chuckles began to arise, as he knew it would. God damn it, weren't they sick of these stupid jokes yet?

   “There's no need to feel ashamed, Kahl,” said Cartman soothingly. “You'll get it next time.”

Kyle thought about the National Talent trophy, sash, and crown he had picked up that weekend. He was so tempted to say he'd won, just to shut Cartman up, but he knew it wouldn't work. All it would do would add more fuel to the fire.

So, he clenched his fists, and set his jaw as he stared up at the table.

   “Give it a rest, fat ass,” said Stan, but of course, Cartman ignored him.

   “I want Kahl to tell the whole class about how he lost the beauty pageant, about how he came last. That's what happened, isn't it, Kahl? I guess that list the girls made was true, wasn't it?”

   “I didn't lose, you fat piece of shit!” Kyle hissed without thinking, but Cartman's grin only grew wider.

   “Oh, so you won? In that case, then you deserve a congratulations!” Cartman stood up, and cleared his throat loudly. “There she is, Miss America,

There she is, your ideal

The dream of a million girls who are more than pretty

Can come true in Atlantic City

For she may turn out to be

The Queen of femininity

There she is, Miss America

There she is, your ideal...”

While Cartman sang, Kyle felt himself getting redder and redder. As the laughter from around him grew louder, with Cartman singing louder to compensate for it, his felt his temper rising.

He stood up, knocking his chair back, and in one quick movement, punched Cartman in the face so hard he crumpled to the ground. Cartman immediately started wailing, his voice rising in pitch and volume every second, his mouth wide.

Rubbing his sore knuckles, Kyle only sat back down as Cartman stumbled out of the room, his hands covering his face, past Mr Garrison, who didn't even look twice.

Stan sat back down, as well, unable to keep the smile off his face.

   “Dude, that was awesome!” he whispered, grinning, and Kyle had to smile as well. He felt a bit better, now.

   “I'll never understand why he keeps antagonising you, when he knows you can beat him to a pulp,” said Kenny, who was also grinning. Honestly, it was always great seeing Cartman be taken down a peg or two. Perhaps one of these days, one of those punches might do something to his brain, and he'd see the error of his ways. Of course, Kenny knew that was wishful thinking; there was as much chance of that happening than there was of him making it through the week without dying.

   “True, but I'm not complaining,” Kyle shrugged, and Kenny chuckled.

Cartman re-entered the classroom in the middle of first period, holding an ice pack to his cheek, the left side of his face red. He glared at Kyle as he sat down, but he said nothing.

Eric Cartman might be a racist, manipulative sociopath, and could even be considered intelligent by some, but he was not one to back away from a chance to make others miserable, and that was why he resumed belittling Kyle later on during break.

After his now usual trip to the nurse's office, Kyle entered the playground to find Cartman and Kenny kneeling down together, with Stan waiting for him.

   “What are you guys doing?” he asked.

   “Are you sure you're allowed to play with us Kahl?” asked Cartman sweetly, a big bruise on the side of his face. “Won't it ruin your manicure?”

   “I don't have a manicure, fatass!” Kyle snapped.

   “Sure you don't, princess,” Cartman smirked, enjoying the way Kyle seethed with rage.

Unusual for him, Kyle only stamped away, muttering angrily under his breath, and Stan didn't hesitate to follow him.

   “Dude, you okay?” Stan asked, seeing Kyle sitting by himself on the edge of the playground.

   “Fine,” was Kyle said, but Stan sat down next to him. “Stan, please. I just wanna be alone right now.”

Stan stayed where he was. “Stan, I'll be fine. I just wanna sit here.”

Stan could only stand up slowly. “Sure, dude. We'll be waiting for you,” he said, before walking away, keeping one eye on his friend.

Kyle rested his chin in his hand and stared at the snowy ground. He was glad he'd punched Cartman (more so than usual), because he hoped it would signal the end of the teasing. Maybe if the other boys were afraid of getting punched, they would stop mocking him. But, on the other hand, it had never worked before, so why should it start now? He didn't know what to do; there seemed to be no solution to his problems. Even winning the Ultimate Grand Supreme wouldn't help, as he would still be teased, and quitting wasn't an option, as it would upset his mother. He felt as if he were stuck between a rock and a hard place.

   “Hey, Kyle?”

Kyle looked up to see Wendy standing over him. “Hey, what's up?” He made to stand, but Wendy sat down.

   “I just wanted to let you know that I think it's really great what you're doing,” she said, and Kyle lifted his head.

   “What?”

   “You know the whole pageant thing. Maybe you doing this will make people become more tolerant of it. I think it's a really brave thing to do.”

   “Oh, you do?” he asked lightly, keeping his gaze fixed on his knees. “I didn't think you'd care either way. I mean, you're such a feminist, and all.”

   “Oh, I hate them, make no mistake,” she said firmly. “I think they're terrible; judging people based on their appearance, making them think they aren't worth anything unless they have a tonne of makeup on; the idea of it is just so disgusting and degrading. But, I respect your choice to do it, and I'll support you.” She smiled and then headed back over to her friends, leaving Kyle wondering how that was supposed to make him feel better. He only scowled to himself and bunched his hands into fists.

Kyle arrived home from school that day, intending to watch a little TV, and have a rest, before it was time to practise, because that was just what his life entailed now. At least Sheila had stopped entering him in the little local pageants every weekend, but that didn't mean he didn't have to practise every day.

   “Is that you, bubbe?” Sheila called, and Kyle closed his eyes.

   “Yeah, Ma,” he answered wearily, and Sheila came into the living-room, looking excited. Kyle knew that look; whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good for him.

   “I've just got the most amazing phone call!” she beamed, and Kyle's stomach dropped.

   “Not “Toddlers and Tiaras” again!” he said firmly. “I don't wanna do that.”

   “No, it's not that. The lady who called is called Janet Cooper, and she's a film maker.”

Kyle's stomach dropped even further, if that were possible. “Oh, no. No, no, no!” he said. “That can't happen!”

   “Well, why not?” Sheila stood in front of the television, frowning slightly. “She said she heard about you, and wants to do a documentary about pageant boys to help get rid of some of the stigma around it. You tell me what is so bad about that?”

   “That would be terrible!” said Kyle, now on his feet. “You don't think she's gonna make us look like freaks? Or that she'll only show the bad stuff? You can't do this!”

   “I can't do this? Who's the parent here, me or you? It's not going to be like that; I've seen her other films – she called me this morning – and they're really good. No manipulative stuff.”

   “No, I don't wanna do it; I don't want any part of it,” Kyle insisted, folding his arms.

   “Well, I'm afraid you have to; I've already said yes.”

   “What?!” Kyle stared up at her in horror. “No, you can't! You gotta call her and tell her you changed your mind!”

   “I'm not gonna do that,” she told him. “Why are you acting like this is such a big deal? You know what life is like for a pageant boy; if this helps raise awareness, what's wrong with that?”

   “Because it's not gonna help. People already tease m.. pageant kids, why would this change anything?”

   “I really think it will help,” said Sheila, “so I'm not telling her no. This will be great for us, I know it.”

   “I won't do it,” said Kyle obstinately.

   “Excuse me? I just told you that I'm the parent, not you, and you will do as I say.”

   “I won't!” Kyle stuck his chin out defiantly.

   “You have no choice. I've said yes, so we're doing it.” She left the room, and Kyle could slump back onto the sofa, face contorted with horror. This was not going to end well. That two-second clip of him on “Toddlers and Tiaras” had already ruined his life, and now he was going to have to deal with this. Wasn't he already being teased enough? Why did God hate him so much? There was no way out of this; he should have told his mother he wanted to quit while he still had the chance.

Closing his eyes, Kyle rubbed his forehead as another headache came, and he sighed. What was he supposed to do?

Kyle spent the next few weeks in a state of perpetual horror, dreading the moment this film maker would arrive to ruin his life forever.

Currently, he was on his computer, absent-mindedly scrolling through before evening practise began. He wondered if he could access his college fund and just leave. If he could just get that money, he would be able to just pack up and go. Honestly, it was the only option he could think of.

Deep down he knew it wouldn't work; Sheila would track him down. He wouldn't even be able to access his money without her knowing.

There wasn't anything he could do, except wait for this woman to come and make him even more of a laughing stock than he already was.

   “Fuck,” he muttered, pressing his hands over his eyes as yet another headache made its arrival.

When it had subsided somewhat, Kyle resumed scrolling randomly, before he saw a photo of himself, and he started. It was an article. An article about him! On the Internet, where anyone and everyone could read it! God, he might as well just change his name.

Knowing he was going to regret it, Kyle began to read.

'This is Kyle Broflovski. He is ten years old and lives in South Park, Colorado with his parents and little brother. But Kyle isn't an ordinary ten year old boy; he is a pageant king and competes regularly in national competitions.

Ever since he started competing a year and a half ago, Kyle has become one of, if not the most, successful boys on the pageant circuit, with eleven national titles to his name, including Overall Photogenic Supreme, Prince Charming USA and Overall National Talent.

   “It's very rare for a boy to really succeed in pageants,” says pageant director Aileen Roberts, when asked what was it about Kyle Broflovski that made him win so much, even beating out tough competitions from dozens of little girls. “The judges look for someone who's having fun on stage, a child who is enjoying themselves; they score very highly for that, and the most important thing is facial beauty. Kyle has a beautiful face, which is probably why he wins so much.”

Kyle's mother Sheila, who openly admits that it was her decision to enter him in pageants, couldn't be prouder of her son's success.

   “I never dreamed that he would get so much attention; it's getting to the point where people know him when we arrive to compete,” she gushes.

Since Kyle started competing on the pageant scene a year ago, his life has been an endless bout of photo shoots, private basketball lessons (for the talent round), modelling lessons with his coach and travelling, but Sheila says they wouldn't have it any other way.'

When he had finished, Kyle slumped over his desk, his eyes closed. Forget going to school, he never wanted to leave the house. The stupid article even had a picture of him, hair and makeup and everything. Just his luck. To say he was unimpressed would be the understand of the century.

But when did his mother talk to these people? She had obviously gone behind his back. Great. Now he had this to deal with on top of everything else.

Sighing and pinching his nose, Kyle closed his computer before heading to the garage to practise.

On the way down there, he found himself thinking about a line from the article; Sheila had said people knew him, but did they, really? Now that he thought about it properly, he supposed it was true. He had quite a few pageant friends, and people would greet him by name when they saw him. But Kyle was too busy hating himself and the whole pageant scene to notice things like that. It didn't make him feel good to discover that people knew him, but he couldn't figure out why.

He had new moves to perfect, so Kyle tried to empty his mind in order to focus. It was difficult, though; he was so pissed off; at his mother, at the kids at school, at pageants.

   “You ready?” called Sheila, and Kyle only nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He stood to the side, waiting for the music to start. When it did, he put on his smile, hoping that it would improve his mood.

'Think of happy stuff,' he told himself, as he walked over to the first X, but it wasn't working as well as it usually did. The smile came on its own now, anyway, so Kyle focused on getting his new routine right. He went through his Beauty walk, feeling a little bit glad that this had also become muscle memory for him; it meant he didn't have to concentrate that much.

After that, it was time for Casual Wear. Sheila didn't want Kyle to have the exact same routine for every category, and so every one was slightly different. The moves were still the same, but the orders were changed, so that they appeared different. Kyle was one of the very few boys who actually had a full routine, which really made him stand out, which was exactly what Sheila wanted.

At Sheila's request, Tony had taught Kyle some extra moves to pad out his routines. Now, when Kyle stood on the first X, he would hold his right arm up and out to the side, with the palm out, like he was signalling someone to stop. His left arm was bent at the elbow, with the hand by his chest, also with with his palm out, and he would do a turn like that.

Afterwards, he would put his left hand on his hip, and slowly raise his right arm outward, while nodding, and stepping to the right at the same time. While doing this, his left foot slid in, so his feet ended up touching. He then repeated the actions for his left side. After that came the other moves Tony had already taught him, including what he called the “Pizzas,” where Kyle held his hands out like he was carrying pizzas, and turned.

On the 3^rd X, Kyle would now hold his lapel, then turn. Then, he would hold his imaginary cuffs, turning to the right, resting his right heel on the ground, then doing the same with his left. Then he continued with the rest of the routine.

Focusing on keeping his smile looking natural, Kyle walked back up the fake catwalk, being sure to remember a sharp turn halfway up, and performed his spin while removing his jacket. At last, Tony seemed to have realised that walking with his hands on his hips didn't really suit Kyle, and so he had axed it. Now, all Kyle had to do was keep his arms loose as he walked.

While doing another turn, he placed the jacket over his left arm, and walked over to the last X, keeping his arm out straight. Once he was there, he did another turn, ending up with his back to the audience. There, he let the jacket fall down to his wrist, and caught it at the collar. Even though he was concentrating hard, he still felt annoyed at the fact that he had practised this routine enough that he knew exactly how to lay the jacket on his arm to be able to grab the collar when it fell. As he was doing this, he looked over his shoulder, smiling at the imaginary judges, before swinging the jacket over his shoulder.

Turning around to face the front, Kyle leaned back on his left foot, and gave the judges a finger gun, clicking his tongue, silently hating himself. He placed his right hand on his hip, and raised his left arm, still holding the jacket, and walked in a wide circle. Facing the audience once again, he smiled, and tucked his jacket under his left arm, he took a step forward and did a half turn, and took another step forward, and did another half turn. He waved at the 'audience' before stepping off.

   “Ow,” he mumbled, letting his smile drop, closing his eyes at the pain in his head.

  “That was good, bubbe,” said Sheila as she came over to him, and Kyle kept his face neutral. “You're really getting the hang of those moves; it was the first time you didn't forget your routine.”

   “Uh-huh,” was all Kyle said, putting on his jacket.

   “It just needs to be smoother, but practise will help with that. Right, we'll do it one more time, and then we'll stop; you need to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

Kyle was too annoyed to ask what she meant by, and frankly, he didn't care. His life was already over; there wasn't much else she could do to make it worse.

Once practise was over, he silently dragged himself upstairs, and went to bed, but not without washing his face, lest Sheila come down on him like a tonne of bricks, before falling into a fitful sleep.

The following afternoon, he was sitting in the back of the car, earbuds in, glued to his phone. He didn't know where they were going, and he didn't care. It was probably another stupid photoshoot, because Sheila just had to have new pictures taken every other month or so. So, great, another day of being pulled to and fro, of being forced to sit for makeup, and having to do those ridiculous poses.

He and Stan chatted over WhatsApp as Sheila drove out of South Park, and into Denver. He only looked up from the screen when they had stopped and she opened his door.

   “We're here, bubbe,” she said.

   “Where?” Kyle put his earbuds in his pocket and got out of the car. He saw they were parked outside of a fairly ordinary looking building, with plain white wall, and a black front door. Sheila had his portfolio tucked under her arm.

   “KidStar Modelling Agency. It was part of your prize, remember?”

   “Right,” he said, wishing he could just get in the car and go home. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

   “Kyle, why are you being so negative lately?”

   “I'm not being nega-”

   “Yes, you are. I'm trying my best to help you here, and all you do is throw everything back in my face.”

   “How is this gonna help me? Help me with what?”

   “Come on, Kyle, imagine how great it would be if you got signed. Being in magazines would be amazing for your self-esteem, wouldn't it?” she asked, her tone gentle. “That's why we're doing all this. We worked really hard to get here, so I think we should at least hear what they have to say. Besides, if they sign you, you could make a lot of money; think of your college fund, bubbe!”

When Sheila turned and headed inside, Kyle rolled his eyes before following her. He bit the insides of his cheeks, too annoyed to speak as Sheila spoke to the receptionist, and they were taken to a small waiting room. After a while, a smiling, professionally dressed woman came into the room.

   “Hello!” she grinned, shaking Sheila's hand. “Sheila Broflovski? Hi, I'm Mary; I'm one of the directors. It's nice to meet you. You are?” She directed this at Kyle as she shook his hand.

   “Kyle,” he replied, and they all sat down.

   “Hi, Kyle. So, you won the Citrus pageant?” She asked Kyle, who nodded.

   “Yes, I'm very proud of him; we're really excited to be here. We're interested in the modelling. Magazines, commercials, TV, and everything like that, you know?”

Upon hearing the words 'commercials' and 'TV', Kyle whipped his head up to look sharply at his mother. “What?” he said, but Sheila continued speaking.

   “Yes, I think it would be great for him.”

Mary smiled politely, before turning back to Kyle. “And how old are you, Kyle?”

   “Ten,” he said.

   “He turned ten not long ago,” said Sheila.

   “Okay, and how long have you been competing?” asked Mary. Kyle opened his mouth, but Sheila got there first.

   “We started a few months before his ninth birthday, so we've been doing them for about fourteen or fifteen months.”

   “Oh, so you're still quite new to the circuit, aren't you?”

   “Yes, but he's won some very high titles like, -” Sheila reached forward and turned a couple of pages in the portfolio. “Look, 'National Portfolio' – this portfolio – 'Overall Personality', and 'Photogenic Supreme'.”

   “Right. Can I see the portfolio?” Mary asked, and Sheila handed the folder over. She kept her face professionally neutral as she flipped through the pictures, though she nodded in approval every so often. She turned the page to see a picture of Kyle in his Talent costume and holding his basketball. “Is this for the pageants, Kyle? The basketball?”

   “Not just for the pageants, he's been on his school team for years,” said Sheila, “but we get him private lessons to teach him tricks for the competitions.”

   “And how long have you been playing basketball?” Mary said to Kyle.

   “Um, about -”

   “It's been, what, three or four years, hasn't it, bubbe?”

   “Yeah,” Kyle said, unable to keep the look of boredom off his face, or hold back the small sigh that escaped from his mouth.

   “What do you think?” asked Sheila, shifting forward in her chair.

   “Well, he's got some really nice pictures, he's good-looking, and he photographs well. I'll just need to have a quick talk with the other directors. Will you excuse me for a moment?”

At Sheila's nod, Mary stood, and left the room, Kyle's portfolio in her hand.

   “Are you excited, bubbe?” asked Sheila when they were alone.

   “No,” said Kyle, surprising them both. “I don't want to do this.”

   “You don't want to earn lots of money, and be in magazines?”

   “No,” Kyle insisted. “I've never wanted that, just like I don't want to be in that stupid documentary.” He didn't know where this was coming from, but he was too full of adrenaline to worry about it.

   “You've never mentioned this before,” said Sheila. “But, honestly, I think this will be really good for you, we'd be crazy to turn them down!”

   “It won't be good for me, Ma.”

   “Of course it would,” Sheila kept her voice low, so as not to be overheard.

Meanwhile, Mary was in another room, with fellow director Leslie, who was looking through Kyle's portfolio.

   “What do you think of them?” asked Leslie.

   “Well, he's cute, I'll give him that; very attractive,” said Mary.

   “Did you get to speak to him?”

   “No; every time I asked him something, his mother jumped in and spoke.”

   “Ah. Pushy parent?”

   “You got it. I've dealt with her type before. She would be a nightmare for a booker,” Mary said, having seen this personally more times than she cared to remember. “You can tell the kid's being forced into it.”

   “Too bad; we could have used him.” Leslie gestured to the open portfolio. “He would be good for the Orange Juice promo.”

   “I know. Well,” Mary sighed. “I'll go and tell her the usual, you know? If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, call the police,” she joked, before picking up the portfolio, and heading back to the Broflovskis', putting on her professional face. “Hello, again,” she smiled, sitting back down. “So, I've just been speaking with the other director. We both agree that you're very handsome, Kyle, but unfortunately, we just don't have anything they can use you for for the time being.” She didn't miss Kyle sigh of relief, nor did she miss the disappointed look on Sheila's face. “We'll keep you on file, though, so perhaps if something comes up in the future, we might give you a call.”

   “Okay. Well, thanks for meeting us.” Sheila stood quickly and shook Mary's hand, not even pretending to be happy. Kyle shook her hand, as well, grinning widely, and he could have sworn that she gave him a little wink.

   “Well, that's that,” said Kyle brightly as they returned to the car.

   “Not really,” said Sheila curtly. “We still have two more agencies to see later.” She chose to ignore the look of shock horror on Kyle's face as she got behind the wheel.

Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King.

Chapter 9

Kyle concealed a yawn as the parade director spoke to his mother, along with a few other parents. Somehow, they'd reached the summer holidays, and before he knew it, he was back in Florida, preparing to ride in the Citrus Parade.

He looked around him, bored, as the director prattled on and on about what to expect. Feeling uncomfortable, he scratched his styled hair under his hat, as he took a few steps back into a shady spot; he doubted he would ever get used to hot weather and sunshine.

He was standing in a small group, all dressed in their citrus coloured tops and shorts, along with their sashes, as was he, and most of them were chattering casually to one another.

Kyle tapped his foot impatiently, and was just considering getting a drink when the parade director turned to them and raised her voice.

   “Okay, guys, the parade's almost about to start, so if anyone has any questions, ask them now!” she called.

   “Are you ready, bubbe?” Sheila approached him, holding his Citrus crown. “How exciting is this? You get to be in a parade!”

   “Yep,” he said shortly, yanking his hat off, not caring if he messed up his hair or makeup, and bunching it in his fists. He exchanged it for his hated crown, putting it on carefully, lest his mother launch into a thirty minute lecture.

He, along with the other kids and parents, walked over to the float. It was quite possibly the most garish thing he had ever seen. It was attached to the end of a large truck, which was decorated in orange and green tissue paper flowers in an attempt to look classy. The float itself was covered in big white scrunched up balls of tissue paper, and had a cheap, plastic rail running around the edge to give the illusion of safety. Stuck to the sides were large Styrofoam letters reading “Citrus Pageant Winners”, and surrounding this were oversized, fake orange, green, and yellow flowers, along with plastic oranges, lemons, and limes. The bed of the float was covered in artificial grass, and there was a white platform in the middle, draped in green chiffon, and a small set of stairs at the back. The stairs were flanked by some plywood castle turrets, painted white, and decorated with painted gold filigree. It was one of the tackiest things that Kyle had ever seen, and he shook his head in disgust.

Kyle and the other winners climbed onto the float, ducking under the safety rail, and the director and her assistant followed, and the adults began jostling the kids into place.

As one of two Overall winners, Kyle was positioned near the front, along with little Georgina, who had her mother with her. The other participants, the ones who had won their age divisions, were spread out along the rest of the float. A toddler was stood on the platform, her mother sitting next to her, and two of the eldest teens sat on the red and gold thrones that were perched on the top of the stairs at the back.

   “Remember, everyone; smile, look happy, and wave!” the director called out from her spot on the ground near the front of the float.

Kyle glanced over to the left and saw his mother standing on the sidelines; she gave him an encouraging smile and nod, which Kyle did not return.

As pop music began to play and the float began to move, Kyle did not smile, not even when they reached the parade route. He stared at the throngs of people lining both sides of the street, not making eye contact with anyone. Everyone else on the float was laughing, chattering, waving, giggling, but Kyle refused to join in.

Directly in front of the float was a marching band, dressed up in red and white military style jackets and playing enthusiastically on their various instruments. In front of them was another float, but he couldn't see what it represented or who was on it. He couldn't see any other floats, but he knew there were a lot. He looked over at Georgina, who was grinning widely, waving, and blowing kisses while her mother knelt down next to her, and chanced a half glance behind him; everyone else seemed to be having fun. Logically, Kyle knew he should loosen up a little; after all, he was riding in a parade; most people would love to be in his position. He might never get a chance to do this again, so he should make the most of it, right? But he just couldn't bring himself to smile. He was sure that quite a few people in the crowd were looking at him and sniggering. Why wouldn't they? He was a boy standing on a parade float for beauty pageant winners; it must be the most hilarious thing they'd ever seen. And surely smiling would indicate that he was happy with what was going on, and he most definitely wasn't. Besides, it was too hot to smile and the float had no form of air conditioning.

'Just my luck,' Kyle thought, wiping his sweaty brow, his hand brushing against his stiff, sprayed coif, and he grimaced. He hated how crunchy his hair felt when it was all styled, almost as much as he hated having his hair on show at all.

As the parade went on, Kyle grew more hot and irritated. There were people with cameras, and he desperately hoped he wouldn't be in any pictures. A couple of helpers were walking down the streets, handing out fruit to the crowd; he caught sight of someone carrying a large bunch of bananas and his teeth itched with hatred and disgust. When was this hell going to be over?

The parade turned round a corner, and Kyle saw two more sets of marching bands, he saw cheerleaders, dancers, people riding in the backs of open top Convertibles, costumed mascots dancing around, baton twirlers, and people handing out brightly coloured shaped balloons.

He gazed around, frowning, hating everything about the situation, and caught sight of what seemed like countless floats in front of him, with many more no doubt bringing up the rear.

   “Kyle! Kyle!”

An unfamiliar voice caught his attention, and he looked left and right for a moment before spotting the parade director walking alongside the float. “Smile! Come on! Don't look so miserable!” she called chirpily.

For a moment, Kyle just stared at her. Because that was what he needed; more people ordering him to smile and pretending to be happy when he didn't feel like it. However, he obligated by giving polite yet sarcastic grin that lasted just long enough for her to see, before it dropped from his face. Hey, she never said he had to keep smiling.

Kyle determinedly kept his head turned away from her, even when she called him again. Eventually, she gave up, and continued walking the parade route.

After what seemed like an eternity, the parade finally came to an end, and the floats had returned to the hangar-type residence where the winners had boarded them. As soon as he could, Kyle hopped down, and found Sheila waiting for him.

   “Did you enjoy that, bubbe?” she asked, as Kyle took his crown off resisting the urge to throw it to the ground.

   “Oh, yeah(!)” Kyle didn't bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice, but Sheila was too busy rummaging through her purse to notice. He took the makeup wipe she offered him, and cleaned his face, feeling so much more free with it off. He didn't know how some people could wear it every day; it was bad enough every other weekend in a hot, sweltering ballroom, let alone every single day, especially in this weather.

   “Shall we go back to the hotel?” asked Sheila, already walking that way. Kyle didn't answer as he followed her; there wasn't really anything of interest to him here, and it was far too hot for him to enjoy himself. At least at the hotel, he could find an air conditioned room to practise in for the upcoming pageant that weekend. He had no idea what it was called, or what the prizes were, or even what categories he was competing in. The only things he knew were that Tony was flying in later that afternoon, Jake would probably be there, and so would Brianna, so at least he had that. “It can't hurt to get in a little extra practice, right?”

   “Sure(!)” Kyle's voice again dripped with sarcasm, but Sheila was too busy walking to their nearby hotel.

The next morning, too early for Kyle's liking, he was sat on a chair in their hotel room, with a white sheet covering his tuxedo, yawning at Tony did his hair. It wasn't terribly early; Kyle usually got up earlier than this for school, but he hadn't gotten a very good night's sleep. Still, at least his makeup didn't take that much time, unlike his hair.

   “How come we're not going downstairs for this?” Kyle asked as Sheila applied her lipstick, using her compact mirror.

   “It's just easier this way,” was all she said. Kyle shrugged, not caring either way, and turned back to the little television that was playing cartoons, losing himself in the animations and storylines. It provided a pretty good distraction.

   “Isn't Bobby here? And Maddox? Are they gonna come up here, or is Tony gonna go down there?”

   “Bubbe, Tony's only your coach now,” said Sheila, and Kyle did a double take. “Didn't I tell you? I'm sure I did. Anyway, he's your own private coach, and he only does your hair and makeup, so he can really focus on helping you out.”

   “Oh.” Kyle wasn't sure how to feel about that. He liked Tony enough, but he felt that Sheila was getting a little extreme. What next, limo transportation to every pageant? Constructing a makeshift stage in the garage? He caught sight of Tony picking something up off the table, and he groaned. “I don't like the hairspray,” he said as Tony held the dreaded can up.

   “I know you don't,” said Tony sympathetically, “but if we don't use it, your hair won't stay, and it'll fall flat.”

Kyle held his breath as Tony began to spray his hair, but he still had to cough every now and then.

   “I'm just going to find out if they've started yet,” said Sheila, and she stood up and left the room.

   “Are you almost done? I really hate the hairspray,” asked Kyle.

   “Almost,” said Tony, now in front of Kyle, tidying up a few stray hairs. “D'you know how many people would kill for hair like yours? It's so thick!” He grinned as he leaned forward, smoothing down one last patch, and securing it with another spritz of hairspray.

   “Yeah,” Kyle groaned, thinking about all the countless salon trips, (Sheila said it would keep his hair in good condition), and about some of the younger kids who were fascinated with how “tall” his hair was and wanted to touch it. Every comment he heard make Kyle want to shave his head in protest.

Forgetting about the cartoons, he amused himself by imagining what would happen if he did shave his head, and his mother was so upset, she removed him from pageants for ever – like, so upset that the thought of a wig didn't even occur to her. It was as unlikely to happen as Cartman being genuinely nice to him, but it was fun to pretend.

Tony sat down in front of him, and opened his makeup bag. He glanced at Kyle and frowned slightly, putting the powder aside and searching his bag for some concealer.

   “You not sleeping too good?” he asked, referring to the dark circles under Kyle's eyes, and Kyle shrugged, his gaze falling on the small tube.

   “What's that?” he asked.

   “Just some concealer; you look a bit tired, and this will hide those shadows under your eyes.” He began to dab it on Kyle's face, expertly blending it until it couldn't be seen, before applying some powder over the top.

Sheila came back into the room, grinning widely, holding what looked like a magazine.

   “Kyle, look at this!” She handed it to him, and Kyle cringed. It was the official pageant programme, and on the front cover, was him. It was from his most recent photoshoot, and it was a very Vogue style head shot of him in front of a light green background that drew attention to his eyes – another idea of Tony's. His hair and makeup was done, and he was in his tux and one of his crowns, and he his head was turned slightly to the left, his eyes focused on something slightly above to the left of the camera. “I can't believe they actually used it! How amazing is this?” Sheila gushed, and Kyle scowled, resisting the urge to rip the programme into shreds. He looked so ridiculous; he didn't know how Sheila couldn't see it.

   “That's great!” Tony beamed, taking the programme and examining the cover. “What did I tell you about the green background?”

   “When you're right, you're right,” Sheila grinned. “I didn't really think it would work.”

   “Like I said; just the right shade of green, very subtle. Kyle's lucky to have a unique eye colour.”

   “I'm definitely going to keep this.” Sheila placed the magazine on the table next to Tony's makeup kit. “I'm so proud, Kyle. Aren't you?”

   “What? Because I took a decent picture?” said Kyle before he could stop himself.

   “Because you're on the front cover of a prestigious national pageant programme,” she corrected.

   “It's not exactly Forbes or People, is it?”

   “Kyle, I don't know where this new, disrespectful attitude has come from, but I don't like it. I – you are being disrespectful -” she cut over her son's protests. “I've put a lot into this, as you know, and it just seems like you're not really caring about what I do for you.”

Kyle sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm sorry,” he said through clenched teeth.

   “Come, on; we'd better get going – your group goes on in about half an hour,” was all Sheila said in response, gathering up her bag and the programme, and waited by the door. Wordlessly, Kyle slid off his chair, and removed the sheet, before he and Tony followed her.

Several hours later, Kyle, Sheila, and Tony were back in the ballroom, and the two adults were watching Kyle as he performed his Casual Wear routine.

On stage, Kyle went through the motions, being sure to keep a smile on his face, and his eyes on the judges. He couldn't stop thinking about the programme cover; it annoyed him for too many reasons to list.

Then without warning, his mind went blank. Kyle forgot everything; where he was supposed to turn, his pageant smile, everything, and he froze on the spot, his eyes casting wildly over the audience. His smile looking more like a grimace, he spotted Sheila waving frantically at him. Once he had caught her eye, she began gesturing for him to continue. 'Improvise!' she mouthed, indicating he should start walking down the runway, to which Kyle did. He did his best to ad-lib, but his mind was still completely blank, and therefore he didn't remember anything he did, until the emcee thanked him and he stepped off stage.

Before he could get his bearings, Sheila was right in front of him.

   “The judges could see you forgot your routine. Don't you ever do that again. Never freeze on stage no matter what.”

   “I'm sorry.” Kyle shook his head a little bit, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

   “What happened up there?”

   “I don't know; I just forgot,” said Kyle, as they began to walk towards the double doors.

   “Well, this is why we practise, isn't it, so this kind of thing doesn't happen.” Sheila steered him out of the door, and they headed back up to their room so Kyle could change. “Hopefully, that was a one off.”

Knowing that nothing he could say would appease her, Kyle silently entered the hotel room, and began to change into his next outfit, while Sheila waited for him. When he had finished, they headed back downstairs.

Back at home, Kyle yawned as he waited for the school bus.

   “Hey, dude,” came Stan's voice, and Kyle smiled and greeted him warmly. “So, how was it? Did you win?” he asked as Cartman and Kenny approached.

   “Uh, I came, like, sixth or seventh in the whole thing,” Kyle muttered, choosing not to mention just what he had won, which was National Cover Model. It was a given, as he had been literally on the front cover, but Kyle hadn't even known that it was a category. 

   “Oh, cool, what'd you win?”

   “Oh, you know, just some stuff, and $500.” Kyle shrugged, unaware that Cartman's ears had pricked up.

   “Wow, you won $500?! Dude, what are you gonna spend it on?” Stan's jaw dropped, and Cartman and Kenny had moved closer.

   “Don't know,” Kyle lied, preferring to omit the fact that his mother took half for the pageants, and the other half he couldn't touch until he was eighteen.

   “Wow, maybe you should enter a pageant, Kenny,” said Cartman. “That $500 will last your family a day or two.”

   “Fuck you, fatass!”

   “It's so cool that you get to win money!” said Stan. “Is that the biggest amount you can win?” Hey, they were kids; any amount of money that was larger than their allowance was something to be admired and awed at. Kyle shook his head, not at all comfortable with speaking about his new 'hobby' in Cartman's presence, but Cartman was being oddly quiet about it that morning. Kyle knew that he was probably planning something, but he doubted Cartman could humiliate him more than he already had.

   “No, most of them give you $1,000 if you win first place. Sometimes $2,000.”

Now Cartman was listening intently.

   “Wow!” Stan looked in awe of his friend. “$2,000?!” Stan's eyes were practically popping out of his head. “Dude, I'd let my mom dress me up and go on stage if I could win $2,000! You can get rich so easy!”

   “It's really not worth it,” said Kyle, shaking his head.

   “What do you mean?” Stan looked confused.

   “Because the cost doesn't really cover it,” Kyle began to explain. “Sometimes, the entry fees can go up to $500; then you got travel – plane tickets – hotel bills, food; you gotta pay for new photos. I mean, the girls that do this; sometimes just one dress costs, like $2,000, and they need three or four different outfits. And they got to pay for coaches, and hair and makeup, and all that. It's really not worth it. $1,000 is usually the biggest prize, so you can't really make money on this, and if you do, it all goes back into pageants.”

Plus, it didn't account for the fact that not only did it cost to actually enter a pageant, but each additional category cost extra, and as the more categories entered, the better the chance of winning, so most every parent paid for every single category.

And most pageants had a theme; be it disco, or safari, or Old Hollywood, which meant contestants needed a specific outfit for that category (usually custom made), not to mention props. And then there were official T-shirts, which had to be purchased so as to be worn for promotional photos, and sometimes for crowning, and though the invitations to the ice cream socials and after parties weren't necessary, you could count on one hand the amount of mothers that didn't buy the tickets.

Kyle couldn't help but admire the organisers sometimes; the sheer number of people willing to pay to do this on a regular basis was mind-boggling. Intelligent though he was, he could not fathom how so many thought it was an investment to spend upward of $3,000 to win not even half; parents of contestants even needed to purchase tickets to get into the room where the pageant was being held. But, hey, they were willing to pay for all that, so there was definitely a demand for it. Honestly, he had no idea how his mother even afforded it; though his family was wealthy, Kyle still couldn't quite understand how Sheila managed to find the money for pageants. Even with his prize money, it still couldn't be enough to cover costs.

   “A coach?” Cartman's snigger jolted Kyle from his thoughts, and he clenched his jaw. “Do you have a pageant coach, Kahl?”

   “No,” he lied, his hands balling into fists.

   “Ha! You do, don't you?” Cartman bounced with glee. “Don't you, Princess? What, does she teach you how to wave like Miss America, how to blow kisses?” Cartman cracked up at the thought, doubling over.

   “Cartman, I'm warning you!” Kyle started towards him, but Stan grabbed his jacket just as the bus pulled up.

Cartman continued laughing as they climbed onto the bus and took their seats. Kyle growled and massaged his temples as Cartman's cackling grew louder.

   “I just can't believe you need a coach!” he wheezed, slapping his knee. “She teaches you routines, right? Does she teach you to twerk?” His eyes widened and he screeched as if he had just made the funniest joke in the world. “Little Princess Kahl, twerkin' for the pervs!”

Kyle had had enough; turning around, he reached over the back of the seat, and decked Cartman square in the face. Cartman looked momentarily stunned, before he stood and attempted to punch Kyle, who quickly ducked.

Soon, the two of them were in the aisle, rolling around, engaged in a full-blown fist fight, the cheering of the students filling the small bus.

Cartman managed to kick Kyle off him, and immediately leapt onto him, punching Kyle in the chest and stomach. His victory didn't last long forever, however, as Kyle managed to pin Cartman to the floor and began pummelling him.

At that point, bus driver, having caught sight of this regular occurrence, swerved sharply, sending the two boys flying into the side of a nearby seat, and putting an end to the fight.

   “Enough!” he snapped, eyeing them in the rear view mirror as Kyle and Cartman got to their feet, grumbling. “Don't make me come back there!”

   “Oh, yeah?! What you gonna do?!” Cartman snapped, fixing the driver with a steely glare. But the driver, who was at least twice as scary as Miss Crabtree, gave him an even steelier glare, and Cartman quickly sat down.

Throwing himself back down next to Stan, Kyle winced as he touched the bruised, tender skin around his eye.

   “That fat bastard,” he muttered, hissing quietly.

   “You kicked his ass, though,” Stan said, looking impressed. Still annoyed, Kyle didn't answer, and the four of them resumed the ride in silence.

At break time, the talk of prize money continued. Kyle, still holding a cold compress over his black eye, approached Stan, Kenny, and Cartman. He couldn't help but smirk at Cartman's busted lip. “Anyway,” said Stan, as though the fight on the bus had not happened, “I still think it's so cool that you can win money.”

   “Yeah,” Kyle sighed, adjusting his compress. “It's still a load of crap, though.”

   “Yeah, I guess, but if you only do one or two, then you could still win $2,000, right?”

   “.. Right,” said Kyle, not wanting to explain why it would never work. They probably wouldn't listen to him, anyway; when did they ever? He decided to roll with it. “One or two offer $5,000, but the really big, important one has $10,000 as the prize for first place.” He hadn't entered that particular pageant yet, but he knew Sheila had her eye on it.

Stan and Kenny looked super impressed, but a choked sound from their left caused them to be abruptly pulled from their daydreams.

   “Cartman?”

They all turned to see Cartman staring straight ahead, his eyes glazed over, drooling slightly.

   “$10,000,” he said dreamily. “$10,000.” Then he blinked and shook himself slightly. “You're telling me that I can win $10,000, and all I have to do is put on a tuxedo and smile at some perverts? Why didn't anyone tell me this before?”

The other three were just staring at him, amusement spread across their faces. Kyle said nothing; he couldn't deny it would be funny to watch Cartman make a fool of himself, but he didn't think it would end well. “Guys?” said Cartman, turning to face them. “Do you realise what we could do?” He ignored Kyle's groan. “I could win $10,000! I could finally achieve my life's dream!”

   “What, inheriting a million dollars wasn't enough for you?” Kyle retorted.

   “Well, I don't have that any more, do I, Kahl?”

   “It was your own fault, you stupid fat fuck!”

   “I don't know,” said Stan slowly, doing his best to defuse the situation. Now that he thought about it, he didn't think it would be as easy as it sounded. He had seen how hard Kyle had to work, and he made it look so easy. They would probably have to do what Kyle did, and Stan really didn't see the appeal. Getting up at the crack of dawn to practise, and having to wear makeup sounded awful. He began to wonder if $2,000 was really worth it.

He looked over at Cartman and Kenny. “Why don't we just go play? I bet it costs a lot to enter, and we don't know anything about this stuff.”

   “That's what parents are for, dumbass! Besides, how hard can it be? If Kahl can do it, we can. I mean, all you have to do is smile, right? Right, Kahl?” Cartman leaned forward and began prodding and poking Kyle's forehead over his hat. Kyle batted his hand away, but Cartman kept prodding. “Come on, Princess, it's easy, right?”

   “Not really,” Kyle said, stepping back out of hitting range.

   “If you're winning, the standards must be low. The judges must be crazy,” Cartman smirked as Kyle flushed with anger and embarrassment.

   “Oh, shut up!” Kyle snapped. “At least I can win them, unlike you!” It was a mistake to say this, and he realised that as soon as the words left his lips, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

   “You think you're better looking than me?” Cartman started laughing again. “Seriously. You look like that and you think you're better looking than me? Everyone knows I'm the hottest one out of all of us!”

   “Being so fat you have your own ozone layer doesn't make you hot!” said Kyle, and Stan and Kenny practically collapsed they were laughing so hard.

   “Ay! I could win one! The judges only pick you because they feel sorry for you!”

That certainly shut Kyle up. His face turned so red and he clenched his fist to keep from punching Cartman (again). Cartman had metaphorically hit Kyle where it hurt, and everyone knew it.

   “Dude, not cool!” Stan glared at Cartman before walking over to Kyle, who was already walking away. Cartman only smirked as Stan and Kyle headed inside.

   “Kyle, what happened to your face?”

Kyle had hoped to sneak up to his bedroom when he arrived home from school, but Sheila was in the living-room and spotted him.

   “I got into a fight with Cartman,” he said simply, as Sheila approached him and examined his eye.

   “Again? What for this time?”

Kyle hesitated for the briefest moment, before deciding to just tell her the truth. “He was making fun of me being in pageants; just like everyone else does. That's why we can't do that documentary!” he barely refrained from calling it 'stupid'. “Because everyone will make fun of me even more.”

   “I told you I've already said yes; we can't go back on it now.”

   “Why not?” asked Kyle, as Sheila took him into the kitchen, where she rummaged around for an ice pack.

   “Because don't you realise how hard it will be for her? She's already planning this; it's not cheap to film a professional documentary, Kyle. I thought you would have known that. If we back out now, then she'll have wasted money on cameras and stuff.” Pulling out an ice pack, she held it out to Kyle, who placed it over his eye.

   “Well, I know that, but she could do it about somebody else, then she won't have wasted any money.”

   “Yes, but she chose us. You should feel grateful.” Bending down, Sheila gestured for him to remove the pack, and examined his eye. “It looks fine; just count yourself lucky that we don't have a pageant coming up – the swelling might not go down in time. Anyway, come with me, I want to show you something.”

Kyle followed her upstairs, wondering what she had in store. Sheila opened the door to the trophy room and stepped inside. Kyle did the same, and saw his National Cover Model photo, poster size, hung on the wall, with the name of the pageant, the date, and his name written at the bottom. “It arrived this morning. What do you think?” she beamed, oblivious to the pissed-off look on Kyle's face.

   “I think it's unnecessary,” he said, and Sheila frowned at him.

   “You think a display of the picture that won you a prize is unnecessary?”

   “Well, you kept the programme; we didn't really need this, did we?”

   “Well, you don't need toys and books and your cell phone and your iPad, but you like having them, don't you? This is no different. Besides, everyone who wins this title gets a poster like this.”

   “I guess,” Kyle muttered, shooting a scathing glare at the poster. “Well, I've got homework, so I better go make a start on it.” He retreated to his own bedroom. He didn't actually have any homework, but it was a chance to get some peace and quiet. Before he knew it, Sheila would be calling him down for evening practise. He flopped down onto his bed, as another headache came, almost right on cue, and pulled his hat down over his eyes.

Much as he tried to relax, he had too many thoughts swimming around his head. The same old thoughts about how he felt like he was trapped inside his own home, as he now got mocked and insulted whenever he hung out with his friends. Kyle couldn't even play online; if he did, he had to mute his mic as kids from school would make fun of him there, as well. It seemed he couldn't catch a break.

Kyle felt like he had no free time at all, or at least very little time to himself. If he wasn't practising his routines, then he was practising basketball, or having photos taken. He had to also keep up with his chores and homework, and the effort of trying to maintain some dignity whenever he was at school, which always failed as Cartman wouldn't allow him to win in any way.

He managed to get in a brief nap before evening practise, but to his dismay, he found that it didn't help his headache at all.

Almost a month later, he was back in Denver, at the National Elite Faces pageant. Another nameless, air-conditioned hotel full of strangers. Another weekend spent in a conference room filled with the few friends he had in this world.

Kyle bit the insides of his mouth as Tony and Sheila fussed over him, smoothing out his clothing, fiddling with his hair, touching up his makeup. Kyle balled his hands into fists in order to keep from walking away. Couldn't they just leave him alone for two seconds? His group wasn't due on for at least ten minutes anyway, so there was no need for them for them to continuously primp him.

When they had finally let up, Kyle sighed, and looked around the room, searching for a familiar face. He saw plenty of people that he knew by sight, but none of his pageant friends, and he slumped a little bit. They helped make this whole experience a little more bearable for him; even though Jake and Brianna loved competing, they, too, got frustrated with hair and makeup, and endless practising, and not being allowed to run around and let off steam. It was something his mother would never understand, no matter how much he tried to explain it to her.

   “Don't go anywhere, Kyle; we can't have you disappearing,” said Sheila, and Kyle nodded, on autopilot. “Besides, if you mess up your clothes or hair, we won't have enough time to fix it before you have to go on stage.”

Again, Kyle nodded. Tony walked over to his chair, while Sheila remained close.

Trying his best to drown out the awful, royalty free covers of pop songs, Kyle kept absent-mindedly looking around him, not really paying attention, until he saw something – or rather, someone, that made him do a double take. No, it couldn't be...

   “Cartman?” Kyle's voice was a mixture of shock and hatred as he strode over to his nemesis.

   “Well, helloooo, Kahl!” Cartman beamed, but it wasn't a happy smile. No, he looked like he was planning something. “You look even ridiculous-er in real life!”

   “Why are you wearing that?” Kyle looked down, his eyes widening in horror as he realised Cartman was wearing his Sunday tuxedo, and his hair was slicked back. His stomach churned as he came to the conclusion that Cartman likely wasn't here just to watch and heckle him.

   “You know, Kahl, when you called me ugly the other day, it really hurt my feelings,” Cartman pouted, though his eyes twinkled at the rage on Kyle's face.

   “I didn't call you that!”

   “I seem to recall a certain ginger Jew who said that, unlike me, he can win pageants. It's crazy how you still think you're hotter than me, so I'm here to prove you wrong.”

   “... How did you even know I'd be here?” was all Kyle found he could say. He definitely hadn't told anyone, and he didn't think his mother had, either. Obviously, the only other explanation was that Cartman had been spying on him again. “Did you really have to come to this one? There's little ones at the mall every weekend; you could have done that.”

   “Ah, but then it wouldn't be a fair competition, would it? Besides, I want to get that $10,000.” Cartman waggled an irritating finger in Kyle's face, who growled and shoved it aside, too angry to tell Cartman that the biggest cash prize this pageant offered was $1,500. “Beauty,” he pointed to himself, “and the Beast,” he jabbed a finger in Kyle's chest, “battling it out. We'll just see who wins.” Arrogantly sticking his nose in the air, Cartman strutted back to his mother, who promptly began cooing over her handsome poopsiekins.

Kyle stood there, jaw agape, trembling with rage. This couldn't be happening; it had to be some kind of crazy nightmare. Why did God hate him so much? He had half a mind to leave; he did not have the patience nor the energy to put up with Cartman's bullshit today. He shook himself slightly, trying to snap out of it. He glanced at Cartman once again, who was slouched in his chair on his phone, wrinkling his suit.

Much as Kyle tried not to be petty and vindictive, this could actually turn out rather interesting. Personal rivalries aside, Cartman was not prepared for his, and Kyle really wanted to watch this train wreck. Hey, after everything Cartman had done to him, Kyle felt that laughing at him was only fair. It didn't even come close to the tip of the iceberg, if he was honest.

The knowledge that Cartman was going to make a complete and utter fool of himself actually calmed Kyle down.

Soon enough, it was time for the boys 6 – 10 Beauty Wear round, and Kyle lined up with the rest of the unusually small division. He was so focused on what might happen that he didn't even hear Cartman laughing and making fun of his hair, saying how much “stupider it looked in person.” He chanced a glance ahead of him, and saw that although Cartman was supposed to be last in the line-up, he had placed himself behind the first boy. Kyle fought to keep a smile off his face, as he realised the judges might take points off for that. A small part of him hated himself for being so mean, but the rest of him was yelling 'it's Cartman! Who cares?' That voice won out in the end.

Kyle continued to watch as the first boy left the stage, and the emcee announced the next contestant,

   “And now, ladies and gentlemen, please give a nice round of applause to contestant number two – William Omar!”

Before the name had left the emcee's mouth, Cartman had already stepped up onto the stage. “Uh, hang on one second, folks, I think we've got a little mixed up.” The emcee grinned at the judges, before lowering his microphone and discretely shooing Cartman off the stage. “Get in numerical order!” he whispered, before turning back to the crowd as Cartman got off stage. “Sorry about that, guys. Anyway, contestant number two: William Omar!”

Unfortunately, though Kyle tried to keep his expression neutral, Cartman caught sight of him trying not to smile.

   “Think that's funny, Princess?” he sneered, standing right beside Kyle.

   “No,” said Kyle lightly.

   “You do! You think you're sooo cool because your mom bribes the judges so you can win. You wait; I'll beat you!” With that, he stomped off to the back of the line.

As Kyle waited for his turn, he did his best to ignore what Cartman had said, but it was like the words were burrowing into his brain. Were the judges being bribed? Would Sheila go that far? Sure, she wanted him to win, but she wanted him to win honestly, right? It had taken him ages to actually win a proper title; maybe his mother had just got sick of waiting, and had offered the judges a little bribe to help move things along. In his mind, it didn't seem too out of the ordinary for her.

His gaze flitted to the ground, suddenly feeling like everyone's eyes were on him. Kyle swore he could hear them sniggering at his hair, pointing out his nose, making fun of his clothes.

Those thoughts were still swimming around in his head when his name was called. Trying to shake himself out of it, Kyle did his best to make sure his smile was in place before stepping onto the stage. It was very hard to concentrate when he could hear Cartman laughing at him, and Kyle could see Cartman out of the corner of his eye, pointing mockingly at him, and he took a deep breath, trying to relax. It didn't work, and Kyle had to actively remind himself not to ball his hands into fists. His smile was strained and he knew it, and he was walking a bit faster than he was supposed to, but what else could he do? Gritting his teeth was the only thing stopping him from leaping off the stage and kicking the crap out of Cartman again.

As he reached the end of the runway, he caught sight of his mother behind the judges. She was frowning at him, and when he caught her eye, she pointed at her cheeks, and mouthed 'relax!'

Taking another deep breath, Kyle tried to do so, breathing heavily through his nose, but found that he couldn't. He was clenching his teeth so hard that the muscles in his neck were straining, and his hands kept curling into fists unless he consciously remembered to keep them relaxed.

   “What is he doing?” Sheila muttered to Tony, shaking her head.

   “I don't know,” said Tony, who could tell that something was annoying Kyle.

   “His smile looks strained; he needs to stop. The judges will take points off.” She cast a disapproving look at him as Kyle stepped off the stage, and she went over to meet him. “What was that?” she said as Kyle looked up at her, working his jaw. She moved them a bit further down the room, away from the judges table. “You looked like you were really struggling up there; what happened?”

   “Cartman is here!” he snapped, gesturing to what was left of the boys line up. “He came here to make fun of me!”

Sheila looked over and saw Cartman standing there, and she glanced back at her son. “Are you sure he came to make fun of you, bubbe? Because it seems to me, that if he did, he wouldn't be competing.”

   “Trust me, Mom, he's here to make fun of me. It's all he ever does.” Kyle growled and clenched his fists once again to prevent himself from having it out with Cartman right there and then.

   “Well, bubbe, even if he is here to make fun of you, you should be the bigger person and ignore it. He can only get to you if you let him. Besides, you need to learn to deal with distractions.”

   “Distractions?” Was she actually serious? “Mom, Eric Cartman is not a distraction; he's a racist psychopath, and a pain in my ass!”

   “Keep your voice down,” she ordered, for people were turning to look at them, “and watch your language.”

   “Fine.” Kyle marched back over to his chair, resisting the urge to tear his hair out. He turned away from the stage as the contest continued, muttering angrily to himself, and Tony leaned forward in his chair.

   “What's the matter?” he asked, being sure to keep his voice low, as Sheila approached.

   “Nothing!” Kyle hissed, glaring at the empty chair in front of him with such fury he was surprised he didn't burn a hole into it.

   “Something's clearly bothering you. What is it?”

Before Kyle could say anything, his mother spoke.

   “He's just annoyed that one of his friends is competing here, as well.”

   “He's not my friend!” Kyle turned around, scowling. He deliberately kept his gaze away from the stage, knowing he wouldn't be able to handle Cartman laughing at him again.

   “Kyle, keep your voice down; you're making a scene,” was all Sheila said in response, and Kyle growled and turned away, digging his nails into his palms.

   “And now, please welcome your last contestant in the Boys 6 – 10 Beauty Wear – Eric Cartman!”

Try as he might, Kyle couldn't help but watch as Cartman strutted onto the stage. Cartman completely ignored the first X, and strode into the centre and began preening.

Kyle could only watch in a kind of shocked amusement and a hint of pity as Cartman posed dramatically, looking more like he was in a junior body building competition than a beauty pageant. He flexed his muscles, he didn't hit any of his marks, he didn't turn properly, and – Kyle had to cover his mouth to stifle his laughter – Cartman had started doing his Britney Spears dancing.

Kyle wanted to look at the audience and see what they were making of this mess, but it was like watching a car crash; he couldn't look away. It appeared that no matter how many times he'd watched “Toddlers and Tiaras”, Cartman was even more clueless than Kyle had imagined.

Cartman finished his routine by posing, flexing his muscles, and screaming “beefcake!” before stepping off the stage, to polite yet scattered applause. As he and his mother began to leave the room, perhaps to give him an aura of mystique, Cartman caught Kyle's eye and smirked triumphantly. Kyle, feeling much happier than he had for the past hour, grinned widely back at him. He was actually looking forward to seeing what else Cartman had prepared.

Not a lot, apparently; Cartman had only entered the main categories – Formal Wear, Casual Wear, and Outfit of Choice. His Casual Wear outfit was his old Metrosexual outfit. He didn't have a routine, but he didn't need one, swaggering confidently around the stage, his jacket over his shoulder. Seeing that lowered Kyle's spirits a little bit; Cartman was definitely hamming it up, and the judges were enjoying it.

However, Kyle brightened when he saw Cartman's Outfit of Choice – his Coon costume. There was no way in hell that that was going to go down well with the judges, especially since he insisted on being introduced as “The Coon.”

Focusing on the train wreck that was Cartman helped to take Kyle's mind off of his own abysmal routines, however. Every single time Kyle had stepped on stage, Cartman had laughed non-stop and made loud jokes. It was really affecting his concentration, along with his routines, and Sheila was not happy with him.

   “What is he doing?” Kyle muttered, standing with the rest of his age group, who were all watching Cartman with amusement.

   “Wow, he didn't even prepare, did he?” asked William Omar.

   “I actually think he did,” said Kyle, shaking his at Cartman. “I know him; he watches “Toddlers and Tiaras” all the time; he was probably taking notes.”

   “Really? I don't think he watched many episodes!” William quipped, and Kyle had to laugh. He was surprised Cartman was doing as bad as he was, but then, he'd never really been one to follow the rules.

As Cartman finished his final routine, he confidently stepped off the stage. Immediately spotting Kyle, he headed right over to him.

   “Well, Kahl, still think you're better than me?” he demanded.

   “Oh, I think the judges are gonna remember you for a long time,” Kyle grinned, feeling even better when Cartman didn't pick up on his sarcasm. “How much “Toddlers and Tiaras” did you watch to prepare for this?”

   “A lot,” he said, and Kyle nodded, smiling brightly. “But I gave it a bit of my own style, you know? None of that boring stuff you do.”

   “Uh-huh. I see. Well, good luck tonight.”

   “So, we'll just see who wins, huh, Princess?” Cartman's mean little eyes gleamed, certain his charm had won him the highest title.

   “We'll see,” Kyle repeated, before heading back to his seat. He wouldn't miss this for the world.

Later that evening, Kyle, Cartman, and the rest of the boys were standing on stage, ready for crowning.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kyle could see that Cartman kept posing and his smile became genuine. It was nice to see Cartman make such a fool out of himself. He kept a smile on his face, avoiding eye contact with his mother. Thanks to Cartman, Kyle had performed terribly, and he knew he wasn't going to win big. Still, at least he wasn't going to do as bad as Cartman, and that was what consoled him.

One of the previous year's winners came up on stage, and placed a small participation trophy in front of every contestant.

   “Okay, we will first award our Optional titles for the 6 – 10 Boys,” began the emcee, looking down at the results on the sheet of paper in front of him.

Kyle was given medals for “Best Attire” and “Photogenic.” He didn't expect anything higher, given how disastrous his performances had been.

But, to his shock, he was crowned “King,” and he stepped forward, while the other boys applauded, along with the audience. Kyle couldn't believe it; apparently, he hadn't done as badly as he had thought, but he knew his mother would be displeased.

As he stepped off stage with the rest of the boys, Kyle walked over to Sheila and Tony, hoping she wouldn't be too annoyed; he'd done a lot better than they'd all expected. Though Tony wished him a hearty congratulations, Sheila only said “well done”, her tone slightly irritated.

Removing his crown and sash, Kyle sat down, and the three of them continued to watch the crowning ceremony. He kept sneaking glances at Cartman, who was hanging around near the stage, smiling widely, waiting eagerly for his name to be called.

As the evening went on and on, Cartman's smile began to dim. Kyle couldn't help but feel sorry for him; he'd been in that position before, and it sucked. He wondered briefly whether or not he ought to go over there, and tell Cartman that he most likely wouldn't get anything else, but thought better of it. Cartman probably wouldn't believe him, so Kyle just decided to sit back, relax, and watch it all unfold.

After what felt like hours, the Ultimate Grand Supreme was crowned, and Cartman's face fell. He looked so disappointed, that Kyle once again felt like going over to him and comforting him. He stood up and stretched, before moving away from his chair. That soon changed when a look of pure and utter fury crossed Cartman's face.

   “What the fuck?!” he snapped, causing many people to stare at him in shock. “What the actual fuck?!” His eyes scanned the room, before they landed on Kyle, and he stamped over to him. “Really, Kahl, whose dick did you have to suck to get first place?!”

Kyle blinked, his brows furrowing. “What?!”

   “You heard me, you sneaky Jew! Who'd you have to bribe?!”

   “I didn't bribe anyone, fatass!” Kyle snapped, ignoring the aside glances from fellow audience members. “And I didn't even win first place!”

   “Oh, sure. How else could you have won?!”

   “Fine, you take it, then!” Kyle snapped, picking up his crown and sash and shoving them at Cartman.

   “Kyle, what are you doing?” asked Sheila, and both boys whipped around to face her.

   “J-just trying to promote good sportsmanship, Ma,” he said nervously. Cartman heard that, and promptly looked sad.

   “I'm very proud of you for sharing, bubbe,” she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Cartman smugly placed the crown on his head, and draped the sash over his shoulder.

   “Well, thank you, Kahl,” Cartman grinned sweetly, using just enough sarcasm that Kyle would look like the bad guy if he retaliated, a tactic that Cartman had perfected over the years.

Kyle scowled at him as Sheila walked away. “Well, look at that; I won and you didn't – that means I'm better looking than you!” he smirked.

   “Fuck you, you didn't win anything!” Kyle snapped.

   “Then why do I have a crown and you don't?”

Kyle ground his teeth and clenched his fists. “Fine. Fine, all right? You won and I didn't. You happy now?” was all he said before he marched away.

The following day, back at school, Cartman was parading around the playground, wearing the sash and crown, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

On the one hand, Kyle had to admire his blatant lack of embarrassment; it couldn't be denied that Cartman had confidence.

On the other hand, Kyle hated the fact that no one made fun of Cartman for taking part in a pageant, while they were content to do it to him. Was it the confidence thing? Should he just start trying to own it? Maybe if he did, they would see that their taunting seemingly didn't bother him, and finally leave him alone.

Before he could this whole 'confidence' thing a try, Cartman, who was surrounded by a small group of bemused yet interested onlookers, looked over at him.

   “Can you imagine; me, without any practise, and on my first try, managed to beat Kahl, who practises every day! Guess I just have what it takes. I don't know why Kahl says it's hard. I'm hotter than him!”

Kyle was furious as Cartman strode back and forth in front of him, moving his head so his crown sparkled in the light. He sensed Stan coming to stand beside him, and he breathed deeply. Sheila was unhappy with him; giving away his crown had meant one less award in the trophy room. All Kyle could do was say that he would work harder to win next time, something he was well accustomed to saying by now.

As Cartman continued to taunt him, Kyle ground his teeth so hard he was surprised they didn't break, as yet another headache came upon him.

   “Fuck you!” he seethed, before turning around and heading inside, Stan following him.

Muttering angrily to himself, Kyle went straight to the nurse's office.

   “Back again?” Nurse Gollum said sympathetically when she saw him. “Headache?” she asked, and Kyle nodded, sitting down, looking annoyed. Pursing her lips, she gave him some pain relievers and a glass of water. He took them, before pulling his hat down low, as the darkness helped.

He and Stan sat there in silence, while they waited for the pills to take effect. “I have a little trick that might help,” said the nurse, and Kyle lifted his hat and looked at her. “Press down above the bridge of your nose, between your eyebrows; it helps ease the pain.”

Desperate to try anything, Kyle tried it, pushing a touch harder than he normally would, and to his surprise and relief, the pressure in his head instantly dissipated.

   “Wow, thanks!” It was doing wonders for him.

   “Try that whenever you feel a headache coming on; you might be able to stop it before it starts,” she told him, and pushed a small jar into his hands. “That's Tiger Balm. When you get a headache, rub some of it on your forehead, and it will help. I swear by it.”

Kyle looked down at the tiny jar that appeared to be full of Vaseline. It looked like some all-natural remedy, which naturally made him a bit wary of it. But he was willing to try anything. He dipped his finger into the pot, and massaged the cream into his forehead. The smell of Camphor and Menthol made his eyes water, but after a while, he began to feel his headache disappear.

   “It worked!”

   “Keep it,” she told him.

   “Oh, thanks,” he smiled.

Thanks to the balm, his headache had cleared up amazingly, and Kyle felt well enough to actually go back outside without any more issues.

He arrived home, feeling more refreshed than he had in ages; he was definitely going to get some more of that balm. Perhaps it was that feeling that gave him a bit of an energy boost.

   “Right, Kyle, it's time to practise,” said Sheila after dinner, while they were all still sat at the table.

   “What?”

   “What do you mean, what? You practise every night after dinner, what's so difficult to understand?”

   “Nothing, but.. I don't wanna practise tonight,” said Kyle. He decided it was time to start being a little bit more assertive. Looking back over the past year and a half, Kyle realised how passive he had become, and he didn't like it. “We don't have anything coming up, so I don't need to practise.”

   “You have one next month.”

   “So I don't need to start practising for a couple of weeks, right?” Kyle looked calm, though his palms were sweating slightly; he couldn't remember the last time he'd outright defied her.

Gerald and Ike were watching the back and forth, their heads swivelling left and right as though they were watching a tennis match.

   “Kyle, bubbe, try to understand,” Sheila began, her tone sweet, “if you don't practise, you won't win. I thought you'd know this by now; you've been doing it for long enough. I don't want you getting rusty.”

   “I won't get rusty,” Kyle insisted, “I know what I'm doing.”

   “If you did, then you'd know that you need to practise every day!”

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Gerald properly looked at Kyle. He didn't know how Sheila couldn't see the dark circles under their son's eyes, or the fact that he was clearly asking for a break, and he shook his head. Kyle was actually arguing with Sheila; when did that ever happen? That was how Gerald knew he must be really fed up.

   “Why don't you both take a break for a week or two?” he suggested, causing them to both look over at him. “Just relax, and then you can get back into it. A little break won't hurt.”

   “Gerald, you have no idea what you're talking about. If Kyle doesn't practise, it will be like throwing our hard work down the drain. He cannot afford to get rusty.”

   “Like I said, taking one week off isn't gonna do any damage,” Gerald said. “Really, what's the worst that can happen?”

   “He forgot his routine last time, and it cost us. So he needs to practise.”

Gerald sighed and closed his eyes. “Does it really matter if he misses a few days of practise?”

   “I thought we agreed that you would keep your nose out?”

   “Not when you're literally working him to the bone.”

Sheila narrowed her eyes at him. “Boys, go upstairs,” she said.

   “Why?” asked Kyle.

   “Because I said so, now do as I say!”

The tone in her voice was enough to make both kids quickly hop down from the table. As they climbed the stairs, listening to their parents voices grow louder, Kyle glanced over at Ike. Ike threw his brother as a best a withering look a three-year-old could manage before disappearing into his room.

Correctly anticipating a headache, Kyle pressed down on his forehead, just above the bridge of his nose, as the arguing from downstairs became louder. He felt terrible because they were arguing about him, and there didn't appear to be anything he could do about it. If he went back on what he'd said, he risked annoying his dad, and if he doubled down and insisted on a break, his mother would be unhappy.

It didn't look as though he and Ike would be going back downstairs any time soon, so Kyle pulled on his pyjamas and laid on his bed. He played on his phone while occasionally texting Stan, wincing at the stomach ache coming on, and so he climbed under the covers and tried to get some sleep.

Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 10

Almost a month later, he was back in Denver, at the National Elite Faces pageant. Another nameless, air-conditioned hotel full of strangers. Another weekend spent in a conference room filled with the few friends he had in this world.

Kyle bit the insides of his mouth as Tony and Sheila fussed over him, smoothing out his clothing, fiddling with his hair, touching up his makeup. Kyle balled his hands into fists in order to keep from walking away. Couldn't they just leave him alone for two seconds? His group wasn't due on for at least ten minutes anyway, so there was no need for them for them to continuously primp him.

When they had finally let up, Kyle sighed, and looked around the room, searching for a familiar face. He saw plenty of people that he knew by sight, but none of his pageant friends, and he slumped a little bit. They helped make this whole experience a little more bearable for him; even though Jake and Brianna loved competing, they, too, got frustrated with hair and makeup, and endless practising, and not being allowed to run around and let off steam. It was something his mother would never understand, no matter how much he tried to explain it to her.

   “Don't go anywhere, Kyle; we can't have you disappearing,” said Sheila, and Kyle nodded, on autopilot. “Besides, if you mess up your clothes or hair, we won't have enough time to fix it before you have to go on stage.”

Again, Kyle nodded. Tony walked over to his chair, while Sheila remained close.

Trying his best to drown out the awful, royalty free covers of pop songs, Kyle kept absent-mindedly looking around him, not really paying attention, until he saw something – or rather, someone, that made him do a double take. No, it couldn't be...

   “Cartman?” Kyle's voice was a mixture of shock and hatred as he strode over to his nemesis.

   “Well, helloooo, Kahl!” Cartman beamed, but it wasn't a happy smile. No, he looked like he was planning something. “You look even ridiculous-er in real life!”

   “Why are you wearing that?” Kyle looked down, his eyes widening in horror as he realised Cartman was wearing his Sunday tuxedo, and his hair was slicked back. His stomach churned as he came to the conclusion that Cartman likely wasn't here just to watch and heckle him.

   “You know, Kahl, when you called me ugly the other day, it really hurt my feelings,” Cartman pouted, though his eyes twinkled at the rage on Kyle's face.

   “I didn't call you that!”

   “I seem to recall a certain ginger Jew who said that, unlike me, he can win pageants. It's crazy how you still think you're hotter than me, so I'm here to prove you wrong.”

   “... How did you even know I'd be here?” was all Kyle found he could say. He definitely hadn't told anyone, and he didn't think his mother had, either. Obviously, the only other explanation was that Cartman had been spying on him again. “Did you really have to come to this one? There's little ones at the mall every weekend; you could have done that.”

   “Ah, but then it wouldn't be a fair competition, would it? Besides, I want to get that $10,000.” Cartman waggled an irritating finger in Kyle's face, who growled and shoved it aside, too angry to tell Cartman that the biggest cash prize this pageant offered was $1,500. “Beauty,” he pointed to himself, “and the Beast,” he jabbed a finger in Kyle's chest, “battling it out. We'll just see who wins.” Arrogantly sticking his nose in the air, Cartman strutted back to his mother, who promptly began cooing over her handsome poopsiekins.

Kyle stood there, jaw agape, trembling with rage. This couldn't be happening; it had to be some kind of crazy nightmare. Why did God hate him so much? He had half a mind to leave; he did not have the patience nor the energy to put up with Cartman's bullshit today. He shook himself slightly, trying to snap out of it. He glanced at Cartman once again, who was slouched in his chair on his phone, wrinkling his suit.

Much as Kyle tried not to be petty and vindictive, this could actually turn out rather interesting. Personal rivalries aside, Cartman was not prepared for his, and Kyle really wanted to watch this train wreck. Hey, after everything Cartman had done to him, Kyle felt that laughing at him was only fair. It didn't even come close to the tip of the iceberg, if he was honest.

The knowledge that Cartman was going to make a complete and utter fool of himself actually calmed Kyle down.

Soon enough, it was time for the boys 6 – 10 Beauty Wear round, and Kyle lined up with the rest of the unusually small division. He was so focused on what might happen that he didn't even hear Cartman laughing and making fun of his hair, saying how much “stupider it looked in person.” He chanced a glance ahead of him, and saw that although Cartman was supposed to be last in the line-up, he had placed himself behind the first boy. Kyle fought to keep a smile off his face, as he realised the judges might take points off for that. A small part of him hated himself for being so mean, but the rest of him was yelling 'it's Cartman! Who cares?' That voice won out in the end.

Kyle continued to watch as the first boy left the stage, and the emcee announced the next contestant,

   “And now, ladies and gentlemen, please give a nice round of applause to contestant number two – William Omar!”

Before the name had left the emcee's mouth, Cartman had already stepped up onto the stage. “Uh, hang on one second, folks, I think we've got a little mixed up.” The emcee grinned at the judges, before lowering his microphone and discretely shooing Cartman off the stage. “Get in numerical order!” he whispered, before turning back to the crowd as Cartman got off stage. “Sorry about that, guys. Anyway, contestant number two: William Omar!”

Unfortunately, though Kyle tried to keep his expression neutral, Cartman caught sight of him trying not to smile.

   “Think that's funny, Princess?” he sneered, standing right beside Kyle.

   “No,” said Kyle lightly.

   “You do! You think you're sooo cool because your mom bribes the judges so you can win. You wait; I'll beat you!” With that, he stomped off to the back of the line.

As Kyle waited for his turn, he did his best to ignore what Cartman had said, but it was like the words were burrowing into his brain. Were the judges being bribed? Would Sheila go that far? Sure, she wanted him to win, but she wanted him to win honestly, right? It had taken him ages to actually win a proper title; maybe his mother had just got sick of waiting, and had offered the judges a little bribe to help move things along. In his mind, it didn't seem too out of the ordinary for her.

His gaze flitted to the ground, suddenly feeling like everyone's eyes were on him. Kyle swore he could hear them sniggering at his hair, pointing out his nose, making fun of his clothes.

Those thoughts were still swimming around in his head when his name was called. Trying to shake himself out of it, Kyle did his best to make sure his smile was in place before stepping onto the stage. It was very hard to concentrate when he could hear Cartman laughing at him, and Kyle could see Cartman out of the corner of his eye, pointing mockingly at him, and he took a deep breath, trying to relax. It didn't work, and Kyle had to actively remind himself not to ball his hands into fists. His smile was strained and he knew it, and he was walking a bit faster than he was supposed to, but what else could he do? Gritting his teeth was the only thing stopping him from leaping off the stage and kicking the crap out of Cartman again.

As he reached the end of the runway, he caught sight of his mother behind the judges. She was frowning at him, and when he caught her eye, she pointed at her cheeks, and mouthed 'relax!'

Taking another deep breath, Kyle tried to do so, breathing heavily through his nose, but found that he couldn't. He was clenching his teeth so hard that the muscles in his neck were straining, and his hands kept curling into fists unless he consciously remembered to keep them relaxed.

   “What is he doing?” Sheila muttered to Tony, shaking her head.

   “I don't know,” said Tony, who could tell that something was annoying Kyle.

   “His smile looks strained; he needs to stop. The judges will take points off.” She cast a disapproving look at him as Kyle stepped off the stage, and she went over to meet him. “What was that?” she said as Kyle looked up at her, working his jaw. She moved them a bit further down the room, away from the judges table. “You looked like you were really struggling up there; what happened?”

   “Cartman is here!” he snapped, gesturing to what was left of the boys line up. “He came here to make fun of me!”

Sheila looked over and saw Cartman standing there, and she glanced back at her son.

   “Are you sure he came to make fun of you, bubbe? Because it seems to me, that if he did, he wouldn't be competing.”

   “Trust me, Mom, he's here to make fun of me. It's all he ever does.” Kyle growled and clenched his fists once again to prevent himself from having it out with Cartman right there and then.

   “Well, bubbe, even if he is here to make fun of you, you should be the bigger person and ignore it. He can only get to you if you let him. Besides, you need to learn to deal with distractions.”

   “Distractions?” Was she actually serious? “Mom, Eric Cartman is not a distraction; he's a racist psychopath and a pain in my ass!”

   “Keep your voice down,” she ordered, for people were turning to look at them, “and watch your language.”

   “Fine.” Kyle marched back over to his chair, resisting the urge to tear his hair out. He turned away from the stage as the contest continued, muttering angrily to himself, and Tony leaned forward in his chair.

   “What's the matter?” he asked, being sure to keep his voice low, as Sheila approached.

   “Nothing!” Kyle hissed, glaring at the empty chair in front of him with such fury he was surprised he didn't burn a hole into it.

   “Something's clearly bothering you. What is it?”

Before Kyle could say anything, his mother spoke.

   “He's just annoyed that one of his friends is competing here, as well.”

   “He's not my friend!” Kyle turned around, scowling. He deliberately kept his gaze away from the stage, knowing he wouldn't be able to handle Cartman laughing at him again.

   “Kyle, keep your voice down; you're making a scene,” was all Sheila said in response, and Kyle growled and turned away, digging his nails into his palms.

   “And now, please welcome your last contestant in the Boys 6 – 10 Beauty Wear – Eric Cartman!”

Try as he might, Kyle couldn't help but watch as Cartman strutted onto the stage. Cartman completely ignored the first X, and strode into the centre and began preening.

Kyle could only watch in a kind of shocked amusement and a hint of pity as Cartman posed dramatically, looking more like he was in a junior body building competition than a beauty pageant. He flexed his muscles, he didn't hit any of his marks, he didn't turn properly, and – Kyle had to cover his mouth to stifle his laughter – Cartman had started doing his Britney Spears dancing.

Kyle wanted to look at the audience and see what they were making of this mess, but it was like watching a car crash; he couldn't look away. It appeared that no matter how much he watched “Toddlers and Tiaras”, Cartman was even more clueless than Kyle had imagined.

Cartman finished his routine by posing, flexing his muscles, and screaming “beefcake!” before stepping off the stage, to polite yet scattered applause. As he and his mother began to leave the room, perhaps to give him an aura of mystique, Cartman caught Kyle's eye and smirked triumphantly. Kyle, feeling much happier than he had for the past hour, grinned widely back at him. He was actually looking forward to seeing what else Cartman had prepared.

Not a lot, apparently; Cartman had only entered the main categories – Formal Wear, Casual Wear, and Outfit of Choice. His Casual Wear outfit was his old Metrosexual outfit. He didn't have a routine, but he didn't need one, swaggering confidently around the stage, his jacket over his shoulder. Seeing that lowered Kyle's spirits a little bit; Cartman was definitely hamming it up, and the judges were enjoying it.

However, Kyle brightened when he saw Cartman's Outfit of Choice – his Coon costume. There was no way in hell that that was going to go down well with the judges, especially since he insisted on being introduced as “The Coon.”

Focusing on the train wreck that was Cartman helped to take Kyle's mind off of his own abysmal routines, however. Every single time Kyle had stepped on stage, Cartman had laughed non-stop and made loud jokes. It was really affecting his concentration, along with his routines, and Sheila was not happy with him.

   “What is he doing?” Kyle muttered, standing with the rest of his age group, who were all watching Cartman with amusement.

   “Wow, he didn't even prepare, did he?” asked William Omar.

   “I actually think he did,” said Kyle, shaking his at Cartman. “I know him; he watches “Toddlers and Tiaras” all the time; he was probably taking notes.”

   “Really? I don't think he watched many episodes!” William quipped, and Kyle had to laugh. He was surprised Cartman was doing as bad as he was, but then, he'd never really been one to follow the rules.

As Cartman finished his final routine, he confidently stepped off the stage. Immediately spotting Kyle, he headed right over to him.

   “Well, Kahl, still think you're better than me?” he demanded.

   “Oh, I think the judges are gonna remember you for a long time,” Kyle grinned, feeling even better when Cartman didn't pick up on his sarcasm. “How much “Toddlers and Tiaras” did you watch to prepare for this?”

   “A lot,” he said, and Kyle nodded, smiling brightly. “But I gave it a bit of my own style, you know? None of that boring stuff you do.”

   “Uh-huh. I see. Well, good luck tonight.”

   “So, we'll just see who wins, huh, Princess?” Cartman's mean little eyes gleamed, certain his charm had won him the highest title.

   “We'll see,” Kyle repeated, before heading back to his seat. He wouldn't miss this for the world.

Later that evening, Kyle, Cartman, and the rest of the boys were standing on stage, ready for crowning.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kyle could see that Cartman kept posing and his smile became genuine. It was nice to see Cartman make such a fool out of himself. He kept a smile on his face, avoiding eye contact with his mother. Thanks to Cartman, Kyle had performed terribly, and he knew he wasn't going to win big. Still, at least he wasn't going to do as bad as Cartman, and that was what consoled him.

One of the previous year's winners came up on stage, and placed a small participation trophy in front of every contestant.

   “Okay, we will first award our Optional titles for the 6 – 10 Boys,” began the emcee, looking down at the results on the sheet of paper in front of him.

Kyle was given medals for “Best Attire” and “Photogenic.” He didn't expect anything higher, given how disastrous his performances had been.

But, to his shock, he was crowned “King,” and he stepped forward, while the other boys applauded, along with the audience. Kyle couldn't believe it; apparently, he hadn't done as badly as he had thought, but he knew his mother would be displeased.

As he stepped off stage with the rest of the boys, Kyle walked over to Sheila and Tony, hoping she wouldn't be too annoyed; he'd done a lot better than they'd all expected. Though Tony wished him a hearty congratulations, Sheila only said “well done”, her tone slightly irritated.

Removing his crown and sash, Kyle sat down, and the three of them continued to watch the crowning ceremony. He kept sneaking glances at Cartman, who was hanging around near the stage, smiling widely, waiting eagerly for his name to be called.

As the evening went on and on, Cartman's smile began to dim. Kyle couldn't help but feel sorry for him; he'd been in that position before, and it sucked. He wondered briefly whether or not he ought to go over there, and tell Cartman that he most likely wouldn't get anything else, but thought better of it. Cartman probably wouldn't believe him, so Kyle just decided to sit back, relax, and watch it all unfold.

After what felt like hours, the Ultimate Grand Supreme was crowned, and Cartman's face fell. He looked so disappointed, that Kyle once again felt like going over to him and comforting him. He stood up and stretched, before moving away from his chair. That soon changed when a look of pure and utter fury crossed Cartman's face.

   “What the fuck?!” he snapped, causing many people to stare at him in shock. “What the actual fuck?!” His eyes scanned the room, before they landed on Kyle, and he stamped over to him. “Really, Kahl, whose dick did you have to suck to get first place?!”

Kyle blinked, his brows furrowing.

   “What?!”

   “You heard me, you sneaky Jew! Who'd you have to bribe?!”

   “I didn't bribe anyone, fatass!” Kyle snapped, ignoring the aside glances from fellow audience members. “And I didn't even win first place!”

   “Oh, sure. How else could you have won?!”

   “Fine, you take it, then!” Kyle snapped, picking up his crown and sash and shoving them at Cartman.

   “Kyle, what are you doing?” asked Sheila, and both boys whipped around to face her.

   “J-just trying to promote good sportsmanship, Ma,” he said nervously. Cartman heard that, and promptly looked sad.

   “I'm very proud of you for sharing, bubbe,” she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Cartman smugly placed the crown on his head, and draped the sash over his shoulder.

   “Well, thank you, Kahl,” Cartman grinned sweetly, using just enough sarcasm that Kyle would look like the bad guy if he retaliated, a tactic that Cartman had perfected over the years.

Kyle scowled at him as Sheila walked away. “Well, look at that; I won and you didn't – that means I'm better looking than you!” he smirked.

   “Fuck you, you didn't win anything!” Kyle snapped.

   “Then why do I have a crown and you don't?”

Kyle ground his teeth and clenched his fists.

   “Fine. Fine, all right? You won and I didn't. You happy now?” was all he said before he marched away.

The following day, back at school, Cartman was parading around the playground, wearing the sash and crown, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

On the one hand, Kyle had to admire his blatant lack of embarrassment; it couldn't be denied that Cartman had confidence.

On the other hand, Kyle hated the fact that no one made fun of Cartman for taking part in a pageant, while they were content to do it to him. Was it the confidence thing? Should he just start trying to own it? Maybe if he did, they would see that their taunting seemingly didn't bother him, and finally leave him alone.

Before he could this whole 'confidence' thing a try, Cartman, who was surrounded by a small group of bemused yet interested onlookers, looked over at him.

   “Can you imagine; me, without any practise, and on my first try, managed to beat Kahl, who practises every day! Guess I just have what it takes. I don't know why Kahl says it's hard. I'm hotter than him!”

Kyle was furious as Cartman strode back and forth in front of him, moving his head so his crown sparkled in the light. He sensed Stan coming to stand beside him, and he breathed deeply. Sheila was unhappy with him; giving away his crown had meant one less award in the trophy room. All Kyle could do was say that he would work hard to win next time, something he was well accustomed to saying by now.

As Cartman continued to taunt him, Kyle ground his teeth so hard he was surprised they didn't break, as yet another headache came upon him.

   “Fuck you!” he seethed, before turning around and heading inside, Stan following him.

Muttering angrily to himself, Kyle went straight to the nurse's office.

   “Back again?” Nurse Gollum said sympathetically when she saw him. “Headache?” she asked, and Kyle nodded, sitting down, looking annoyed. Pursing her lips, she gave him some pain relievers and a glass of water. He took them, before pulling his hat down low, as the darkness helped.

He and Stan sat there in silence, while they waited for the pills to take effect. “I have a little trick that might help,” said the nurse, and Kyle lifted his hat and looked at her. “Press down above the bridge of your nose, between your eyebrows; it helps ease the pain.”

Desperate to try anything, Kyle tried it, pushing a touch harder than he normally would, and to his surprise and relief, the pressure in his head instantly dissipated.

   “Wow, thanks!” It was doing wonders for him.

   “Try that whenever you feel a headache coming on; you might be able to stop it before it starts,” she told him, and pushed a small jar into his hands. “That's Tiger Balm. When you get a headache, rub some of it on your forehead, and it will help. I swear by it.”

Kyle looked down at the tiny jar that appeared to be full of Vaseline. It looked like some all-natural remedy, which naturally made him a bit wary of it. But he was willing to try anything. He dipped his finger into the pot, and massaged the cream into his forehead. The smell of Camphor and Menthol made his eyes water, but after a while, he began to feel his headache disappear.

   “It worked!”

   “Keep it,” she told him.

   “Oh, thanks,” he smiled.

Thanks to the balm, his headache had cleared up amazingly, and Kyle felt well enough to actually go back outside without any more issues.

He arrived home, feeling more refreshed than he had in ages; he was definitely going to get some more of that balm. Perhaps it was that feeling that gave him a bit of an energy boost.

   “Right, Kyle, it's time to practise,” said Sheila after dinner, while they were all still sat at the table.

   “What?”

   “What do you mean, what? You practise every night after dinner, what's so difficult to understand?”

   “Nothing, but.. I don't wanna practise tonight,” said Kyle. He decided it was time to start being a little bit more assertive. Looking back over the past year and a half, Kyle realised how passive he had become, and he didn't like it. “We don't have anything coming up, so I don't need to practise.”

   “You have one next month.”

   “So I don't need to start practising for a couple of weeks, right?” Kyle looked calm, though his palms were sweating slightly; he couldn't remember the last time he'd outright defied her.

Gerald and Ike were watching the back and forth, their heads swivelling left and right as though they were watching a tennis match.

   “Kyle, bubbe, try to understand,” Sheila began, her tone sweet, “if you don't practise, you won't win. I thought you'd know this by now; you've been doing it for long enough. I don't want you getting rusty.”

   “I won't get rusty,” Kyle insisted, “I know what I'm doing.”

   “If you did, then you'd know that you need to practise every day!”

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Gerald properly looked at Kyle. He didn't know how Sheila couldn't see the dark circles under their son's eyes, or the fact that he was clearly asking for a break, and he shook his head. Kyle was actually arguing with Sheila; when did that ever happen? That was how Gerald knew he must be really fed up.

   “Why don't you both take a break for a week or two?” he suggested, causing them to both look over at him. “Just relax, and then you can get back into it. A little break won't hurt.”

   “Gerald, you have no idea what you're talking about. If Kyle doesn't practise, it will be like throwing our hard work down the drain. He cannot afford to get rusty.”

   “Like I said, taking one week off isn't gonna do any damage,” Gerald said. “Really, what's the worst that can happen?”

   “He forgot his routine last time, and it cost us. So he needs to practise.”

Gerald sighed and closed his eyes.

   “Does it really matter if he misses a few days of practise?”

   “I thought we agreed that you would keep your nose out?”

   “Not when you're literally working him to the bone.”

Sheila narrowed her eyes at him.

   “Boys, go upstairs,” she said.

   “Why?” asked Kyle.

   “Because I said so, now do as I say!”

The tone in her voice was enough to make both kids quickly hop down from the table. As they climbed the stairs, listening to their parents voices grow louder, Kyle glanced over at Ike. Ike threw his brother as a best a withering look a three-year-old could manage before disappearing into his room.

Correctly anticipating a headache, Kyle pressed down on his forehead, just above the bridge of his nose, as the arguing from downstairs became louder. He felt terrible because they were arguing about him, and there didn't appear to be anything he could do about it. If he went back on what he'd said, he risked annoying his dad, and if he doubled down and insisted on a break, his mother would be unhappy.

It didn't look as though he and Ike would be going back downstairs any time soon, so Kyle pulled on his pyjamas and laid on his bed. He played on his phone while occasionally texting Stan, wincing at the stomach ache coming on, and so he climbed under the covers and tried to get some sleep.

Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 11

Kyle yawned as the plane touched down at JFK Airport, New York. He didn't know what was worse; long flights, or long car rides – both were equally terrible to him. Sheila had not given in to his request for a break, and had shouted Gerald down that very same evening. Kyle supposed it was nice that his father had been in his corner. They both knew they couldn't win against Sheila, but Kyle still appreciated the effort.

He kept glancing down at his phone, as he, Sheila, and Tony made their way off the plane and through the terminal. Hoisting up his backpack, Kyle waited for Stan to message him back; he was hoping for a sleepover next weekend, and was waiting for Stan to confirm whether his parents had said yes or no. Kyle figured that if he waited until then, Sheila couldn't really say no, because his friend would be expecting him. At least, that's what he hoped.

They arrived at the baggage carousel, and waited for their luggage. And they waited, and they waited, but none of them saw their bags anywhere on the conveyor belt.

   “Where are they? We can't have missed them,” said Sheila once the belt had made two full circles. She began walking up and down the length of the carousel, leaning in to closely examine the suitcases.

   “I'm sure they're there,” Tony said, also scanning the belt.

However, as the minutes ticked by, it became clear that their luggage hadn't arrived.

   “This is ridiculous!” huffed Sheila, heading back to Tony and Kyle. “What are we supposed to do? Check-in for the pageant finishes in a few hours! We can't miss it!”

   “Well, why don't we go over to the help desk?” Tony suggested. “I'm sure they can do something.”

   “Okay. Kyle, stay there,” Sheila told him as she and Tony began walking over to the desk.

Kyle slumped down to the floor, leaning against the wall of the carousel, and resumed messaging Stan.

'Our bags are lost and my mom is totally freaking out' he typed, glancing up at the help desk, where Sheila was speaking rapidly, her arms waving.

'oh wow whats she gonna do?'

'I don't know.'

'maybe she'll just come home'.

Kyle laughed and looked up once again. Sheila's voice was getting louder, and the young woman behind the desk was trying to placate her. Knowing there was nothing he could do, Kyle resumed texting Stan, keeping him updated, and trying to drown out his mother's increasingly frustrated yelling.

He didn't know how much time had passed before Sheila came marching back, followed by Tony.

   “How can she not know where the luggage is? All Kyle's clothes are in there! His shoes, his basketball! How's he supposed to compete?!”

   “Well, maybe we could -” Kyle started, but Sheila continued talking as though she had not heard him.

   “What are we gonna do? He can't compete without his clothes! Almost everything we have is in the suitcases. I can't pull him out; it's too late for a refund!”

Neither Tony nor Kyle could get a word in edgeways as Sheila continued to rant and rave. Kyle looked from her to Tony, who looked sympathetic, wondering what was going to happen. He couldn't compete without his clothes, and Sheila wasn't going to remove him from the pageant. Would she really be happy sending him to compete in his regular clothes, when he would most likely lose? As far as he could see, there were no other options.

   “Ma'am?”

Kyle saw the receptionist walking towards them, followed by an older man. “I've notified the manager of your situation -” she gestured the man now standing next to her “and we've been making some calls. It's possible that your luggage is on another plane, and we're working on finding it. With luck, we'll be able to get it to you within 24 hours.” The woman smiled brightly, but soon faltered under Sheila's gaze.

   “The thing is, we need those suitcases now,” Sheila began. “We can't wait 24 hours. This is important.”

   “Ma'am,” the manager stepped forward, “I understand how important this is to you -”

   “I don't think you do,” Sheila interrupted. “We really need those bags. It's very important; my son can't compete without them!”

   “I understand that, ma'am,” the manager repeated calmly, “and we're doing our best to make it right. There is always a chance the bags could arrive tonight. You can give us your contact details, and we can call you when they come. Or,” he continued, noting that Sheila didn't look too impressed, “you could wait here, and pick them up yourself when they arrive.” He took a polite step back as Sheila turned to Tony and they began to confer, but Kyle couldn't make out what they were saying.

   “Right, okay,” said Sheila eventually, and turned to Kyle. “Go with Tony.”

   “What?” Again, Kyle looked at the two of them.

   “He's going to take you to registration, and I'm going to wait here. We need your clothes.”

   “Well, okay.” Kyle didn't see he had any other choice. He adjusted his backpack and placed his phone in his pocket.

   “It's so lucky that I have your pictures and your portfolio in my carry-on,” said Sheila, more to herself, before gesturing for Kyle and Tony to leave, which they did.

They arrived at the hotel in good time, and joined the back of the queue. Kyle looked around at all the contestants, trying to see if he recognised any of them. There were quite a few he'd seen before, but as they were all either older or younger than him, he'd never spoken to them.

   “Talk about bad luck, huh?” Tony said while they waited in the queue.

   “Yeah,” said Kyle, “what's going to happen if the stuff doesn't arrive?”

   “I don't know,” said Tony honestly. “I really don't. I'm sure we'll figure something out, though,” he added.

After check-in, they headed up to their hotel rooms; Tony stayed with Kyle in his and Sheila's room, while they waited for her to arrive. There really wasn't much to do; Kyle thought it would be weird to go downstairs and practise for a pageant he might not even be taking part in. So, instead, they milled around in the room. Kyle explored the place; in his limited experience, the hotel rooms in New York were a lot nicer than a lot of the other ones he'd stayed in. This was definitely one of the nicer ones; the walls were white, and the red and black furniture offered a modern touch. The bedroom was furnished with two double beds, both with their own side table and lamp; there were chairs, a closet, a desk with a small television on it, and a feature wall of modern art. A small room through an archway served as a kitchen/living-room, complete with a sofa, another television, and some cupboards over a small counter top, upon which rested a microwave and a coffee machine.

The large windows provided a lovely view of the beautiful New York skyline, and Kyle stayed there for a moment, admiring the view. Yep, this was definitely the nicest hotel room he'd ever been in.

When he'd finished exploring, and had gotten his fill of the amazing view, Kyle headed back to the bedroom, flopped down on one of the beds, and alternated between flipping through the few channels on the television, while texting Stan.

Tony, on the other hand, was sorting through his carry-on, making sure all of his hair and makeup products were all still there, and that no accidental damage had occurred.

Night had well and truly fallen when a frazzled looking Sheila came running in, shopping bags hanging from her arm.

   “Hey!” Tony smiled, but Sheila didn't answer, and put the bags onto the nearest bed.

   “Our luggage didn't arrive!” she said. “They still don't have a clue where it is, and all they can tell me is 'we're still working on finding it'. What good does that do us? So, I had to run to a nearby store, and buy what we needed.” She pulled a black tuxedo out from one of the bags. “They didn't have a white one, so this will have to do,” she said, sounding disappointed. “Kyle, this is what you'll be wearing for Casual Wear tomorrow.” She held up a pair of smart cream trousers, and a navy short-sleeved button up shirt, along with a pair of light brown shoes. “I think we can make it work. Oh, I've had to pull you out of Talent, since I can't get anything for it.”

   “Okay,” Kyle shrugged, secretly feeling a little bit disappointed. Basketball was the only thing he enjoyed about competing.

   “Okay, get over here; you need to try these on,” said Sheila, and Kyle frowned.

   “Why?”

   “We need to make sure they fit; you know the fit is part of the score, and we need to do everything we can to raise those scores.”

   “Fine.” Knowing he had no choice, Kyle picked up the tux, and headed into the bathroom.

   “I hope they fit,” Sheila turned to Tony. “I got them in his size, but you never can tell.”

   “I'm sure they will,” Tony assured her, “and if not, we can fix it.”

Sheila hoped he was right, for soon Kyle came out of the bathroom, and it was clear that his tux was slightly too big, and so Tony stood him on a chair, and got out his trusty sewing kit. Kyle, already bored, focused on the television as Tony began taking up his trousers and sleeves.

   “Just count ourselves lucky you brought your sewing kit,” said Sheila, who was watching closely. “You still have all the makeup, right? We won't do well without that.”

   “I've got it all,” said Tony, concentrating on making the hems of Kyle's sleeves even.

Sheila couldn't help but give a small, disappointed sigh as she looked at the tux; it was so ordinary and plain, Kyle was going to have to work really hard to catch the judges' eye in it. Kyle noticed the sigh, and knew what it was about, and a slight feeling of worry swirled in his stomach.

   “Kyle, you've got to really bring it tomorrow,” Sheila said, still looking at the suit. “The beauty round is the most important, so you're gonna have to work twice as hard to get them to notice you.”

   “Okay,” was all he could say.

   “I think from now on, I better keep your clothes in my carry-on; we can't have this happen again.”

Sheila disappeared into the next room shortly after, back on the phone to the airport, hoping by some miracle, their luggage had been found. Tony finished up the alterations with a smile.

   “There! It looks great,” he smiled, stepping back as Kyle jumped down from the chair. “Okay, why don't you go try on your other outfit, and we'll see if it fits?”

   “Sure, whatever.” Kyle picked up the shirt and trousers, and headed back into the bathroom.

Though neutral and professional as he was, Tony couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the sound of Sheila's frustrated ranting. Even though he would never mention it – it wasn't his place to say – it might have been better to remove Kyle from the pageant entirely. He knew that Sheila had her sights set on winning, and with Kyle already removed from one category, it probably wasn't going to happen.

Not long after, Kyle emerged from the bathroom in his new Casual Wear outfit.

   “Hey, you look great,” Tony smiled, but Kyle didn't say anything. “I think your mom is gonna wanna keep this,” he gestured to the clothing.

   “Yeah. Did they find the bags?”

   “Not yet. They could turn up tomorrow, so keep your fingers crossed.” Tony motioned for Kyle to stand back on the chair, which he did.

   “What happens if they do? We did all this for nothing.”

   “I don't know. Hey, these fit perfect. Great! If you go and take these off, then I can hang them up.”

When Kyle had gone back into the bathroom, Tony couldn't help but hope the clothes would arrive tomorrow. Sure, they would be cutting it a little bit close, but he was certain they would be able to make it work.

   “Kyle! Kyle, bubbe!”

Back in his regular clothes, Kyle came out of the bathroom, and he and Tony headed into the living area. Sheila had moved the sofa, chairs and coffee table against the wall. “You need to practise,” she said, moving back a few paces. “The ballroom's closed, so we can't practise on the stage, and we won't be able to tomorrow. Go stand over there.” She pointed to her left, and Kyle did so. “No, there,” she corralled him a few feet over. “That's your first X. You're gonna have to watch the other kids in your group to make sure you do it right. Okay, you ready?”

Kyle nodded, wondering why she was acting like he didn't know what he was doing by now, and stood up straight as Sheila introduced him, settling into his smile.

   “And your 6 and up Boys King is... Kyle Broflovski!” The emcee announced, and Kyle stepped forward as the crowd applauded. He smiled as he was crowned, a sash placed over his shoulder, and a red and gold trophy was placed next to him, and he caught sight of his mother. She looked happier than he was expecting, and he wondered why. It had been well known among them that Kyle had not done his best today.

As soon as he was allowed, he, and the other boys, stepped off the stage. Kyle pulled his crown off, and headed over to Sheila.

   “Well done, bubbe.” She was holding her phone and smiling. “Guess what?”

Kyle's stomach sank. “What?”

   “Remember that modelling agency we saw?”

   “They said they didn't want me,” Kyle said quickly, knowing where this was going.

   “No, the other one, remember? Well, they called me this morning, and they want us to come down to their studio tomorrow for a photoshoot!”

   “Do we have to?” Kyle sat down, removing his sash. He noticed that Tony was politely making himself scarce.

   “Well, they called us; do we want to turn them down?”

   “Yeah. I do.” It would just be too humiliating.

   “They called us up because they want you. I don't know exactly what it'll pay, but it'll be good; probably more that what we'd win here, isn't that great? Besides, it'll be a fun experience for you.”

   “No, it wouldn't,” said Kyle shortly. “I don't wanna do it.”

   “How come?” She sat down next to him.

Kyle got the distinct feeling that she wasn't listening to his concerns as he tried to explain it to her. When it came to things like this, she never seemed to listen any more, but he gave it a go. He told her that he wouldn't enjoy it, that if they signed him, it would be very time consuming, and they might not have time to do pageants. Not that he cared about that, but anything to stop her from doing this.

   “Well, if they sign you, which I think would be amazing, we wouldn't have to take every job they offered us. Just like we don't compete in every pageant; if we did that, then we'd really be busy, and then you'd know what it's like to want a break.”

   “I know, but -”

   “Kyle, I think we should at least check it out. Do you know how many of these kids here compete just so they can try and get a modelling job? Even if nothing comes of it, at least we can say we did it.”

Kyle's protests fell on deaf ears as Sheila called the agency back, and confirmed their attendance the following day. He had known this was going to happen, that she wouldn't listen and he would end up doing it anyway, but it didn't make him feel any better.

Luckily, or unluckily, for him, the Elite Kidz Modelling Agency wasn't too far from the hotel, but they had to take a taxi, as Sheila, of course, did not have her car.

The agency was a nice, respectable looking building, and Kyle sighed and ground his teeth as he, Sheila, and Tony ascended the steps and introduced themselves to the receptionist.

He had thought that it there would be another interview – Sheila had his portfolio with her – but, to his surprise, they were led to a dressing room, where the most awful outfit Kyle had ever seen waited for him.

Silently seething, he headed into the en-suite, and pulled on the dreaded clothing, looking at himself in the mirror in horror. A cream coloured thin sweater over a long sleeved white shirt, with a light brown jacket on top, paired with matching light brown slim trousers so tight, Kyle felt like they were cutting off his blood circulation. He looked himself up and down in the mirror, unable to believe how ridiculous he looked. Sheila had put him in some pretty crazy outfits, but those were so over the top, they were almost like dressing up. But this was different; it felt more real, in a way.

   “Kyle! Are you ready?” came his mother's voice, and Kyle took a deep breath, before exiting the room. “Oh, you look precious!” Sheila cooed, oblivious to her son's glare.

   “Yeah, you look great. Come here,” Tony held out his arm and guided Kyle to the makeup chair.

   “More makeup?” Kyle folded his arms.

   “You can't have photos taken without makeup,” Sheila told him.

When his makeup was done, he had to take his hat off, and they were met by a young woman, who led them through a myriad of identical beige hallways until they reached the set.

To Kyle's surprise, there was only a huge white backdrop, along with a large white block. And of course, there were the numerous lights; the extremely bright ones hanging above, and the umbrella lights positioned at the two corners of the white floor mat.

A friendly looking man approached them, smiling.

   “Hi, you must be Mrs Broflovski?” he enquired, to which Sheila nodded. “Hi, I'm Grant Winters; I'm the director, it's nice to meet you!” he beamed, shaking her hand, before turning to Kyle. “And this is Kyle? Hi, there,” he shook Kyle's hand as well, and also Tony's. “Well, it's great to have you here; we're gonna have a lot of fun today,” he said to Kyle, before he looked at Sheila. “So glad we found you; I think Kyle's going to be great.”

As Grant and Sheila talked about what the shoot was going to entail, Kyle zoned out, something he was very good at by now. He got the distinct feeling that Grant knew what he was doing and, like Tony, wouldn't get annoyed with him if he messed up, which relaxed him a bit.

Before he knew it, they were taking him over to the camera and was told to stand in front of the backdrop. “Sit down on that block, then Kyle, and we'll get started,” said Grant, as he stepped behind the camera, while Sheila and Tony stood next to him.

Kyle was told to pose this way and that – one foot on the block; sitting on the block, legs stretched out. Legs bent, resting his chin in his hands. Look at the camera; look up, look to the left, look down. Smile, look serious, stand up, thumbs in your belt loops, Kyle.

Several hours and many outfit changes later, and Kyle was exhausted. As soon as the director said he was finished, Kyle slumped in relief, feeling like he had run a marathon.
As soon as he was allowed, he stepped off the set, and took the makeup wipe Tony offered him. As he cleaned his face, he saw Sheila and Grant looking over the photos.

Wanting nothing more than to sleep, Kyle sat down while he waited for Sheila to finish. He couldn't wait to go home. It felt so strange to be here, in this studio, when he should be at school. Never in a million years would he imagined that his mother would prioritise a photoshoot over his education, but here they were. Luckily for him, Stan didn't mind dropping off his schoolwork, and letting Kyle read his notes – the ones Stan remembered to take, anyway.

   “Can we go now?” he asked when she approached him, looking pleased.

   “In a minute,” she said. “The pictures are amazing, Kyle; you're going to love them.”

   “Uh-huh,” was all Kyle said, not caring, but not wanting to get into an argument. “I'm ready to go, can we go?”

   “Oh, okay, then,” Sheila said. “Get your stuff, and I'll call a cab.”

   “I already got everything.” Kyle moved closer to the door, desperate to get going. “When's the flight?”

   “Oh, not for a few hours,” Sheila told him, but Kyle still couldn't wait to get out of the building.

   “Come on!” He began tugging on her arm, trying to make her move faster, but Sheila was discussing the photos with Tony.

   “Slow down, Kyle; the plane's not going anywhere,” said Sheila, before she turned back to Tony. “Anyway, he's gonna let us know when the catalogue's ready, and he said he'll send me a copy, which is really nice of him.”

   “It's great,” Tony smiled. “It's amazing that Kyle got this opportunity.”

Sheila had to agree; she remembered the comment that started all this – that little old lady who thought Kyle was a model, and now he was. Her son had actually been photographed for a childrens' clothing line, and was going to be featured in the catalogue. She felt like pinching herself. One of her dreams had come true.

   “Come on! We gotta get back to the hotel and get our suitcases and stuff.” Kyle was already at the door, tapping his foot. Anything to get out of there. “You know it can take hours to get through security.”

   “All right, then.” Sheila finally relented, and the three of them headed back to the hotel.

Stepping into Skeeter's, Gerald headed over to the bar, and sat down. He ordered a beer, and looked around at the patrons. The bar might be rowdy, but it was better than what was going on in his house. Despite both his and Kyle's protests, Sheila would not allow their son to take a break. At that moment, she was making Kyle practise in the garage. If she wasn't doing that, then she was searching for pageants, and if she wasn't doing that, she was sat a little table in a corner of the living-room, making alterations to Kyle's costumes. Gerald would be trying to relax after a long day at work with a beer and a movie, and all he could hear was the sound of the sewing machine, as Sheila stitched sequins and ribbons and God knows what else onto those ridiculous outfits she forced Kyle into.

Someone clapped him on the back, and he looked up in time to see Randy sit down next to him.

   “Hey, Ger,”

   “Hey, Randy, how's it going?”

   “Yeah, the usual, you know? Wife's driving me nuts, kids are driving me nuts.”

Gerald chuckled. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

The two men drank their beers in silence for a moment, when they were joined by Jimbo, Ned, Stephen Stotch, and Stuart McCormick.

   “Hey, guys!” Jimbo waved his beer around as he sat down next to Randy.
The men chatted happily for a while, complaining about their jobs, their wives, their kids. Just a normal evening, exactly what they needed. Gerald began to relax, and he sipped his beer contentedly.

Then Stephen spoke up.

   “Hey, speaking of kids, Gerald,” he began, and Gerald looked over at him. “Linda saw Sheila and Kyle in the salon last week.”

   “What?” Gerald tried to appear casual, though he knew where this conversation was going to go. “The salon? I guess they were shopping, and Sheila decided to get a haircut or something.” Yes, that was the best thing to do, he thought; deflect it, stop it before it started.

   “No, it wasn't that.” Stephen's eyes were gleaming, and all of their friends were listening intently now. “She said she saw him getting his hair washed.”

Gerald's cheeks burned as someone sniggered behind him. “Well, yeah, have you seen his hair?” he said calmly. “Too much of it for us to manage. What's the big deal?”

   “Well, that's not all.” Stephen was grinning widely now, and Gerald got the sense he had been waiting for this for a while. His fist clenched and he glared into his beer. “Linda told me that she and your wife got talking.”

Game over, Gerald thought, scowling, and he forced himself to look at Stephen, who was still smiling. “She told me what's been going on.”

   “What?” Jimbo leaned forward eagerly, as did Ned and Stuart.

   “Gerald's wife has been putting their son into beauty pageants!” Stephen sputtered, before he burst out laughing. Gerald once again scowled into his beer as the rest of his friends cackled and howled with laughter.

   “Oh, my God, are you serious?!” Jimbo wiped a tear from his eye, his face red. “Are you -?” and he started laughing again, banging his fist on the counter.

   “Pageants! Beauty pageants!” Stuart was laughing so hard he was wheezing.

   “All right, all right,” Gerald looked up, annoyed. “Give it a rest, guys.”

   “Yeah!” said Randy, and Gerald felt glad for the support. “Give Gerry a break. It's not his fault his son's a pansy.”

   “He's not a pansy!” Gerald snapped, feeling insecure. He felt as though they were making fun of him. “He doesn't want to do it; he hates it! It's all Sheila's thing.” Unfortunately for him, his friends continued laughing. “Shut up!”

   “Sorry, but it's so funny!” Stephen grinned. “I mean, he's a boy.”

   “I just told you he hates doing it.”

   “So, then why does he do it?” asked Randy.

   “It's Sheila; she's got it into her head that this will help his self-esteem,” Gerald explained. “It's ridiculous.”

   “Well, why doesn't he tell her to stop? Why don't you tell her to stop?” asked Randy, and just like that, the jeering arose once again.

   “Ah, too afraid of his wife to speak up!” cried Jimbo, looking far too gleeful for Gerald's liking, and he felt his face burning again.

   “Come on, Ger, she's not that scary!” ribbed Stuart, and Gerald had had enough.

   “Do you wanna go up to her and tell her to stop?” he asked Stuart, who stopped laughing instantly. “How about you?” He directed this at Stephen, who also quietened down. Now, none of them were looking at him; instead, they were gazing into their beers as though they were the most interesting thing on the planet. They all knew what Sheila was like. “I thought so,” he said snootily, before downing the last of his beer and walking out. Childish? Perhaps, but he didn't care one bit.

He walked more briskly than he usually would have, fists bunched into his pockets, moodily kicking a loose stone. Now he couldn't even go for a beer any more; not without being ridiculed. Great. Just great. They weren't ever going to let him live this down.

Kyle shifted in his seat as the crowning ceremony dragged on. He couldn't remember exactly if he was in Kentucky, Tennessee, or Mississippi, but he was somewhere in that general area.

Folding his arms, he tilted his head as Brianna leaned close to him.

   “I thought she'd get something higher,” she said, referring to the fourteen-year-old girl who had just been crowned “Mini Overall”.

Kyle had to agree; he hadn't seen her beauty routine, but her other routines had been really good, and her talent, where she had tap-danced a complicated a capella routine on a table, had wowed the audience. Kyle felt bad that he'd felt a bit jealous of her; without bragging, his talent was the one that was usually the most complimented on, but everyone was gushing over her. Not that she didn't deserve it, because she truly did, but Kyle couldn't help but feel a little put out. He tried to shake this terrible thought from his mind and focus on the ceremony.

   “I don't get it, either,” said Jake, who was sitting on Kyle's other side. “She was great!” They spoke quietly, so as not disrupt the proceedings, and every so often, they would stretch and yawn, waiting for it to be over. “I don't know who they're gonna pick over her.” The three of them paused to applaud the next winner, before carrying on their conversation.

   “Me either,” Kyle shrugged. He didn't hold out much hope of winning that title; if the judges didn't like a tap dancer who moved so fast her legs were a blur, then what chance did he have?

   “I can't believe Madi's flipper fell out!” Brianna whispered, referring to the little six-year-old girl whose false teeth had slipped out during her Casual Wear routine, unable to stop a light-hearted chuckle escaping from her mouth. “Oh, I felt so bad for her! You guys are so lucky you don't have to deal with that.” She shifted closer to Kyle, her shoulder gently bumping against his.

   “I think I'd take the flipper,” said Kyle honestly, leaning back in his chair. “I heard Mom say she wanted to start getting my teeth whitened.” He crinkled his face in disgust.

   “What? Your teeth are fine!” said Brianna. “I like your smile.”

   “Thanks,” said Kyle, while Jake only shook his head, wondering how Kyle could be so oblivious. “The only reason she's not is because Tony convinced her not to. Said something about if you bleach teeth a lot, it's bad for them. Fine by me,” he added, not caring what Tony had said, as long as it worked, which it had.

   “Yeah, I'm so glad we don't need flippers,” said Jake. “I think that's where I would draw the line.”

Kyle nodded in agreement, all of them clapping as the “Personality Supreme” was crowned, and he cringed as the overtired toddler burst into tears on stage, screaming.

Kyle stretched his arms and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling bad for the little girl. They had twenty minutes, perhaps half an hour before the ceremony was finished, and then they could leave. He was thinking about what they'd do when it was over; Brianna wanted to go swimming, but Kyle still refused to step in a pool. Maybe they would get a chance to relax and do some exploring, but before he could say this, the emcee spoke up again, and so Kyle remained silent.

   “And now we have our National Overall Beauty Supreme,” announced the host, and a few people cheered. “Put your hands together for... Kyle Broflovski!”

Before Kyle could register what was happening, Brianna was hugging him, shrieking happily. He could see Jake applauding him out of the corner of his eye, and he could hear cheering.

When Brianna had removed her arms from around him, Kyle slid off his chair, and made his way to the stage. He was met halfway by Tony, who could barely contain himself as he also gave Kyle a tight hug, before stepping aside.

Kyle walked down to the second X in the centre of the stage, and stood patiently as he was crowned. Looking out at the crowd, he remembered to smile as last year's Beauty Supreme winner handed him the money, and placed a trophy next to him.

The thing that surprised him the most, however, was his mother's face. She looked happy. His divisional trophies lay forgotten on the chair next to her, and when he got off stage, she was right there waiting for him.

   “Bubbe!” she hugged him, as well. “I can't believe it!”

   “What?”

   “What you've won!” Sheila looked exhilarated, and was beaming. “This title means that your facial beauty score alone was the highest in the pageant!” She looked around at the audience, unable to keep the smug look off her face, while Kyle flushed with embarrassment. He took off his crown and handed it to her, and headed back to his friends.

   “Well done!” Brianna squealed, throwing her arms around him once again.

   “Thanks,” said Kyle, still feeling embarrassed.

Sheila couldn't help but beam as she sat back down. Kyle's crown was on her lap, and his trophy was next to her. She couldn't stop staring at them. It was official; her son was the most beautiful kid in this room. A sense of pride washed over her; this was what she had worked so hard for. It was almost as good as an Ultimate Grand Supreme.

Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 13

Sheila shook her head slightly as she sat in front of Kyle in their garage. He was running through his Casual Wear routine under her watchful eye, but he seemed to be really phoning it in; he was even more off the beat than usual, and he wasn't looking the imaginary judges in the eye.

   “Walk a bit faster! Remember the time limit!” she called, and Kyle did so, but now he was apparently going too fast, and she wasted no time in telling him so.

Kyle kept the smile on his face as he continued walking. It seemed that no matter what he did, he was doing it wrong. His turns were either too sharp or not sharp enough, he was either stepping too far out, or not stepping out far enough. One minute, his smile was too fake, and the next, it needed to be bigger and brighter. He breathed heavily through his nose, concentrating on not gritting his teeth. 'One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four', he counted over and over in his head, as a way of keeping time. Honestly, what did she want from him?

“Kyle, focus!” came her voice. “Look at the judges, come on! Look them in the eye; you're not looking at them.” She sighed again. “Head up. Head up, how many more times do I have to tell you?”
Kyle lifted his chin, but Sheila still wasn't happy. “Keep the head up. Keep it up. What do I have to do, put a book on your head?”

Kyle kept quiet, knowing that she would only get worse if he spoke up. Her demands could be over over the music, and it all began beating around his head. How was he supposed to concentrate and hear the music and keep track of his allotted 'stage' time when all he could hear was her voice, constantly telling him what he was doing wrong? Spot the judges, Kyle, make your turns smoother, Kyle; keep the energy up, Kyle; do it again, Kyle...

   “I know!” Kyle snapped without meaning to. Instantly, he regretted it, as Sheila turned the music off and turned to face him, her gaze hard.

   “Excuse me?” Her voice was low. “Don't you dare take that tone of voice with me.”

   “I – I just know what I'm doing, that's all I meant.”

   “Well, you clearly don't, do you, otherwise I wouldn't have to keep reminding you.”

   “But I do.”

   “Well, then why aren't you doing it right? Tell me, Kyle.”

   “I – well, I...” Kyle actually did not have an answer for that, and he looked around the garage, as if something in there would help him.

   “Exactly. Now, come on, do it again. Start from the beginning, and this time, make sure you look at the judges.”

Kyle sighed and bit the insides of his cheeks as Sheila started the music again, and he headed back to the side of the garage.

Absent-mindedly, Kyle dawdled behind his mother as they, plus Tony, made their way across the lobby to the ballroom where the pageant was in full swing.

When they entered the room, it was clear that the Talent round was still going on, so Kyle had a fair bit of time to sit and watch and try to relax before the next category started.

Unable to spot Jake or Brianna, he leaned against the wall and silently watched the proceedings, resisting the urge to cross his arms. He always felt a little bit down when he finished his Talent routine; it was the only time he got to do something fun.

   “Okay, that was Desiree with her amazing miming! Wasn't she great?” The emcee enthused as Desiree, in all her black and white stripes and face paint, mimed climbing out of a box, and bowed deeply as the audience clapped and cheered. Desiree got off stage, and ran over to her parents, both of whom embraced her proudly. “Please welcome our next performer in the 13 – 15 age category: Nevaeh Bolderson!”

Kyle clapped along with everyone else as Nevaeh stepped onto the stage, and smiled at the audience.

   “Hello, everybody,” she said into the microphone.

Her dress was unlike anything Kyle had ever seen; it was the colour of champagne with a ruffled neckline, and had cream and pink pearl-studded bows going down the bodice. The lacy, flounced sleeves and full, layered skirt gave the illusion that she had just stepped out of the 18^th century. It was quite something to behold. “My name is Nevaeh, and I'm going to sing 'Nessun Dorma'.”

She put the mic back in the stand and placed it aside as the music started.

Kyle's jaw dropped as she began to sing, as did practically everyone else. Opera was not his type of music, and he wouldn't willingly listen to it if you paid him. No, it was the fact that this young girl was filling this huge room on her room with her full, rich operatic soprano, no microphone needed. How did she do it?

As she continued to sing, the crowd applauded and cheered, led by her family, he couldn't help but feel jealous. There was no way he was going to win over her. Once again, a wave of resentment washed over him, and he felt awful, but he couldn't help feeling bummed out. This was some real competition, and he was already sick and tired of feeling jealous over it. Kyle frowned to himself. Why was he such a terrible person?

'You can't win it every time; it wouldn't be fair', he told himself as the aria reached its crescendo, willing the green eyed monster inside him to go away. Kyle reasoned that there were many other contestants who wanted it just as much as he did, and he in no way deserved to win over everyone else there. Kyle had to remind himself that he wasn't better than anyone else. It was time for someone else to shine.

So, he forced himself to smile and clap when Nevaeh finished, and stepped off stage.

Sheila applauded her, along with the other parents in the audience. Like her son, a jolt of disappointment coursed through her; Kyle probably wasn't going to win the Talent round.

   “She was good,” said Kara, one of her close friends.

   “She really was; she could win,” Sheila replied, as the next contestant stepped on stage.

   “She could; maybe the whole thing,” said Renee, her voice low so as not to disrupt the act. “I'm gonna have to step up Brooklyn's game.”

Kara had to agree – about stepping up her own daughter's game, that is. She was planning to see Kim, one of the other mothers, that night; she was selling some of her daughter Riley's costumes, and Kara was in the market for new outfits. She did not mention this to her friends, however; Riley had some of the best costumes on the circuit; they would surely give her own daughter an edge. If everyone knew that Kim was selling them, there wouldn't be any left, and her child would not stand out.

Sheila, of course, was always on the lookout for new costumes, but she kept quiet about it, as well. Despite most of her pageant friends having daughters, she didn't want to give too many secrets away; Kyle wouldn't be the best if she did that, and she had worked hard to get him to this level.

There was really nothing she could do about the Talent round; Kyle was learning new tricks all the time, but the crowd loved it when he spun the ball on his finger, so that move stayed, no matter what. He had even learnt how to raise his arm in the air, with the ball still spinning, and also how to twist his arm inwards and around, while still keeping the ball spinning.
It was just bad luck, but there was always hope for another Supreme title, maybe one that awarded a big cash prize.

   “Maybe I'll ask Susan if she's got any tips for better hair,” mused Renee. Perhaps a new hair stylist, or even a new hairpiece could help push her daughter closer to that top title.

   “That's a good idea; I might do that. She does good makeup, too. Well, when you've been in the business as long as she has, you're bound to be good at your job.”

   “Definitely one of the best I've seen,” Renee nodded. “Oh!” As if struck by something, she turned to Sheila. “Is it true that Kyle wears coloured contact lenses?”

   “What?” Sheila smiled in disbelief.

   “Oh, just that Diane said that. She said that it's easy for your kid to win “Best Eyes” when he's got coloured lenses in.”

   “Kyle puts up a fight when we put eyeliner on him; there's no way I could get a contact in his eye!” she laughed. “No, he doesn't wear them,” she clarified, “and he doesn't wear a wig, either,” she added, having heard some jealous mothers mutter things like that “quietly” behind her back during a few crowning ceremonies. Not that it bothered her; in fact, it made her feel proud – people obviously thought her son was too good to be true, and she couldn't help but feel smug.

   “Hey, Kyle!” Brianna ran up to him when the competition had finished. The ballroom was swarming with people anxious to get out for a few hours of fun and relaxation before the crowning ceremony started, and they stood to the side of the double doors to avoid being herded away.

   “Hey.” He had to raise his voice a little to be heard over the blaring pop music.

   “Now that we've got time, will you show me how to spin the ball on her finger, like you do?” she begged, clasping her hands together. He had to smile at her eager face.

   “Okay,” he agreed. “Let me just go upstairs and change. I'll get my ball and meet you back here.”

   “Okay, yay! I'll be right back!” She had barely finished her sentence before she was tearing off down the hall.

Laughing at her exuberance, Kyle saw Sheila and Tony waiting for him at the end of the corridor, and they all headed up to their rooms. Kyle wasted no time in getting changed, and felt a sense of relief when he put his hat on, hiding his hair. He scrubbed his face clean, revelling in the feeling.

   “I'll be downstairs!” he called, grabbing his basketball.

   “What are you doing?” Sheila asked, turning from where she was hanging up his suit.

   “I'm going to see my friends.”

   “Well, okay, just make sure you're back in time for Tony to redo your hair and makeup.”

   “I won't,” said Kyle, having heard it a million times before.

He ran downstairs, his basketball under his arm. Apart from the Talent round, the gap between the end of the competition and the start of the crowning ceremony was his favourite, as it gave him a chance to release all the pent up energy he had due to having to sit still for a large portion of the day. Usually, Kyle and his friends would run through the hotel, chasing each other, playing tag, and hide and seek. He needed it so much that he didn't care if it might be considered too childish by some.

Brianna wasn't there when he arrived, and so he began dribbling his basketball while he waited.

At the sound of running footsteps, he looked up and saw Brianna. She had changed into some casual clothes, as well, and she bounded up to him with her usual endless energy.

   “Hey! Oh, I like your hat!” She reached up, and gently touched one of the ear flaps.

   “Thanks. Wanna get started?” he asked, and she nodded eagerly.

   “Yeah! Look, I took my nails off!” She waggled her fingers in front of him. “Will you do it first, so I can can see?”

   “Okay.” Admittedly, Kyle would never pass up an opportunity to show this trick, and he held the ball in his hand, twisting it into the air, and catching it on his finger, where it spun perfectly.

   “Wow, that's so cool!” Her eyes were wide, and her mouth dropped open. “So how do you do it?”

   “Well, you hold it like this..” he got her to hold up her hand, and positioned the ball on her fingertips. “And hold you hand with the palm outward.. yeah, like that. And then you just kind of twist your hand inward quickly, and the ball will go up, and then you catch it on your finger.”

   “Okay.” Tongue sticking out in concentration, Brianna quickly turned her hand inward and tried to catch the ball, but dropped it. “Whoops!”

   “It's okay. Let's try again.”

Brianna nodded and Kyle handed her the ball. He again helped her hold it correctly, and reminded her how to twist. “The trick they taught me is to not hold your finger straight, but bend it like this.” He bent his pointer finger slightly, and showed her. “The ball's supposed to rest on the back of your nail.”

She tried again, but the ball bounced straight off her finger, and Kyle caught it. This time, when she held the ball, he kept hold of it as well, and he instructed her to spin her hand slowly. The only reason the ball didn't fall was because Kyle was holding it.

   “Wow, it's really hard!” said Brianna after a few more tries. “How long did it take you to learn how to do it?”

   “Oh, a while; longer than this,” Kyle lied. Even he had been surprised at how easily he had picked it up. “But you're doing great.”

She smiled at him and attempted the move once more, but she still could not make the ball spin.

When their parents discovered them an hour later, Brianna still hadn't mastered it, but Kyle had taught her some of his other tricks, at her request. Sheila and Morgan, Brianna's mother, came to the corridor to find them engaged in a little one-on-one game.

   “Brianna!” Morgan called, and the kids stopped playing.

   “Mommy, look what I can do!” Brianna held the ball and began dribbling it, stepping forward and bouncing it under her knees.

   “Very good, sweetie. Come on, it's time to get changed.”

   “Okay, then.” Brianna handed the basketball back to Kyle. “See you at the party!” She called as she and her mother left, giving Kyle no time to reply.

   “Come on, then,” said Sheila, and Kyle held back a sigh as he followed her back to their room.

   “Are we going to the party tonight?” he asked, hoping that for once she'd say no.

   “Of course we are. Now come on; we've got to do your hair and make up.”

   “Do we really have to go? I don't want to.”

   “Why not?” Sheila did not break her stride, leaving Kyle to hurry along beside her.

   “I just don't want to; I don't like parties, and I don't wanna have my hair and makeup done, either.”

   “Well, 'I don't want to' isn't really a good reason, is it? Why don't you want to go?”

   “I don't like parties,” Kyle repeated, as they got in the elevator. “So I don't want to go when I won't have fun.” He noticed that Sheila wasn't looking at him.

   “The thing is, Kyle, I wouldn't feel right about leaving you upstairs all by yourself. I'd like to go to the party; it'd be nice to see my friends and just relax for the evening. It's a chance to let loose. I've been working hard lately, and so have you, so what's wrong with going to a party?”

   “I don't want to,” Kyle said yet again. “I don't mind staying upstairs; I won't go anywhere, I'll probably just go to sleep.” It was half the truth, he though; he probably wouldn't go to sleep that early, but he more than likely wouldn't be roaming about the hotel, either. It was just a regular hotel, it wasn't like there was anything he could do except wander the halls. Watching TV and texting Stan sounded much more interesting than going to a party.

They had now gotten off the elevator and were walking down the hallway to their room.

   “I think you should go.”

   “Why? Why do I have to if I don't want to?”

   “We all have to do things in life we don't want to, and let me tell you; if you're being 'forced',” she air quoted, the both of them standing outside their room door, “to go to a party, then you're not doing too bad, are you?”

   “Mom, I'm not saying that,” Kyle continued, as they entered the room. “We've been to a lot of these parties; I just don't want to go to this one. I'm tired,” he added, hoping that would convince her. Sheila didn't look convinced, however.

   “You're tired a lot these days, bubbe. Maybe I should take you to a doctor.”

Kyle could only shake his head; she knew why he was always tired, and it wasn't like the doctor could tell her to let him stop competing. Well, maybe he could, but he doubted Sheila would listen. “I don't wanna go tonight, I don't wanna wear nice clothes, I don't want my hair and makeup done; I just want to stay here,” he said.

   “I think, unless you can give me a good reason, then you're going.”

   “Because I just want to relax! You said we've both been working hard, and I just wanna stay in my room and relax and I can't do that at a party!”

   “What are you talking about? That's the whole point of a party.”

   “I don't want to go,” he repeated, sitting on the bed. “I'm not going!” he told her, folding his arms stubbornly.

The party, which took place on the Saturday, was held in one of the conference rooms, as there was not enough time to get the ballroom decorated after the crowning ceremony, and it looked the same as all the others Kyle had had to attend. Sheila had won the argument, as always. She'd browbeaten Kyle into wearing makeup and something a little nicer than his everyday attire, but had allowed him to keep his hat on.

Balloons and streamers were everywhere, mainly pink, but some white, and lilac as well, along with brightly coloured lights gliding over the floor and walls. Several long tables along one wall was filled with plates of pizza, cupcakes, cookies, bottles of pop, and the all-important candy buffet. Many kids were at the table, piling up their paper plates, while plenty of others were already on the dance floor, shrieking excitedly.

When they arrived, Sheila immediately joined up with some of her friends, and Kyle was left to find Jake. He soon spotted him standing by one of the tables, and talking to a girl he did not know.

   “Hi!” he had to yell in order to be heard over the DJ, who was playing blaring pop music, headset and all.

   “Hi!” Jake yelled back. He turned to the girl and excused himself, and he and Kyle went to sit in the quietest corner, a place they knew well.

For a while, they sat in silence; Kyle leaned back in his chair and observed the party. It wasn't that he didn't like parties; he just disliked these ones. A lot of the girls wouldn't leave him alone and kept following him around, trying to get him to dance with them. Even at regular parties, Kyle refused to dance, because he wasn't about to embarrass himself.

It felt a bit strange knowing that girls thought he was cute. He wanted to be flattered, but he was sure they'd change their mind once they saw him without makeup.

Jake, on the other hand, loved dancing; in fact, it was his talent, and he couldn't get enough of practising his routines, as well as showing off on the dance floor. But he knew how much Kyle hated it, so like a good friend, Jake sat with him, and never forced Kyle to dance.

Kyle rested his chin in his hand and observed the festivities. He still felt down about not winning Talent (instead winning Ultimate Photo Supreme), and he was trying to get over the disappointment. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. He didn't even like these stupid competitions, so why was he still brooding like a sulky toddler? It wasn't even like he won the Talent round every time, and he still couldn't understand why he was taking this particular loss so hard.

   “You okay?” Jake asked, leaning closer so he could be heard.

   “Yeah, fine. Just tired,” Kyle said. He'd been using that excuse a lot lately. It wasn't really an excuse, though; the constant practising, combined with the jet lag was enough to wear him out, not to mention his headaches and stomach pains, which seemed to come every single day.

As if on cue, he felt a headache coming, and he pressed down on the bridge of his nose, willing it to go away. The pounding music did nothing to help matters.

Jake was about to ask why Kyle was there if he was so tired, but then he remembered who his mother was, and it all made sense.

After a while, during a small break in the music, the two boys got up to get some food. And drink. Kyle, grateful that the music had momentarily stopped, perked up a tiny bit and he and Jake chattered as they filled their plates, and made their way back to their table.

   “I'm so glad I get to do school online tomorrow,” said Jake through a mouthful of pizza. “It's made things so much easier.” As he lived in Ohio, and most pageants were held in the South, he had to do a fair bit of travelling, as did Kyle. So his mother had worked with his teachers, and Jake now did online schooling at home every Monday and Thursday. Or at least, every Monday and Thursday that he was competing. It was a way for him to keep on top of his schoolwork while also allowing him to catch up on some sleep.

   “Wish I could do that,” Kyle said. He'd asked Sheila several times, but she always said she would think about it. “Would make my life so much easier.” If it were up to him, he would be completely home-schooled; at least that way the teasing would stop, or at least diminish greatly. He would miss hanging out with his friends at break-time, but he could always do that after school.

No. He couldn't. Kyle slumped, remembering his hectic schedule. School was basically the only times he got to see his friends. Sure, he was able to before and after practise sometimes, but it really depended on if he had a pageant coming up. It looked as though school was the best option for him.

The party went on into the night, and Kyle remained sitting at the table. A couple of times, Jake had gotten up to dance with some of the others, and every so often, he could see Sheila sitting and talking with some of her friends.

At that moment, he was alone. He was sitting there, head in hand, when he noticed someone in front of him. He looked up and saw it was Brianna.

   “Hey!” she beamed, grinning widely at him, and Kyle smiled back. “Wanna dance?” She held out her hand.

   “No, thanks,” Kyle said.

   “Oh, come on.” She took his hand and tried pulling, but Kyle stayed where he was.

   “No, thanks,” he repeated.

   “Are you sure? I want you to dance with me.”

When Kyle nodded and confirmed that he was indeed sure, she shrugged, gave him one last smile, and began scanning the room for a prospective dance partner. As it was, she ended dragging Tony to his feet, and he obliged her with a dance until the song was over.

Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 13

Staring intently at the screen in front of them, Kyle and Stan furiously pressed the buttons on their console. Kyle had his tongue sticking out in concentration, and Stan was leaning so far forward, he was an inch away from falling off the sofa, but he was far too engrossed to do anything about it.

It was a Saturday afternoon, his first Saturday “off” in a long time, and Kyle was making the most of it. The two ten-year-olds had been playing video games all day, and that night, they were going to watch a movie while eating pizza. Kyle was even going to sleep over that night, so maybe they would watch two movies, or perhaps even three. It wasn't as if they both had to get up early the next morning.

He was still clueless as to why his mother had allowed him to go to Stan's, given her stance that she didn't want him to get rusty, but he wasn't about to complain. He had heard his mother talking to someone who sounded a lot like Tony on the phone the other night, and so he figured that he was the one behind it all. Kyle fought the urge to roll his eyes; Sheila wouldn't listen to him, but Tony's word was gospel, apparently.

   “Dude, there he is, get him, get him, get him!” Kyle, not able to free up his hands, nodded vigorously at the character they were hunting. He subconsciously sat up straighter, making sure his head was up, not even realising he was doing it, as it had become muscle memory for him now. He knew he looked terrible, but knowing that Stan would never judge him for not wearing makeup was a relief, but what about everyone he saw on the way there? He shook his head slightly and tried to focus on the game.

   “Oh, thanks, dude.” Pressing a few buttons, Stan launched an attack.

   “Nice, you just sliced his head off!” Kyle instantly got his head back in the game and manoeuvred his character as CGI blood splattered everywhere, and the henchmen began to arrive.

   “Thanks. I'm so good at this game now,” Stan bragged.

   “Yeah, but you still got a long way to go before you reach my level,” said Kyle, grinning.

Stan had to admit it was true; Kyle must have made some kind of deal with the devil to be as skilled as he was at this game. Stan still had him beat on “Death of a Million Zombies” but they were about equal on their other games, except this one. Stan felt his phone vibrate, and pulled it one-handed out of his pocket, setting on his knee and answering it without taking his eyes off the screen.

   “Hello? Oh, hey, Craig. Oh, dude, I know, it was crazy!” Still engrossed in the game, Stan's eyes lit up, and he quickly placed the phone on the arm of the sofa. “I can't believe it happened! It was totally awesome!”

Kyle glanced over at Stan, not having a clue what he was talking about. “He's still grounded? I'm not surprised; dude went totally crazy!”

Kyle continued playing while he listened to the conversation. From what he could gather from the slightly garbled voice of Craig, this thing seemed to be all anyone at school could talk about. Except to him, apparently. “What was that?” he said as soon as Stan had hung up.

   “What? Oh, that's right, you weren't there. Well, Clyde and Kevin got into a huge fight last Friday.”

   “Clyde and Kevin? Why?” Kyle couldn't remember the two of them ever interacting before.

   “I don't know,” Stan shrugged. “Craig said it was because Clyde made fun of “Star Wars”, but Jason's saying Kevin started the whole thing by tripping Clyde in the hall or something, I don't know. They then got into a fight right there in the hall, and it was awesome. Clyde got a bloody nose, and he gave Kevin a purple nurple, and they both just beat the crap out of each other, and they're both covered in bruises!” said Stan in one breath. “They both got grounded, but Kevin's gonna be grounded for longer 'cause he punched Clyde right in the face.”

   “Thanks for telling me(!)” Kyle felt slightly put out. Of course, he hadn't been there on that Friday, and Stan, sensing his friend was really upset, paused the game.

   “Sorry, dude, I really thought you knew. Everyone was talking about it, so I thought you'd heard about it.”

   “I just thought you'd at least tell me. No one else told me; I didn't know what everyone was talking about.” He couldn't help but feel annoyed; this was just yet another thing he was ostracized for. Most of the kids in his class had distanced themselves from him, except when they were hurling insults and laughing at him, so Kyle wasn't surprised that none of them had told him about the fight. But he had thought that Stan would have. Stan always told him everything.

   “Sorry,” said Stan yet again. “It was just a fight, anyway. There are fights at school all the time.”

   “Yeah, but – You know what? Forget it. Let's just play.” Kyle didn't want to ruin the weekend. Before Stan could respond, Kyle unpaused the game, and the two continued playing. He squinted slightly as he felt a headache approaching. Resting his console on his knees, he used one hand to press the buttons, and the other one to press down in between his eyebrows. Thankfully, it soon went away, and he resumed playing with gusto.

Neither of them mentioned the fight again. Kyle was soon able to put it out of his mind, and he and Stan had a great afternoon kicking each others butts at their favourite video games, with Kyle winning overall by a slim margin. They played well into the evening, stopping only to grab the pizza they ordered, before they continued playing, using one hand to blindly shove pizza slices into their mouths. They laughed, they shouted, they gasped, they raged, and they all around had a great time.

It was the best time Kyle had had in ages, and he couldn't help but grin as he climbed into his sleeping bag that night.

Come Monday, however, he wasn't feeling half as good. Mr Garrison was droning on and on about the homoerotic subtexts in “SpongeBob SquarePants” and why it was important, a few of the girls were whispering, their heads together, and a lot of the other kids were messing around, and surprise surprise, he had another headache. He know knew that these constant head- and stomach aches were a sign of stress, and once he had learned that, he was honestly surprised that those were the only symptoms of stress he was showing.

For the most part, a lot of the other kids had been ignoring him of late, and, while Kyle couldn't be happier about that, he had a feeling that they would have all forgotten about everything were it not for Cartman. Cartman wouldn't let it go, so that meant a lot of the others wouldn't let it go, and even though Kyle was trying to not let it get to him, it clearly wasn't working, as a lot of the kids still teased him.

Holding back a sigh, he pressed his fingers to his forehead, unaware that Cartman was watching.

   “That's not gonna make your nose smaller,” he said loudly, causing most of the kids to laugh.
Kyle only closed his eyes and took a deep breath; he didn't have the energy to punch Cartman. In just a few hours, the school day would be over, he told himself. Just a few hours before he would get to do the fun activity of practising his routines over and over again (!) Kyle didn't know what he enjoyed more, the teasing at school, or the pressure from his mother (!) They were both obviously so much fun to experience.

For the next two months, his life was a frantic blur; it was pageant after pageant; travelling to state after state, and costume change after costume change. He stepped onto several different stages, heard the voices of several different emcees. Crown after crown was put on his head, the sound of applause and cheers rang in his ears. He turned, he walked, he smiled, he posed, he accepted numerous cash awards, he did the only things he felt he knew how to do any more.

And then there was 'pageant week'. Kyle absolutely hated 'pageant week'. It was the week leading up to the pageant, or more specifically, the prep he had to do during that week. Sheila would come down on him harder than ever, and drill him like she was a military sergeant. He had to spend endless hours in the garage practising his routines; he had to practise walking, smiling, his interview answers. On Thursdays, Sheila took him to the spa to have his hair washed, his nails done, and his skin treated.

He missed school on Friday, due to travelling to the airport. Combined with Sheila preparing all of his clothes, papers, and photos, his modelling sessions, and basketball lessons, Kyle was just trying to keep up with everything.

Despite Sheila's 'stage mom' reputation, he was still booked to do modelling jobs from time to time. They ranged from clothing to technology products, to food items, toys, and more. It was the money that he earned from that that enabled Sheila to continue entering him in pageants.

To say Kyle was frazzled would be an understatement; at points, he had no idea where he was, or what he was doing. The jet lag, the lights, the cameras, remembering where to look and when to turn, having to stand just right with his hands and feet in the correct places, keeping his head up high, but not too high, making eye contact... it was a lot to remember, and he was finding it a lot harder than he usually did.

Kyle found himself standing in front of some steps. There was a curtain in front of him, and since he hardly spent his time anywhere else, he deduced that he was at yet another pageant. He could hear music playing all around him, and he could also hear people cheering. But that was all he knew. If someone had asked him his name, Kyle would not have been able to answer.

   “Kyle... Kyle!”

A sharp nudge on his shoulder jolted Kyle back to reality, and he shook his head slightly. His mother was standing next to him, and she was adjusting his clothes. Kyle looked down at his outfit, but he couldn't seem to recognise it. It was one of his pageant costumes, that was for sure, but he didn't know what it was.

   “Mom! Mom!” He looked around wildly for Sheila, for she had started walking away. “What routine am I doing?”

   “Casual Wear,” she said, giving him an odd look, as though she thought he was doing this on purpose.

Kyle nodded as she walked away, feeling a little out of sorts. But he had no time to dwell on it, for his name was called, and he stepped up onto the stage. How the routine went, he had no idea. But since Sheila had no complaints, he could only surmise that it went well.

He was incredibly grateful to have Jake and Brianna at almost every competition he went to; aside from his mother and Tony, he felt they were the only constants in his life.

   “Well done, Kyle!” Brianna squealed, running up to him once he stepped off the stage after yet another pageant. Kyle, once again, wasn't too sure where he was, only that he was somewhere in the South.

   “Thanks.” He briefly struggled to keep hold of his trophy, and his money, along with trying to keep his crown from falling off as she flung her arms around him. “Good luck up there,” he said, placing the trophy on the ground.

   “Aw, thanks!” She beamed at him. “I think my group are getting ready to line up now, but I wanted to stay and watch you, so I'll see you later.”

Barely giving Kyle enough time to answer, she was running toward the stage, and Kyle smiled at her.

Kyle picked his trophy up and walked to the back of the room, where Sheila and Tony were.

   “Personality Supreme – well done,” Sheila told him. Kyle only nodded, and begrudgingly handed over his $500 prize money. He took off his crown and sash and placed them on an empty chair, before taking a seat, and watching the rest of the ceremony.

Brianna won several awards in her age group – Most Beautiful, Prettiest Smile, Outfit of Choice, and Photogenic – and later, she was crowned Mini Supreme. After leaving the stage to hearty hugs and congratulations from her parents, she spotted Kyle and made her way over to him.

   “Well done,” he smiled as she sat down next to him.

   “Thanks!” She took off her crown and held it up in front of her. “I've never won this one before. I love this crown! Isn't it pretty?” She held it up in front of his face.

   “Yeah, it is.”

   “I think so, too. Come sit with me!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him over to her chair, where they proceeded to watch the rest of the ceremony together.

Stepping into their hotel room a few weeks later, Kyle immediately made his way over to his bed, where his hat was lying. He picked it up, and jammed it on, and sat down on the bed. He left his makeup on, however, not wanting to be seen without it.

One day of competition down, one day to go. It had been a good day; he'd competed in Casual Wear, Talent, and Western Wear, and tomorrow was Beauty, Swim Wear, and crowning. He'd done very well, according to Sheila, and she had been really pleased with him.

   “Bubbe, I'm just going out for a few minutes, okay? Are you gonna be okay here with Tony?”

   “Yeah, I'll be fine,” said Kyle, still removing the makeup. “Where are you going?”

   “Just out. I'll be back soon. I'll be back in time to sort out your clothes for tomorrow.”

Kyle slumped a little after the door closed, and Tony noticed the mood he was in.

   “What's the matter?” he asked, sitting on the opposite bed.

   “Just feel a little.. sad,” Kyle said. “I don't know if you remember, but today's my birthday.”

   “Oh, that's right!” Tony covered his mouth. “I'm so sorry, Kyle! I've got you something, but everything has been so hectic lately, that I must have left it at home. I'm sorry, Kyle.”

   “That's okay,” Kyle sighed. Leaning back against the pillows. “I guess.. I just thought Mom would do something, you know? I mean, this morning she made me pancakes and birthday cake Babka – she makes it every year, but apart from that, she hasn't even acknowledged it.”

   “Well, maybe she's planning something for when you get home,” Tony suggested, offering the boy a smile, which Kyle did not return.

   “Yeah, maybe.” Kyle drew his knees up to his chest. “I just wish I could see my friends. Properly see them; it's not the same over FaceTime.”

Stan had messaged him that morning, making Kyle promise to meet up when he got back, so they could celebrate together, and knowing that he had that to look forward to was the only thing keeping him going.

Tony didn't reply, but he leaned over and gave Kyle a comforting nudge to the shoulder, and they both sat there in silence until Sheila returned less than ten minutes later, a large bag hanging from her elbow.

   “Hi,” she smiled, closing the door behind her.

   “Hey, Ma.” Kyle was unable to pretend to be anything but miserable. “Where did you go?”

   “I had to go to the local store to get some supplies. Some sequins fell off your costume.”

   “Oh,” was all Kyle said. Too upset to speak, he picked up the remote, and turned on the TV. Flipping through the small amount of channels, he stopped on a programme about monster trucks. It was the most interesting thing on, so he began to watch it, until a knock at the door caused him to look up. “Who's that?” he asked.

   “I don't know. Why don't you answer it, bubbe?”

Shooting her a look, Kyle slid off the bed, and made his way over to the door. With each step, he dared to let his hopes up just a little bit and think that it might be Stan. When he opened the door, his jaw dropped. It wasn't Stan; instead it was Jake and Brianna, along with their parents. His face broke into a big grin as they loudly and heartily wished him a happy birthday, and he stepped aside and let them into the room.

   “How did you know?” he asked, but turning around, he had his answer; there, on the table, was a small pile of brightly wrapped gifts. “Mom!” he cried.

   “Of course, bubbe!” she beamed, letting off a party popper, and Kyle grinned as the coloured paper streamed down from the ceiling.

Tony put some music on, as Kyle his friends stood in a little group while the adults let off some more party poppers, and blew up some balloons. That was when Kyle realised where his mother had gone.

Jake and Brianna put on the little cardboard party hats Sheila had offered them, and after a small moments hesitation, Kyle removed his ushanka, and put on a party hat, as well.

   “So, how does it feel to be eleven?” asked Jake, as Tony quickly excused himself.

   “You know, it feels like only yesterday I was ten,” Kyle joked and they laughed, as balloons were thrown onto the floor.

   “You're a grown up now,” Brianna teased, gently patting his arm.

   “It's all downhill now!” said Jake, and they all laughed again.

Tony came back into the room, also carrying a bag. “Come over here!” he called, walking over to the table where Sheila, Morgan, and Kirsty, Jake's mum. He reached into the bag, and began putting cupcakes, cookies, doughnuts, sandwiches, and chips on the table. “Dig in!” he cried, presenting paper plates, as Sheila poured some drinks.

   “But.. I thought you didn't know,” said Kyle, wondering how he could have possibly bought all this in the short amount of time he was gone.

   “Of course I knew!” Tony grinned. Then, he bent down to Kyle's level. “Your mom was planning this, and she made me promise not to tell.”

   “Oh. You really got me,” said Kyle, picking up a plate.

There weren't really many places to sit, so the kids sat on one bed, while the adults sat around the little table. The music continued to play, the laughter rang freely, and Kyle, Jake, and Brianna had a lot of fun throwing popcorn kernels at each other, and trying to catch them in their mouths.

While Kyle was distracted, Sheila pulled out the last items from her bag; a birthday cake, and some candles. As quietly as she could, she removed it from its box, and placed it on the table. It was a simple Victoria Sponge, topped with piped frosting around the edges, and covered in sprinkles. She placed eleven candles onto the cake, and lit them.

   “Kyle, bubbe?”

When Kyle turned round, his jaw dropped again, and he and his friends stood up and gathered around the cake. He could only smile as everyone sang “Happy Birthday” to him. He never imagined this was how the day would end, and he couldn't find the words to express himself. “Make a wish!” Sheila said after the song had ended, and Kyle looked down at his cake. He thought for a moment, and then closed his eyes, blew out the candles, and everyone cheered and clapped.

   “So, what did you wish for?” asked Brianna, as Sheila began cutting the cake.

   “I can't tell you that; it won't come true,” Kyle told her.

   “You're not gonna give us a hint?” said Jake, and Kyle grinned and shook his head.

   “I don't wanna jinx it.”

   “Oh, come on!” Jake stood in front of Kyle. “Just a tiny hint?”

   “Well, okay. It's something I've always wanted, ever since I was little.” Yes, that was vague enough that it could still happen, Kyle decided.

   “Aw, that's it?”

   “You asked for a hint,” Kyle laughed as they went to collect their cake.

Once the cake had been eaten, the kids again gathered around the table. Like practically every other person in the world, Kyle always felt so awkward whenever people watched him opening presents, and would much prefer to open them alone. But he was the type of kid who appreciated every gift he got, and picked up the first parcel.

He was very pleased with his haul: Terrance and Phillip posable action figures, video games, a little robot that asked you questions and would spray you with water if you got the answer wrong, some walkie-talkies, and a glass orb mounted on a square wooden base that had a 3D galaxy floating in the centre.

Tony gave him a box of brain teaser puzzles, because he knew how Kyle liked to keep his brain active, and Jake gave him a meme based card game that Kyle couldn't wait to play. Perhaps they would play it together tomorrow before crowning.

Brianna's gift to him was a snow globe. It was light blue with gold filigree, and inside was a doe and her fawn standing in front of a snow-topped fir tree.

   “It lights up,” she told him, pressing a button on the bottom, causing the glow to be engulfed in a warm white light.

   “Wow,” he said, as she placed it on the table with his other gifts. “Thanks a lot, everybody. I love all my presents.” Considering that Jake and Brianna had only found out that day that it was his birthday, Kyle was impressed at the gifts they'd managed to find in such a short amount of time. He was touched, because it showed they were real friends.

He didn't have much time to dwell on these thoughts, however, for Jake and Brianna roped him into a balloon fight, and once again, the room was filled with happy shrieks of laughter as they gently swatted each other. Even though Kyle hadn't participated in a balloon fight for a few years now, he came out as the undisputed champion of that fight. He'd managed to get at least three balloons in each hand; Jake and Brianna didn't stand a chance.

He hadn't had such a good time for ages, and he didn't want the party to stop, but, as with everything, all good things in life must come to an end.

   “See you tomorrow!” said Brianna at the door, giving him one last hug.

   “See you,” Kyle replied.

   “Hope you had a good day,” said Jake, both he and Brianna laden down with party bags and balloons.

   “I had a great time,” Kyle beamed. “Thanks again for coming over.”

   “We had to celebrate!” said Jake. “Well, bye!”

   “Bye! Thanks again!” Kyle called, and they waved at him as they walked down the hallway with their parents.

Kyle went to sleep that night with a big smile on his face, happier than he had been for a long time.

Kyle was at yet another contest, again, only having a vague idea of which State he was in. He, Sheila, and Tony were all in the ballroom waiting for his age group to line up when a strange hush came over the room. Confused, he looked around for the source of all this, and saw only a little girl about his age walking into the room with what could only be described as an entourage. For someone so young, she walked through the hall like she owned it, head high, not making eye contact with anyone, her parents and pageant team hurrying along behind her.

   “She's back?”

   “She's here?”

   “I didn't know she was competing in this one!”

Frantic whispers arose like dozens of tiny fire hoses from all around him, and Kyle was surprised to see that his mother was a part of it, and even more surprised to see the horrified look on her face.

   “What? What is it?” he asked, and Sheila grabbed his arm.

   “It's Serenity Day!” she hissed, her frantic gaze following Serenity.

   “Yeah, so?” Kyle pulled his arm out of her grip, wondering why an extra contestant was such a big deal.

   “You clearly don't understand,” she told him, sitting down next to him. “She is the best contestant, and the only reason you've never competed against her is because she had to take a hiatus because she was winning every pageant she entered. If I had known she was coming back, I wouldn't have come here; you can't hope to win against her!”

Kyle remained silent, not sure he was liking how his mother had so little faith in him. If that was the case, then why did she insist on entering him in seemingly every single competition she came across?

   “He'll be fine!” said Tony brightly before Kyle could say anything. “Kyle will do great, like he always does.”

That seemed to calm Sheila slightly, and she smiled a little bit. “You're right. Besides, to be the best, he's gotta compete against the best, right?”

   “Right,” Tony grinned.

Tracey, the mother of Serenity, took a seat in the front row, not caring if someone was already sitting there, and casually observed the other competitors. She could see everyone staring at her and her daughter, and she allowed a smug smile to cross her face. It felt good to be back.

As she scanned the room, she mentally ticked off each contestant that she recognised, which was pretty much all of them, knowing that none of them were a threat. That Ultimate Grand Supreme was Serenity's, no doubt about it.

A flash of colour caught her eye, and she saw a red-haired boy in the far corner, talking to another boy.

   “Who's the new kid?” she asked, the person sitting next to her, not bothering to even look at them.

   “Who?” The woman turned her head to where Tracey was pointing. “Oh, that's Kyle; you want to watch out for him. He's very good.”

   “Really?” Tracey sarcastically raised an eyebrow as she observed Kyle. He was an attractive kid, to be sure, but there was no way he was good enough to beat her precious Serenity.

   “Really; at the start of the season, he won Overall Beauty Supreme.”

Tracey couldn't help but gasp; that was Serenity's title; three years in a row she had won that. “Well, it looks like we have some competition.” She rose from her chair, and made her way over to Sheila. “Hi!” she beamed, sticking out her hand. “I'm Tracey. I'm afraid I don't recognise you; new to the pageant scene?”

Sheila, to her credit, looked calm and collected as she shook Tracey's hand.

   “Hi, I'm Sheila. We've been doing this for about two years now.”

   “Oh, so you're still quite new to the circuit! I understand your son is is pretty good competition?”

Sheila did not miss the hint of sarcasm in Tracey's voice, and although it was very tempting to go all “Jersey” on her, it would be best to be mature, and rise above it. She didn't want to be removed from the ballroom, or the competition. “Well, we try,” she said, smiling a little too widely. Tracey glanced over at Kyle again, disdain clearly written all over her face.

   “Yes, I suppose you are trying, aren't you? Bless. Well, we've all got to start somewhere, haven't we? Good luck out there(!)” Giving the fakest smile one could ever give, she flounced back to her seat.

   “Can you believe that?” Sheila turned to Tony, her eyes blazing. “How dare she!”

   “She's threatened,” Tony told her. “Otherwise she wouldn't have done that. She's trying to make you feel insecure.”

Honestly, hearing that made Sheila feel really good. If people thought her son was a threat, then she was obviously doing something right. She chanced a look over at Tracey, who was knelt down to Serenity's level, and was speaking intently. Although Sheila had only just met the woman, she could swear Tracey looked a little flustered. She turned to Kyle, who was still talking to Jake, blissfully unaware.

   “Bubbe, it's time to get serious,” she told him, and Kyle stepped away from his friend. “You've got to do better than you've ever done before; give it 200%, okay?”

   “Sure,” said Kyle casually, his mind at home with his new video game. Sheila grabbed his shoulders and made him look at her.

   “I'm serious, Kyle! This is really important!”

   “Okay!” Kyle wriggled out of her grip, and went to line up with his group before she could say anything else.

At the end of the weekend, Kyle ended up winning his second National Photogenic Supreme, while Serenity came second in the entire competition and won Grand Supreme. Sheila took that as a personal victory; okay, Kyle didn't win the pageant, but neither did Serenity. But Kyle had proven that he was just as strong a competitor. That ought to show Tracey.

   “Mom, I've been thinking a lot about this. I know you've put a lot of effort into this, and I know you've worked very hard. I have, too, but you've worked really hard. This... might not be what you want to hear, but... I have to be honest here; I don't want to do pageants any more.” Kyle tried to look sympathetic. The film-maker was coming next week, and this was Kyle's last resort. “We had a good run; it's been what, almost three and a half years? That's pretty good. And I've won some pretty big prizes and crowns. The truth is, Ma; I never wanted to compete, and I can't do it any more. I've found the whole thing to be very stressful. I know I never won the Ultimate Grand Supreme, but let's face it, I never would have. I hope you understand.” Kyle looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, breathing deeply. “I can do this,” he muttered. “I can do this.”

A determined look on his face, Kyle headed downstairs, where his mother was, his courage faltering with every step. He had almost reached the kitchen, when the doorbell rang, and he raced to answer it, desperate to put off the talk he needed to have with his mother. He opened the door to find Cartman standing there. “Cartman?”

   “Hey, Kahl.”

That was how Kyle knew he was up to something; Cartman was calling him by his name; not “Princess,” or “Miss America.” He was trying to get on Kyle's good side.

   “What do you want?”

   “I just wanted to talk to you.”

   “Why?” Kyle's eyes narrowed.

   “Well, Kahl, it...” Cartman sighed and lowered his voice. “It's about your mom, and, well, everyone in town, really.”

Kyle didn't answer, though he looked confused. “Can we talk?”

   “... Fine,” Kyle stepped aside, and allowed Cartman to enter, and they both went up to his room. “What is it? What about my mom?”

   “Well, Kahl, I'm sure you've noticed that your mom has been a little preoccupied lately,” Cartman made himself very comfortable on Kyle's bed, and gave him a knowing stare. Kyle's fists clenched. “You two have been spending a lot of time together, haven't you?”

   “Yeah, so what?” said Kyle defensively. “So we spend a lot of time together, big deal!”

   “Now, now, calm down, Kahl. I'm just making a statement. Now, it's no secret that your mom is really into the whole pageant scene, isn't she?”

Kyle was shocked when Cartman's face remained stoic, not even a twinkle of laughter in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said slowly.

   “And she's also big on the protests; I think we're all aware of that,” said Cartman, and Kyle had to roll his eyes. He didn't need to be constantly reminded of that. “But I've noticed that she appears to be more invested in the pageants these days.”

   “Yeah, well, not for long,” said Kyle shortly.

   “Why, whatever do you mean, Kahl?” Cartman asked innocently, as if he didn't know exactly what Kyle meant.

   “What I mean is, I'm telling her I'm quitting. I don't want to do it any more.”

   “Now, look, Kahl, I can understand why you might think that's a good idea, but let me tell you why it isn't. I'm gonna be honest with you here. Everyone in town has benefited from this.”

   “What?”

   “Because your mom's so busy with you, she isn't protesting, which has been great for everyone else. If you quit, things will just go back to the way they were.”

   “But I can't do it any more,” Kyle admitted. “It's all too much.”

Cartman didn't need to care about Kyle to know that the competitions were taking their toll on him. Kyle now had a constant strained look around his eyes, and he was snappier than usual. He was being sent to the nurse every other day because of his headaches, and the shadows under his eyes made it clear he wasn't sleeping too well. But Eric Cartman wasn't known to care about things like that, especially when there could be something in it for him, and in this case, there was. He knew that Kyle would soon crack from the pressure, and he wasn't about to let that happen.

   “Kahl, believe me, I understand what you're saying,” he soothed, looking concerned. “But the thing is, if you quit, everyone will be upset. They'll be upset with you,” he added, smirking internally at Kyle's guilty look. “Look, with your mom doing all this, no one in town is panicking, worrying she's gonna protest and get them shut down. For the first time in a very, very long time, the good people of this little mountain town are able to breathe. You've done that, Kahl. You've brought life back into this place. Because your mom hasn't been interfering, the whole town has improved. Isn't that amazing?”

   “I suppose,” Kyle slowly agreed.

   “It is amazing, and by doing these pageants, you're helping everybody in town.”

   “Why do you care?”

   “Hey, that bi – I mean, your mom's protests affected everyone; do I need to remind you of World War 3?” he asked, and Kyle ducked his head in shame. Maybe if his mother had gotten the idea about pageants earlier, she wouldn't have freaked out so bad about the whole Terrence and Phillip thing. Maybe they wouldn't have gone to war with Canada, Terrence and Phillip wouldn't have been shot, and Satan wouldn't have risen. Even though it had all turned okay in the end, maybe he, Kyle, could have prevented the whole thing. That made him feel terrible, like his insides had twisted up.

Cartman could see that Kyle was reacting just the way he wanted, and so he quickly continued, “I don't know about you, but I don't think I could live with myself knowing that I had the chance to make everyone happy and peaceful, and selfishly throwing it all away. I think the guilt would eat me alive, and I'd never have a moments peace for as long as I lived. Can you imagine living like that every day, Kahl?”

   “No,” the boy muttered, his head still down.

   “I mean, you have the chance to do something great here; you, and you alone, have the chance to single-handedly provide happiness for everyone in town. But,” Cartman heaved a sigh, “you said you wanted to quit, so I guess that won't be happening.”

   “Well...” Kyle swallowed hard, “I guess I could carry on for a while.”

   “No, no, you wanted to quit, remember? I suppose you have to put your own wants ahead of everyone else's needs. That's okay; I get it.” He heaved another sigh. “I guess we get to look forward to your mom marching through the streets with her picket signs again, maybe burning buildings. That'll be fun.” He arranged his face into a dejected look. “Gosh, all those poor innocent citizens being targeted for silly reasons. But, hey, no more pageants. That's good, right?”

   “No!” Kyle insisted, his voice slightly shrill. “I won't let that happen. I'm going to continue competing!”

   “Are you sure, Kahl?” Cartman looked the very image of a worried friend. “I can see how much this is affecting you; it might be easier for you to quit.”

   “No one ever said life was easy,” said Kyle determinedly. “I can't be selfish any more; it's time I started thinking of other people.”

   “Well, if that's what you really wanna do,” Cartman looked unsure, though he was bouncing with delight inside. “I guess you know yourself best.” He got up off the bed, and headed towards the door.

   “Hey, Cartman?”

He turned to see Kyle smiling faintly. “Thanks.”

   “Hey, you're the one basically sacrificing yourself for the whole town. Thank you, Kahl.”

   “Um,” Kyle hesitated. If he was going to start putting other people ahead of himself, then perhaps he should start now. “Do you wanna stay for dinner? We're having gefilte fish.”

   “No, thanks; I'd rather die. Well, see ya, Kahl!” Cartman skipped merrily out of the room, leaving Kyle stunned.

As soon as he was out of the house, Cartman allowed an evil smile to cross his face. He knew that Kyle's guilt complex wouldn't allow him to quit the pageants. Now Cartman was free to do whatever he wished without the Biggest Bitch in the Whole Wide World bearing down on him and spoiling his fun.

Kyle took another deep breath as he headed back downstairs. He stuck his hands in his pockets, and sighed heavily. Great. Now there truly was no way out for him; he was doomed to participate in these ridiculous contests for the rest of his life. But what choice did he have? The one thing he wanted more than anything was to quit, but the only person it would benefit was him. That knowledge, the knowledge that everyone would hate him and he would be an outcast yet again, was motivation enough for him to keep going. Kyle would rather himself be miserable than everyone else in town.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

Taking a deep breath, Kyle crossed his arms angrily as he sat on the sofa in the living-room.

   “Oh, bubbe, get that look off your face,” said Sheila, who was standing next to the window. “She'll be here any minute now.”

Knowing that she wasn't even paying attention to him, Kyle said nothing. Now it was truly too late to back out, to quit. This was it; his life was over. He was going to be the laughing stock of America and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Running away and starting a new life had never sounded so tempting.

Gerald and Ike had conveniently gone out for the day, and Kyle wished he'd managed to sneak away with them. He had a feeling he was going to be seeing even less of his father and brother for the time being, and he wasn't too sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, they clearly didn't want to be around him, and he wasn't going to force them to spend time with him, but on the other hand, he wished they weren't embarrassed by him. They were family, and he couldn't help but feel hurt.

Soon enough, there came a knock at the door, and Sheila opened it to reveal a middle-aged casually-dressed woman, and two slightly younger men.

   “Hi, Mrs Broflovski!” she grinned, shaking Sheila's hand vigorously. “I'm Janet Cooper; it's nice to finally meet you!”

   “You, too, but please, call me Sheila,” she said as she stepped aside to welcome them inside.

   “And this must be Kyle.” Janet, spotting the boy on the sofa, smiled warmly at him. Catching Sheila's look out of the corner of his eye, he attempted to smile back, though it was more of a grimace. “This is Tom, and this is George,” she pointed to the cameraman, and the light/sound man in turn.

Janet made amiable small talk with the two of them while the camera and lights were set up. “If it's okay, I'd just like to talk to you, about anything,” she was saying. “Just to make you comfortable in front of the camera.”

She began talking to Sheila, and Kyle zoned out as his mother did her usual spiel about how it was her idea to put Kyle in pageants, and she admits that he has to work hard in order to be noticed – if the judges don't notice him, he won't win, etc. The both of them clearly had no interest in talking to him, it seemed, and so he wondered why he was even there.

She told Janet of her routine, and how and she and Tony got Kyle ready.

   “You can't just walk in and expect to win; you've got to work at it,” she explained. “The most important category is the Beauty round, and you've gotta be prepared. They look at what the kids are wearing, the fit of the clothes, and the colour has to suit them. And that's not just for Beauty, that's for every category. But Beauty is the one that gives the highest points, so you've gotta have everything together.”

   “So, from what I've heard, he's become really successful.”

   “Kyle is a force to be reckoned with,” said Sheila, fully believing it with all her heart, unable to keep a smile off her face.

Kyle rolled his eyes, biting back a laugh. She was actually serious; it was too funny.

   “I'm looking forward to seeing him compete,” Janet said. “How many titles has he won again?”

   “Um,” Sheila raised her eyes to the ceiling as she muttered under her breath. “I think, around 50 in all.”

   “Wow! That's impressive, especially considering how long you've been doing this. Where are all the crowns and trophies?”

   “They're all upstairs.” Sheila couldn't help but straighten up a bit, feeling really good. She then turned to her son. “Kyle, why don't you show them?”

   “No, thanks,” he said, trying to ignore the huge camera pointed at him.

   “You don't want to? I think you should; they're yours, after all.”

He could sense her impending annoyance, and not having any particular interest in being chewed out on camera, Kyle stood up and slowly led the film crew upstairs to the spare room, where all of his awards were stored. He opened the door, suddenly aware of how many crowns, trophies, and sashes there were. He remained where he was, saying nothing as Tom stood in the middle of the room, filming everything.

Shelves lined the upper part of the room, at least three rows on every wall, with bars underneath. Sheila had organised all of his prizes from oldest to newest; the crown would rest on the shelf, the trophy (if small enough) resting inside the base, and the accompanying sash hanging over the bar below it. If the trophy was too big to fit on the shelf, which had become the case more often than not, then it was placed underneath the bars. The rest of the wall space was taken up by Kyle's various plaques, medals, and smaller, divisional trophies.

   “Which one is your favourite?” asked Janet, and Kyle looked around at the glittering room.

   “That one,” he said, walking over to a large five foot golden, sparkling trophy, sitting underneath a velvet, embroidered sash, and a large, silver, jewel encrusted crown.

   “And what one is that?”

Kyle delicately touched the sash. “It says ABC's Overall National Talent,” he read aloud, not looking at the camera. It was the first National Talent title he had won, and as he had won it for talent, it actually meant something to him. He had four of them now.

   “What does ABC stand for?”

   “... American Beauties and Cuties,” Kyle admitted in a low voice, gritting his teeth.

   “And what did you win it for?”

   “I won – it means I had the best talent in the whole pageant.”

   “What's the most recent title you've won?”

   “That one.” Kyle pointed to a similar crown and trophy set. “Star Grand Supreme.”

   “Is that a high title?”

   “Yep.”

   “Are you glad you won?” Already, Janet could sense that Kyle was just doing all of this to make his mother happy. She felt bad for him, but she kept the camera rolling anyway. This could be great for her career.

   “I didn't win.” Kyle was still not looking at her. “First place is Ultimate Grand Supreme, and I haven't won that yet. If you don't win that, then you haven't won.” According to his mother, anyway.

   “So you don't consider these as wins, then?”

Kyle shrugged. “I just wanna win the Ultimate so I can quit.”

By the time evening practise rolled around, Kyle had decided what he was going to do. He thought that maybe he had been too hasty earlier; maybe Sheila wouldn't snap at him in front of the cameras because it might make her look bad, so it was time to start standing up for himself a bit.

He, Sheila, and the film crew were in the garage, and Sheila was getting ready to start the music.

   “Are you ready?” she asked, and Kyle took a deep breath.

   “I don't want to practise; I've already practised today.” He was silently pleased to see that she looked shocked.

   “You know you practise every evening,” she said, giving him that typical 'mom' look that subtly told Kyle not to embarrass her, the one that always made him buckle under pressure, but he did his best to remain calm.

   “I don't wanna practise tonight,” he repeated, wondering just how far he could push this.

   “You have a competition in two weeks, and you want to be prepared. Don't you?”

   “Is it important for Kyle to practise every day?” asked Janet, and Sheila turned to her.

   “Yes, I think so,” she said. “If they're not performing at their highest level, it shows. I don't want him to get rusty. If you think about it, two weeks isn't that long a time to prepare. If you were preparing for the Olympics, or anything at a National level, you would train months in advance to prepare yourself.”

Kyle closed his eyes; she seriously did not just compare pageants to the Olympics. She had truly gone off the deep end. “I know what I'm doing, and I don't want to practise,” he said, and they all turned to face him. He really was now in two minds about this whole thing. The more he practised, the better he got, and the sooner he could quit. On the other hand, people were going to watch this, and having them think he actually enjoyed what he was doing gave him a desperate need to rebel. Even he didn't know which one was going to win out in the end.

Sheila walked over to him, and Kyle tried to keep his face calm. “Kyle, you need to practise,” she said. “You know how important it is, and I want you to do your best. You know I only want what's best for you, don't you?”

For a moment, Kyle was tempted to apologise, and then he realised that he was supposed to rebel. “I don't want to practise tonight,” he repeated. Though Sheila's face did not change, a small flash of anger glinted in her eyes. Kyle took that as a win.

   “Well, you're going to,” she said after the slightest hesitation. “I am your mother.” She grabbed his upper arm and began walking.

   “Ow!”

   “Oh, Kyle, stop being so dramatic,” she said, loosening her grip a little. “Everything is just such a big deal with you.”

For the time being, Kyle had no choice but to comply; it was either that or get thrown around like a rag doll.

As he stood on the makeshift stage, an idea came to him. What if he deliberately did a bad job, but made it just subtle enough that he couldn't get called out for it? It was worth a shot, right?

Kyle found that he had to work very hard in order for this to work; muscle memory had been well and truly engrained in him. He kept his smile bright as he made his turns just a bit too rough, not positioning his arms in just the right place, not putting his head up high enough.

To his delight, it was working, but Sheila knew what he was doing.

   “Do it again; you stumbled,” she ordered, not about to let Kyle show her up. She didn't understand why he was acting like this. “Do it again, it wasn't smooth. Come on, energy! Energy! Put some effort into it! Keep the head up. Keep it up! What do I have to do, put a book on your head?”

Kyle knew that he was still doing well, and everything Sheila was saying just made her seem more overbearing. He hoped that by doing this, people would understand he didn't enjoy competing.

Sheila managed to keep quiet until later that night, when the miniature film crew had left. As soon as the front door had closed, she turned to Kyle. “What was that?” she asked, and Kyle, sat on the sofa, fought not to cower.

   “What?” He hoped he sounded nonchalant.

   “Practise! You can do so much better than that, and we both know it. I don't appreciate you trying to make a fool of me.”

   “I wasn't trying to -”

   “Don't even try to deny it!” she snapped, and that was when Kyle knew his idea of rebellion was a big mistake. “You are too old to be acting like this, and I won't have it, understand?”

   “Yes, Mom,” Kyle said quietly, and Sheila left the room. “Fuck!” he whispered as soon as he was alone.

A few days later, Sheila, Kyle, and the film crew were at Tony's house, where they (meaning Sheila and Tony) were finalising Kyle's costume and music. The upcoming pageant had a Vegas themed category, and Tony was very excited to share his ideas.

   “I think it will be a big hit,” he was saying, as he and Sheila sat on the sofa, while Kyle lounged in an armchair, engrossed in his phone. “I don't think anyone else will be doing it, so Kyle will definitely stand out.”

   “Great,” said Sheila. “What is it?”

   “Okay... Kyle as Siegfried or Roy, and doing magic on the stage!” Tony grinned, and Sheila's face lit up.

   “Amazing!”

   “So, he'll be doing a normal routine, and I'm thinking that we add in a few magic tricks here and there; the crowd loves that kind of stuff, with a couple of giant stuffed tigers on the stage. But get this; at the end, Kyle will turn one of the tigers into a real puppy wearing a little tiger suit!”

   “I love it,” said Sheila. “How will he do that?”

   “My idea was to have some kind of smoke popper, and then have someone do a quick change. I told my sister, and she said we can borrow her dog.”

   “That sounds perfect.” Sheila couldn't keep the smile off her face.

   “I've already got the perfect song; it's called 'Mind is the Magic' by Michael Jackson. Although, I did have to spruce it up a bit; it's quite 90's, but it's perfect because it's about Siegfried and Roy.”

   “Great. So, what about his costume?” asked Sheila, and her smile grew even wider when Tony told her what it would be. “Wow! I think this is your best one yet.”

   “Thanks, but it'll all come down to Kyle.” Tony turned to the boy and smiled. “I know he'll do great, as always.”

A few minutes later, Kyle was in the centre of the room, working on getting his timing with the new music right. It wasn't quite perfect, but that was to be expected.

His favourite part, however, was when Tony brought out an adorable West Highland Terrier. “This is Silky,” he said, putting her down on the floor, where she immediately ran over to Kyle.

   “Hey, there!” he grinned, bending down and petting her. Silky rolled over, and Kyle rubbed her tummy, grinning as the dog panted happily.

   “So, Kyle,” said Tony, and Kyle tore his gaze away from the dog, “after your mom does the switch out, that's when you pick Silky up, carry her to centre stage. Once we get the timing down, that's when the music will end, and you'll take a bow, and then carry her off stage, okay?”

   “Okay,” he said, and on Tony's cue, he walked back over to his right, to start the routine over again.

Kyle couldn't help but smile as he ran through his routine over and over again; he couldn't get enough of Silky, and he enjoyed nothing more than holding her close him, especially when she twisted her head and licked his face, like she was doing now.

   “Now, Kyle, if she does that on stage, just ignore it, and focus on the judges, okay?” said, Tony, as he gradually turned the music up louder, so that Silky would get used to it. “In a minute, I'll show you how to hold her so she can't do that.”

   “Okay,” he repeated, dutifully turning his gaze to the imaginary judges, the little dog lying obediently in his arms.

That Friday afternoon, Kyle, Sheila, Tony, Janet, Tom, and George were in Atlanta, but it wasn't to compete in the Regal Gems pageant. Kyle was there to crown his successor; as he'd won the National Photogenic Supreme title the previous year, it was his job to award that title whoever won that weekend.

To Kyle, it felt so weird being at a hotel and not competing; he couldn't remember the last time he'd travelled and it not being for a competition. He hoped he would get some time to enjoy himself, though he doubted it as he did actually have a job to do.

The pageant was due to start the following day, and so most of the contestants had already arrived, and were in the process of signing in. Sheila led the way past the queue and headed into the ballroom, where she sought out the dance director, soon finding her, where she was talking to a small group of the parents of the other previous winners.

Miss Shelly Jenson was a bright, smiley lady who greeted Sheila enthusiastically.

   “Hi!” she beamed, “great to have you here.”

   “Thanks,” said Sheila.

   “Shall we get started?” asked Shelly, and upon Sheila's nod, she led the way out of the ballroom and down a hallway into an empty room which would double as a makeshift dance studio. There, the parents sat down on the chairs that lined the sides, and the kids gathered in the middle. Shelly headed to the front of the room. “Right, now that we're all here, we can get started. All of you are Regal Gems Royalty, and I expect every one of you to conduct yourself with all the appropriate behaviour we want from a Queen – or King,” she added, glancing at Kyle, who was the only boy in the group. “This means no bad sportsmanship; for example, no talking bad about anyone, no arguing, no opinions on who you think you should win. Basically, just be nice, and be respectful. Okay?”

When the kids mumbled an affirmation, she smiled again. “Great; let's get started.”

Kyle had already known beforehand that he would have to learn a dance routine for the opening of the crowning ceremony, and he knew that he was going to be terrible at picking up the steps, but nothing could have prepared him for just how bad he was going to be.

Unlike his practise sessions, he wasn't deliberately trying to get it wrong, but it seemed he couldn't do anything right, though the routine was quite a simple one. He jumped in the wrong places, he got his lefts and rights mixed up, he kept bumping into the other girls, and all of his claps and other moves were very off beat. He believed he wouldn't be doing so terrible were his every move not being filmed.

Shelly, to her credit, did not let her annoyance show on her face, even when she had to stop the music for the seventh time. “Let's try it once more!” she cried, keeping her tone light and upbeat.

Kyle could feel a few of the girls sneaking him dirty looks, but what could he do? The steps weren't sticking in his head for some reason. Not since the rainforest choir had he had to learn an actual dance routine, and this right here was the reason why.

Sheila could also feel the other parents staring at her, and she lifted her chin and continued watching her son attempt to dance. Both she and Kyle, and well, everyone in the room really, knew the only reason no one had said anything was because they were afraid of having their title stripped from them.

By the time evening rolled around, Shelly decided to call it a day, and told them to come back the next morning, but asked Sheila and Kyle to stay behind, and they did so, along with Tony, Janet, Tom, and George. “Let's see if a little one-on-one will help us,” she said to Kyle, smiling brightly.

   “Okay.” Kyle doubted that it would, but he didn't have a choice.

   “Thanks for staying behind,” said Sheila. “I think my bubbe was probably a bit nervous. He's never had any dance training.”

   “Oh, it's no problem.” Shelly made her way over to Kyle and stood next to him. “We'll get this down. Ready?” she asked Kyle.

   “Sure.”

   “Okay, when you all come out on the stage, this is where you'll be standing, and we're gonna have our feet shoulder length apart, like this.” She demonstrated, and gestured for Kyle to do the same, which he did. “Then, we're gonna jump, and land with our feet crossed.” Again, she did it slowly, and waited while Kyle copied her. “Good! Now, we're gonna do a full turn.”

An hour later, while Kyle still didn't have the three-minute routine down, he had managed to memorise the first six steps. If he could get the final six by tomorrow, in between his other duties, then maybe Shelly could make it work. “I think that's what would be best,” she said to Sheila and Tony when they had finished, keeping her voice low.

   “Okay,” said Sheila.

   “It's nothing against Kyle,” she assured her, “he's a wonderful little boy, but I don't think he'll have time to learn the rest of the routine before the ceremony, and this way, he still gets to perform.”

   “That's fine with me.” Sheila had become quite good at learning how to hide her disappointment by now. “We'll see you tomorrow.”

The following day, Kyle was up early to get into hair and makeup.

   “Why do I have to wear this? I'm not competing!” he protested in their hotel room as Tony applied powder to his face. Ordinarily, he wouldn't mind the makeup (though he would never admit it out loud), as it was the only time he didn't look hideous. But the camera was rolling, and so he had to put up a fight.

   “People are still going to see you,” said Sheila, “and you're still representing this contest, so you have to look decent.”

   “I don't want to wear it,” said Kyle through a yawn; Tony, having picked up the dance routine rather quickly, had been trying to teach it to him late into the night, but Kyle still hadn't managed to get the steps down.

   “Oh, Kyle, stop making such a fuss; you act like you're being tortured,” Sheila jokingly eye-rolled at the camera, again hiding her annoyance. “You should be used to this by now.”

   “No one's even gonna see me, so there's no point.”

   “That's not the point,” said Sheila. “It's not about that, it doesn't matter whether you're seen or not, it's about showing your best side. And you will be seen; you're going on stage, so you have to wear makeup.”

A few hours later, Kyle, in his official pageant shirt, sash and crown, which he was expected to wear throughout the weekend, was backstage with Sheila, Tony, and the film crew. As per usual, he had not won the argument with Sheila; had he ever? Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered – even when he had perfectly valid arguments, she would stomp all over his reasoning with the old chestnut 'I'm the parent, you do as I say'. It was so unfair.

Along with the rest of the Royalty, one of Kyle's jobs was to unbox the miniature participation trophies and arrange them on the table, and also to unbox the giant teddy bears that every contestant got, and place them on another table. Tomorrow, they would lay the crowns and sashes out in preparation.

It was menial work, but Kyle would rather be doing that than be up on stage competing, so he made himself busy, and chatted with the girls.

   “How long have you been competing?” one girl asked him.

   “Over three years,” he said, placing a trophy on the table, before removing another from the large cardboard box on the floor.

   “Really? And you're Royalty already?”

   “Yeah.” Kyle didn't really know what else he was expected to say to that. He couldn't tell if she was complimenting him or not.

   “How many have you done?”

   “I don't know,” he said truthfully; he had lost count a long time ago.

   “I think I've done almost three hundred,” the little girl bragged, smiling at him. “I've been doing this since I was a baby.”

   “That's.. great.” Again, Kyle was unsure of what to say.

While Kyle was making himself useful, Janet, Tony and George sought out the pageant judges, and explained they were filming a documentary. Fortunately for them, the judges, two men and two women, were only too happy to be interviewed.

They all went and sat down in a quiet corner, and made themselves comfortable.

   “Tell me, what's so special about Kyle Broflovski?” asked Janet, who was sitting to the side of the camera.

   “Kyle is what we call a total package,” one explained in her Southern drawl.

   “What is a total package?” Janet asked.

   “He's got everything. He's got good clothes, he's got great stage presence; poise, confidence, natural beauty, charm, and a great personality. Just everything we're looking for in a contestant.”

   “I've judged him before at another pageant,” said one of the other judges, “and he's one of the best contestants I've ever seen. He usually does really well. I've never seen a boy win as much as he does.”

   “What do you think the reason for that is?”

   “I think it's the things that Annie mentioned,” said one of the male judges, who also had a Southern twang to his voice. “The looks, the confidence; he's got great clothes. He ticks all the boxes, basically, and it's reflected in the score sheets.”

   “Can you break down how the scoring works?”

   “Well,” began the first judge, “facial beauty is the most important, so we score the highest on that; we also look for eye contact, the way their clothes fit, their smile; everything has to tie together. Kyle has all that.”

   “I see. Well, thank you so much for speaking to me, and I hope the event goes well for you,” said Janet. The judges enthusiastically thanked her, and they went their separate ways.

Janet and the boys returned backstage, and approached Sheila. “What are you hoping Kyle will get out of this?” she asked.

   “Confidence, mainly,” said Sheila, “which I think is working. He's also earning money, which goes straight into his college fund, he's making friends, travelling, winning prizes.”

   “Speaking of winning,” said Janet, “can you explain the titles he wins?”

   “Well, we're usually winning the Supreme titles now, which are the highest, and there are basically Supreme levels,” explained Sheila. “Say level one, two, three, and four. Level one is like the lowest Supreme titles. Right now, we're around level two, level three, but we'd like to go higher.”

   “What would going higher mean?”

   “It would be great for Kyle; a boy's never won first place before, and for him to do that would be amazing. It's not about the crown or the money; just seeing him up there, knowing that his hard work did that, would be a great feeling.”

Now that the pageant had started, one of Kyle's jobs was to escort his age group, both boy and girl, on and off the stage for the group line up. Standing behind the curtain, he waited until the emcee announced them, before putting on his pageant smile, and stepping on stage. He walked slowly across the back of the stage, and stood there, smiling at the judges, while the rest of the contestants did the same. After a few moments, the host thanked them, and Kyle followed the girls off stage, feeling that this whole thing was completely pointless. Why couldn't he just show up Sunday evening, place a crown on the winner's head, and then go back home? Why did he have to be involved in all this nonsense?

The other part of his job was to wait backstage, and help the girls step on stage for their Beauty walk. He quickly checked to make sure they were all in numerical order, and when the emcee called the first contestant, he gently took her arm and helped her up the steps.

   “Good luck,” he whispered, and she smiled at him.

The following evening, Kyle and the other pageant Royalty, dressed in their pageant shirts, sashes, and black bottoms, were backstage, preparing to go on.

Stranding near the curtains, Kyle was hurriedly going over the routine in his head, if only to prevent some embarrassment. He didn't have a lot of time. Before he knew it, the music was starting, so, doing his best to look happy, he and the other girls ran out onto the stage to cheers and applause.

It took all of Kyle's efforts, but he managed to do his steps in the right order, even if he was half a beat behind everyone else. Once he had completed his first set of steps, he then winked at the audience and ran backstage. There, he watched the rest of the routine from behind the curtain, until Shelly gave him the cue to return, upon which he ran back on stage, and completed the dance. Finishing to more cheers and applause, they bowed, panting slightly, and exited, where they all remained backstage while the crowning ceremony commenced.

Later, he was sat in a chair next to a table, watching videos on his phone. He adjusted his sash, moving it aside, as it always got in the way when he played on his phone. The crown and sash of his successor was resting on the table, and the other girls were standing in a little group near the curtains, watching the proceedings.

He was painfully aware of the camera pointing at him, but he ignored it. This was his only chance to have a break, and he wasn't going to waste it.

   “Okay, Kyle!” the pageant director headed over to him, and Kyle respectfully turned his phone off. “They're about to announce the National Photogenic Supreme; make sure you're ready.”

   “Okay.” Kyle dutifully stood, took the envelope containing the cash prize she handed him, and placed his crown on his head, before picking up the other crown and sash. As he walked over to the steps, one of the backstage helpers placed a four-foot high trophy next to him.

   “Right, so remember, you'll stand on the first X, they'll announce the winner, she'll come up. When she's standing on the third X, at the end of the runway, you'll walk over to her, and crown her. Do the sash, then the crown; it's just easier that way,” she said, keeping her voice low.

   “Okay, but what about the trophy?” asked Kyle, not knowing how he would be expected to carry all three.

   “Oh, don't worry about that; Carly will bring that on stage.” The director pointed to a teenage girl standing near to him, and Kyle nodded.

At her nod, he stepped on stage, and stood on the first X, smiling at the audience.

   “Ladies and gentlemen,” said the emcee, “please put your hands together for your National Photogenic Supreme. She is... number 135, Skye Benson!”

Kyle clapped and kept smiling as thirteen-year-old Skye leapt up, while her joyous, screaming family hugged her tightly. She made her way up to the stage, and when she was in place, Kyle walked over to her. He briefly wondered how he was going to do this, as she had at least six inches on him. Thankfully, she bent down a bit, and he was able to put the sash on her with no awkwardness. Keeping the smile on his face, he placed the crown on her head, and handed her the envelope, as the applause continued.

   “Well done,” he said, and she beamed at him.

   “Thanks!”

He stepped back and allowed her to walk off stage, before doing do himself. Sheila, Tony, and the rest were waiting for him.

   “How was that?” Sheila asked him.

   “Didn't think it was worth it,” Kyle shrugged. He caught the look in his mother's eye, and quickly went over to the director, and began asking her if there was anything else he needed to do. Anything to avoid the wrath of Sheila Broflovski.

Back in Colorado the following week, and Kyle, Sheila, and Tony were back at Laura's photography studio, and the four adults were looking over the pictures from the latest photoshoot. They were deciding which ones to add to his portfolio. Kyle, ushanka on, and face free of makeup, was lying on his back on the sofa on the other side of the room, grateful that the camera was focused on the adults so he could at least message Stan in peace. He was also chatting with Brianna, who had recently sent him a friend request on Facebook, and messaged him almost as much as Stan did.

   “I really like this one,” Tony was saying, pointing to the picture that showed Kyle with his head turned to his left with his eyes closed. Kyle had simple wanted a quick reprieve from the constant flashing, and the camera had caught him mid blink. “It's something different, you know, and it's unique. It has that elegant vibe to it, if you get what I mean.”

   “I see it,” said Sheila, leaning close to examine the photo. “It could work.”

   “Yes, if we have it in black-and-white, turn the contrast up a little bit, it could definitely be a winning picture.”

Once they had selected a handful of photos, Sheila sat next to Laura to observe the now customary retouching. Even though Laura knew that Sheila wanted the under eye circles removed, the teeth slightly whitened, the skin made smoother, she still asked for clarification before she did so. It was unlikely that Sheila's preferences had changed, but Laura was a professional, and a professional always consulted their clients. She was certain that Sheila could single-handedly keep her in business if her other customers were to leave, and so she wanted to keep her happy.

When the pictures had been adjusted to Sheila's liking, she paid the photographer, and made arrangements to come back later in the week, when the prints were ready.

A month later, and they were back in Atlanta for the American Royale pageant, the competition which had the Vegas themed category.

At that moment, he was lining up with his group, getting ready for the aforementioned Vegas category. He was wearing a long sleeve, sequinned, tiger-patterned silver shirt with a deep V-neck, and black jeans, and Tony was standing next to him, dressed identically. “You can't have Siegfried without Roy,” he'd said, and Sheila had agreed.

   “You excited for this one?” Tony asked, the sequins on his shirt glittering in the light.

   “Sure,” said Kyle, casting a glance toward the stage, where a boy his age was singing a pop ballad.

   “It's gonna be great,” Tony said, “it's so different; the judges will love it.”

When Kyle's name was called, Sheila and Tony quickly set up the stage; two large, stuffed white tigers near the first and fourth X's, behind one of which was hidden a smoke popper. “Remember,” Tony whispered as he returned to Kyle, “if Silky starts wriggling and squirming, just keep going, all right?”

   “All right,” said Kyle, as their music started. He stepped up on one side of the stage, while Tony stepped up on the opposite side, and they turned to face the audience, smiling.

Tony was right; not only did the judges love the act, but so did the rest of the crowd. They couldn't seem to get enough; cheering, whooping, clapping. Tony did a great job of not stealing focus from Kyle, acting more like a magician's assistant, and Kyle did his routine perfectly; he turned, he posed, he pointed, and winked, just like he'd been working on.

Walking over to a small table draped with purple velvet at the back of the stage, Kyle stood behind it. Upon the table was a top hat, and Kyle picked it up, and turned it towards the crowd, showing that there was nothing inside it. Tony gave a theatrical flourish and point, and Kyle reached into the hat, opened the secret compartment, and pulled out a stuffed rabbit. A simple trick, but Kyle hadn't the time to learn anything more complicated. The crowd applauded loudly, and Kyle stepped away from the table and continued his routine.

As Kyle walked over to stage left, he saw Sheila crouching down behind the curtain with Silky in her arms out of the corner of his eye. Turning to the audience he lifted up a silver piece of fabric that was lying in front of the tiger, holding it up high.

After Sheila had removed the plush tiger and discretely let off the popper, Kyle dropped the fabric, and held up Silky to amazed gasps and rapturous cheers. Grinning widely, he returned to the centre of the stage, where Tony joined him and the music finished.

   “Great job, number fourteen, Kyle Broflovski! Thank you, Kyle!”

Kyle and Tony left the stage with Kyle still holding Silky.

   “That was great,” said Sheila, but Kyle was too focused on the dog to pay attention to anything else, and she pursed her lips. “Come on, you better put the dog upstairs; you have to get ready for Talent.”

   “Okay,” Kyle sighed, as they made their way back to their hotel room. Sheila wouldn't allow him to hold Silky after he'd changed outfits, as she didn't want dog hairs on his costume, and so Kyle contented himself with stroking her as she lay on the bed. He wished he could spend more time with her.

After two days of competition, Kyle ended up winning Pro Supreme, his highest title yet. He had beat Serenity Day, who had only won Dream Girl, and that pleased Sheila greatly.

Serenity herself had congratulated him through gritted teeth, while her mother stood behind her, scowling. Kyle had barely finished thanking her when she had flounced away, and Sheila had given Tracey a butter-wouldn't-melt smile.

For Kyle, it was one step closer to quitting.

Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 15

It seemed that no matter how many times Kyle travelled to the South, he would never get used to the intense heat.

It was now January, and Sheila was hoping for a great year. Kyle had only won four major titles in the last seven pageant of the previous year, and she wanted him to up his game.

For his part, Kyle was doing his best to stay out of her way; she was still sour about the Winter Wonderland pageant in December. Kyle had done amazing (her words), but had only won King, even though his scores were very good. Even now, Sheila was still convinced the loss was deliberate.

While Sheila and Tony were queueing up to sign in for the American All-Star Pageant in Florida, Kyle, Jake, and a few other boys were outside. Jake and the others were crawling through the grass and bushes, looking for animals, but Kyle was stood nearby, watching them, not in the mood to join in. Just like Kyle, they ignored the camera following them, as it was something they were used to.

   “Look!” Jake held up a frog, and Kyle knelt down. It had been a while since he had seen a frog up close.

   “Wow,” he said. Jake handed it to him, and Kyle held it up to his face.

   “Is the pageant scene always this close-knit?” asked Janet, and Kyle turned to her, looking slightly uncomfortable. He handed the frog back to Jake.

   “Not many boys do this,” he said, turning his head away, “so it's easy to get to know people.”

Janet could sense that he wasn't happy to be filmed, but she did have a job to do, so she gestured to Tom to keep filming, but did not ask Kyle any more questions.

The next day, he was sat in the ballroom with Jake and Brianna. He and Jake were in their tuxedos, Brianna was in her dress, and they were waiting for the Beauty round to start.

   “Hey, Kyle, look at this.” Brianna held up a small, pink, plastic case, and she opened it.

   “What's that?” Kyle could only describe what was inside as a little semi-circular line of oddly shaped pearls.

   “It's my old flipper!” she giggled. “It's the one I used to wear, but I have a new one now.”

   “Oh, cool,” he said. “Why do you still have it?”

   “I wanted to show it to you. Try it on!”

   “What?! No.”

   “Oh, come on! I haven't worn it for ages, and it's clean.”

   “No way. It's been in your mouth.”

   “But it's clean,” she wheedled, playfully nudging him.

   “No! Gross!”

   “Pleeeease?”

After much cajoling, Kyle reluctantly took the flipper out of the case, only because he knew she wouldn't let up if he didn't. He put it in his mouth, trying not to grimace and pressed it to his teeth. It felt weird, like he imagined dentures would feel. The flipper was a bit too big for him, and his friends chuckled. Kyle gave a wide, over exaggerated pageant smile, all of which the camera recorded without his knowledge. Hey, waiting was boring, and he would take any form of entertainment he could get.

The director was standing in front of the judges table, calling for quiet, and so Kyle removed the flipper and handed it back to Brianna.

   “The three top winners of the pageant – the Ultimate Grand Supreme, the Grand Supreme, and the Beauty Supreme – these are our first, second, and third places, will not only win these beautiful crowns, trophies and sashes, but they will also win...” she paused for dramatic effect. “A puppy!”

Kyle's head shot up as children all around him squealed in delight, and he joined them in racing over to the judges' table, where three tiny, adorable Shih-tzu's lay snuggled up together in a box. He wanted one of those puppies; his mother had always had a strict “no pets” rule, but maybe if he won it, then she couldn't say no. He reached out and gently touched one, a smile slipping onto his face. They were so cute. The little girls around him were stroking them as well, and the puppies were lapping up the attention. Kyle could have stayed with them all day, but the pageant was due to start, so Sheila led him back to his seat, as did the parents of the other contestants.

For the first time, Kyle was actually looking forward to competing, and resolved to give it his all in every single category.

Kyle tried not to get his hopes up, as the ceremony continued into the Supreme titles. (He had swept his division, winning everything but King.) So far, he hadn't won anything else. If he won the Ultimate Grand Supreme, it would be the best day of his life, because not only would he get to quit pageants, but he would also get a puppy.

   “And, now, for your Beauty Supreme,” announced the emcee, and the audience went silent and still, save for the excited squirming of the children. Kyle was listening intently. “Put your hands together for... Kyle Broflovski!”

Sheila barely had time to register the win, as Kyle was up like a shot, and had actually ran towards the stage, one of the camerawomen following him, while the other focused on her and the cheering audience around her.

Kyle stepped up onto the stage, and stood at the end of the catwalk next to the five foot high trophy, where a sash was placed over his shoulder, and a large, sparkling crown was placed atop his head, grinning widely all the time. But then came the part he was waiting for; one of the tiny puppies was taken out of the box, and he eagerly held out his hands. The brown-and-white puppy was handed to him, and Kyle held it close to his chest, looking down at it, until a gentle tap on his shoulder prompted him to look up and smile for the cameras.

Sheila observed her son; he was smiling so widely it looked like his face was about to split in two, and his eyes were sparkling. He kept looking down at the excited puppy in his arms, and laughing. “Once again, ladies and gentleman, your Beauty Supreme. Give it up for Kyle!”

As the audience whooped, Kyle was helped offstage, while the lady who had crowned him moved the trophy to the floor. Kyle was preoccupied with his puppy, so Tony came up and grabbed his trophy, and they both made their way back over to Sheila. Kyle was beaming. Brianna ran over him, and as she couldn't hug him, she congratulated him, and stroked the puppy.

   “Well done! I can't believe you won!” She grinned, and Kyle smiled at her.

   “Thanks!” he said, as she beamed at him. When she left, he turned to his mother. “Ma, look! I won a puppy!” Kyle hugged the little dog to his chest once again, before lifting him up to his face. The dog was fluffy and mainly white, but had brown patches, little brown ears, and matching brown patches around his eyes. It was the cutest thing that Kyle had ever seen.

   “Well done, bubbe,” she said, as the Grand Supreme was announced.

   “I wonder what I should call him?” Kyle mused as the 6-year-old Grand Supreme was given her puppy, pressing his nose against his dog's.

Sheila looked over at him as the Ultimate Grand Supreme was announced. She knew he would be upset when she told him they were not going to keep the puppy.

In the car, on the twelve hour drive back to Colorado, Kyle sat in the back seat with his new puppy, while Sheila drove, and Janet sat in the front with her camera. Kyle giggled as the dog licked his face, for once not caring about the camera. “Hey, Ma, what do you think we should call him?” he asked, planting a kiss on the puppy's nose, and the dog licked him back.

   “I don't know,” answered Sheila. She could see that Kyle had already bonded with the dog, which was only going to make it harder.

   “Maybe we should stop now,” Kyle suggested brightly, and Sheila glanced at him in the rear view mirror.

   “What do you mean?”

   “Stop the pageants.”

   “Janet, would you mind turning the camera off?” Sheila sweetly asked in a low voice. Janet complied, although she left the voice recorder on, and turned her attention to the front. “Why do you want to stop?”

   “Because I did really good today.”

   “But you didn't win Ultimate.”

Kyle frowned a little upon hearing that. “I won Beauty Supreme,” he argued. “That's just as good; I won third in the whole entire thing.”

   “Precisely, bubbe; you won third, not first.”

   “Well, does it really matter?”

   “Yes, it does. We'll discuss it later when we get home.”

They arrived home at 8am, sans film crew, and Kyle, although exhausted, managed to drag himself inside the house, and he showed his dad his puppy.

   “It's cute,” said Gerald, who was sat at the kitchen table, unable to not look at the dark circles under his son's eyes, or the fact that he was so tired, he was swaying. “You'd better let it outside, then go up to bed.”

   “Bed?” said Sheila, but Gerald ignored her, as Kyle took the dog to the back garden. “It's Monday; he's got school,” Sheila said, once Kyle had taken the dog upstairs

   “He's staying home from school today,” Gerald told her.

   “What?”

   “He's exhausted; he could barely stand up straight. He needs to rest.”

   “Fine.” Sheila wasn't too happy about that, but she knew that if she mentioned anything, Gerald would not hesitate to bring up the fact that Kyle had missed practically every Friday for more than three years now. Though in her eyes, that was completely different; they needed to travel on Fridays so that Kyle wouldn't be jet lagged for the competitions.

   “Well, at least he's happy,” Gerald mused. “Really loves that dog, huh?”

   “Yeah, well, he'd better get used to it while he can.” Sheila made her way through the kitchen, back into the living-room, with Gerald following her.

   “What do you mean?” he asked.

   “We're not keeping it.”

   “What? Why?”

   “I've told you, I won't have pets in this house.”

   “You can't do that! It's Kyle's, you can't just take it away from him!”

   “We are not having pets,” she said firmly, and Gerald just stared at her, not quite able to believe what she was saying.

   “That's low,” he said. “That's cruel,” and coming from the man who would later become the notorious Skankhunt42, that meant something. “If you didn't want it, then why did you let Kyle bond with it? Why didn't you give it back right away?”

For a moment, Sheila was speechless. “That's in poor taste,” she said eventually. “Handing it back to the director would be like handing your crown back and saying you didn't want it.”

   “Why don't you just keep the dog, and you can dress it up and enter it in dog shows?” Gerald suggested. 'Pretty much what you do to Kyle,' he thought. “It can be your thing.”

   “I've said no. I don't want any pets.”

   “You're unbelievable.” Gerald shook his head before heading upstairs.

Kyle awoke later in the afternoon, and came downstairs holding his puppy, who he had decided to name Artie. Sheila, who was sat on the sofa, called for him to stay in the living-room, feeling lucky that Gerald wasn't there.

   “Let me just put him outside so he can go to the bathroom,” said Kyle. When he returned, he stood in front of his mother.

   “Bubbe, you're not going to want to hear this, but you have to know. I'm afraid we're not keeping the dog.”

Kyle's jaw dropped. “Why?”

   “Because we're not dog people; it wouldn't be fair to it.”

   “But I'll look after him; I'll feed him, and play with him, and take him for walks, and I'll even use my own allowance to buy his food and toys. I'll even train him myself!” As angry and upset as he was, he tried to remain calm. If he could just convince her to change her mind, he would never ask for anything else for the rest of his life. He would never complain about the pageants, and would happily compete for as long as she wanted him to.

Regardless, his infamous temper was bubbling up beneath the surface.

   “I'm sorry, but the answer is no. Besides, it wouldn't be fair, with all the travelling we do.”

   “Then we can quit pageants!” Kyle screamed, his hands balled into fists, his previous attempts to remain calm gone in a flash. “I wanna keep the dog!”

   “We just can't, bubbe.”

   “You can't give him away; he's mine, not yours!” Kyle snapped. “He's mine, and I love him. Please, let me keep him!”

   “The answer is no. Now, stop making such a fuss, and go and say goodbye to the dog!”

   “No!” Kyle snapped, before heading up to his room with his beloved dog.

He kept his door locked for the rest of the day, not trusting Sheila one bit. The real challenge would be how to keep the dog safe while he was at school tomorrow; he had a hunch that that would be when Sheila would re-home Artie. He briefly contemplated hiding him, but he quickly decided against that, because it would be cruel.

Kyle sat on his bed, as the dog napped beside him, wondering what to do. He supposed he could take Artie to Stan's and leave him there until he could figure out a plan. His only problem was getting the dog out of the house; what if Sheila caught him? Kyle wouldn't put it past her to literally rip the dog out of his arms. He supposed that Stan could come over and smuggle the dog out. If he distracted Sheila, it might work.

Kyle picked up his phone, but put it down after a moment. Something inside him was telling him not to tell Stan about Artie; a very small part of him was yelling that if he told anyone he finally had a dog, then he would no longer have a dog. Kyle didn't want that to happen.

The only option was to talk to his father.

He waited until it was very late. It wasn't hard to keep himself occupied; Artie was very entertaining, and loved playing fetch with an old baseball Kyle had found in his closet. Kyle had fun throwing it across his room for hours.

When he was certain his mother had gone to bed, Kyle snuck out of him room, closing the door as quietly as he could behind him, leaving Artie asleep on his bed. He locked it, just to be on the safe side, and tip-toed down the hallway, stopping outside his parents' bedroom. He could hear a slight shuffling and took that as a sign Sheila had gone to bed, so he softly carried on across the hall and down the stairs.

   “Dad?” he whispered, catching sight of Gerald on the sofa, watching a late night show. “Dad?” he stood by the sofa, casting a quick glance upstairs.

   “What is it?” Gerald asked, and Kyle hurriedly shushed him.

   “I don't want Mom to hear. Will you do something for me?” he whispered.

   “What?” Gerald had lowered his voice, certain that he could guess what Kyle was about to ask.

   “Tomorrow, when I go to school, will you keep an eye on my dog, so Mom doesn't sell it?”

A look of pity crossed Gerald's face. “I will,” he said, and Kyle slumped in relief.

   “You promise?”

   “I promise.”

   “Great. Thanks, Dad.” Kyle gave a tired smile before heading quietly back upstairs to his room, where he soon fell asleep with Artie in his arms.

Kyle woke up the next morning feeling nervous. It wasn't that he didn't trust his dad, he just wouldn't put anything past Sheila. Nevertheless, he tried to act casual as he got dressed and brushed his teeth. Before he went downstairs, he went back into his bedroom, and gave Artie another hug.

“See you after school,” he said, kissing the dog on top of his head. He felt bad about leaving the dog alone in his room, and he made a mental note to ask Gerald to keep him company.

Sheila was acting nicer than usual, and Kyle knew she was trying to get him to let his guard down. He spoke to her as little as he possibly could without making her mad, pretending his cereal was the most interesting thing he had ever seen. Kyle took solace in the fact that his dad was on his side. Gerald might not be perfect, but Kyle knew he wouldn't allow Sheila to get rid of his dog; whenever Kyle had asked for a pet in the past, Gerald had always been on board.

However, his stomach was in knots as he left the house and boarded the bus. Gerald had given him a wink and a thumbs up, but Kyle was still worried. He knew he was chatting to Stan, and he knew he was sitting in the classroom, half-listening to Mr Garrison, but his mind was back at home, and he could not concentrate on anything else.

The knots seemed to be getting bigger, and more twisted up, and Kyle was soon hunched over his desk, hands clenched into fists. His leg was shaking, and his palms were sweaty. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. He just couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, and he was so worried he felt like throwing up.

“Can I go to the nurse's office, please?” he gasped when he could no longer stand it, and Mr Garrison barely glanced in his direction as he gestured to the door.

   “Dude, you okay?” Stan whispered, as Kyle stood and grabbed his backpack.

   “Fine,” he replied tersely as he quickly left the room, and headed to the medical room.

Nurse Gollum took one look at the pale, sweaty boy hunched over and clutching his stomach, and decided the best course of action was to send him home.

Worried sick though he was, Kyle managed to tell that both his parents were at work (a lie) and that he would get the bus (another lie). Nurse Gollum offered to walk him to the bus stop, but Kyle declined, and quickly stumbled out of the room.

He ran home so fast it was as if he had wings attached to his feet. With each step, he felt more and more anxious, wanting to get home, but fearing the worst. He slammed the front door open, startling Sheila, who was sat at the sewing machine in the living-room.

   “Kyle! What are you doing home?” she asked, but Kyle ignored her, and ran straight upstairs. “You shouldn't slam the door like that; you're old enough to know better!” she called after him. Returning her attention to her sewing machine, she sighed; Kyle making her jump had caused her to mess up the costume she was altering. She held it up and examined it, feeling relieved when she saw that it could easily be fixed.

Racing upstairs to his room, Kyle flung his bedroom door open, and in an instant, his worst fear was confirmed. Artie wasn't there.

   “No,” he whispered, his heart and jaw dropping. Even though he knew it was fruitless, he searched his entire room from top to bottom, even looking in his dresser drawers, but there was no sign of the dog. “Artie? You here, boy? Artie!”

Standing the middle of his ransacked room, Kyle blinked away the tears, breathing heavily. He felt like screaming, crying, and throwing something all at once. But he didn't do that. Instead, as calmly as he could, he went downstairs into the living-room. “Mom?” he said quietly, his voice and body shaking with anger. Sheila did not look up from her work. “Where's my dog?”

   “With a family who'll give him the love and attention he deserves,” she said casually, still absorbed with stitching sequins onto one of Kyle's shirts.

   “You sold my dog?” Kyle glared at her, and she finally looked up. “How? I asked Dad to watch him. When did you have the time?”

   “I found him a new owner last night. When your father was taking a call this morning, I drove him to his new home. He'll be a lot happier there. Oh, and I don't appreciate you and your dad plotting against me.”

Kyle shook his head in disbelief, his face red with fury. “How could you do that?”

   “I was doing the right thing by that poor animal,” she said. “At least this way, it won't be neglected.”

   “He wouldn't have been! I would've taken care of him!” Kyle snapped. “He was mine, and you had no right to give him away!”

   “I have every right!” Sheila snapped back, standing up and towering over her son. “When you're an adult and you contribute to running this house, then you can have a say!”

   “That's so unfair! I want my dog back, and until you get him back, I won't practise any more!” Kyle folded his arms and stuck his chin out, deciding to hit her where it hurt, as she had done to him. He had never been so angry in his entire life, which was saying something, considering he spent practically every day with Eric Cartman. The anger was so strong, it could almost be construed as hate. Was it hatred? Kyle could have never imagined hating his mother, but she had deliberately given away his beloved dog, and he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to forgive her.

   “What?” To say Sheila looked furious was an understatement. For the first time, Kyle did not back down, and stared her out. He liked to think that it shocked her.

   “I won't practise, and I won't do any more pageants! I hate you!” And, at least in that moment, he meant it.

Before she had a chance to answer, he stomped upstairs, and shut himself in his bedroom.

True to his word, Kyle did not emerge from his bedroom for evening practise. Sheila hammered upon his locked door, and screamed through it, to no avail. Kyle had his headphones on, and was blasting music, as Sheila had always been able to shout him into submission. He knew deep down he would break, and come out, just to get her to stop yelling, and so he had to block her out.

He knew he was making her mad; he had a big, National pageant that weekend, and he knew he was supposed to be practising three times a day at this point, and therefore she was freaking out.

Although he knew that she easily could – and would – physically drag him onto a plane and the stage, she couldn't make him perform. He would just stand there. She wouldn't be able to go on stage with him, and he would lose, and then it would really hit her where it hurt.

To his surprise, Sheila gave up and left fairly quickly, but Kyle did not unlock his door; he wouldn't put it past her to barge in and physically drag him out.

It was late and he rolled over onto his side, facing the wall. He thought about the night before and how happy he had been as his own little puppy fell asleep in his arms. Now, the space next to him was empty, and his bed felt huge and lonely. His face crumpled. For a few, blissful hours, he had known the joy of having a dog, something he'd wanted for as long as he could remember, and he would never know that joy again.

Burying his face into his pillow, Kyle silently cried himself to sleep.

Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 16

Sheila adjusted her position on the sofa, looking like butter wouldn't melt, as Janet pointed the camera at her and Gerald, who was sitting with his arms folded, looking fed up.

Kyle was upstairs, being sure to stay out of the way, which was the way Sheila preferred it at that time, as she was still mad at him. How dare he shout at her? And over over an animal, as well; she thought she had raised him to be more mature than that.

After he had blown up at her, Sheila had spent the next few days giving him the silent treatment - completely blanking him when he entered a room. Kyle hadn't needed to stick to his guns when it came to not practising, as Sheila had been completely ignoring him in every way, even refusing to make his meals. But, surprisingly, Kyle hated that almost as much as losing the dog, and he'd had no choice but to swallow his pride and force out a fake apology just so she would speak to him again. Practise sessions were still tense for the both of them.

He had not yet forgiven her, and he wasn't sure if he ever would, but feeling like his mother had stopped loving him was awful and a little bit scary.

   “So, Sheila,” said Janet, who was sat off-camera in the armchair. “Kyle's done a lot of competitions, even though he hasn't been doing pageants for that long. Do you ever have to push him to compete?”

Sheila tilted her head to the side. “I wouldn't say push; I would say encourage,” she said. “Sometimes I have to encourage him to practise; there are times when he'd rather be doing something else, I'm sure, but once he gets up on stage, he loves it, so it's all worth it. But that's the same for most people; sometimes I have to encourage myself to get out of bed in the morning. We all have to do things in life that we don't like.”

   “What do you think about the parents that give their kids sugar to keep them energised?”

   “It's usually for the little kids, who can't keep awake all day. We'd never give Kyle any, though; not only because the boys' days aren't as long as the girls', but Kyle can't have too much sugar because he's diabetic.”

That brought back memories of his birth, and she fell silent.

   “Kyle has diabetes?” asked Janet, and Sheila could only nod, lost in the past.

Sheila, red faced, sweating, was lying in a hospital bed, where she had been for the past 60 hours. She was screaming in agony, and was surrounded by doctors.

Gerald, decked out in his hospital scrubs, was right next to the bed, one hand clamped lovingly around hers, and the other rubbing her back comfortingly. “You can do it!” he encouraged, as she pushed and pushed to no avail.

   “I can't!” She wailed, her head resting on Gerald's shoulder. “I can't push any more!”

   “Keep pushing!” the doctor at her feet urged. “You're almost there!”

Gritting her teeth, Sheila squeezed Gerald's hand and pushed as hard as she could, but nothing happened.

The nurses were surrounding the doctor, the three of them conversing urgently in low voices. Then one of them gently moved Gerald aside as she hooked Sheila up to a nearby machine.

   “What's the matter?” he asked, gripping his wife's hand even tighter. Now he was getting worried; they weren't supposed to be here for at least another two weeks, and things seemed to be going from bad to worse.

   “The baby's heart rate keeps dropping during the contractions,” she said, and Gerald felt his stomach drop.

   “What?! Are they gonna be okay?”

   “We're doing our best, sir,” said the nurse, before the doctor spoke up.

   “Right, we need to get her down to the emergency room now!” he said, and the nurses leapt into action.

   “Why?” Gerald repeated. “What's going on?!”

   “Her blood pressure's very high, and she's losing more and more blood by the minute. We need to get the baby out now.”

   “I -”

There was so much sudden activity surrounding him and his wife that Gerald couldn't get a word in edgeways, and before he knew it, Sheila was being hurriedly wheeled out of the room and down a corridor, and he followed.

What felt like many hours later, Kyle was finally delivered, and they held their baby for the first time. “The worst part's over,” Gerald whispered, kissing his wife on the forehead.

Unfortunately, the worst part was only beginning. They hadn't known Kyle was diabetic.

   “Please, can't you do something?” Sheila begged the doctor, holding her three month-old child, who was so small he could still pass for a newborn.

   “Ma'am, it's completely normal for a premature baby to not gain much at first. You just need to keep feeding him.”

   “You've been telling me that for months! All I do is feed him! He's finishing the bottle every time, but he's not gaining. He's actually lost weight!”

   “I know you had a hard pregnancy, and you're likely to be a little over protective, especially since this is your first child, but just try -”

   “You're not listening!” Anxious though she was, Sheila managed to keep her voice low, as Kyle was sleeping. “Something is not right and you've got to help me!”

Eventually, Sheila got the doctors to believe her. But it took two more months, a new doctor, and the hospitalisation of her infant for them to diagnose Kyle with diabetes.

   “He was born with it,” she said eventually, “so he's never known anything different. I don't think it's ever affected him, and Gerald and I got him checking his blood sugar and giving himself shots from when he was really young, so he would be used to it.”

She, of course, never found out that Cartman had teased Kyle about injecting himself, calling him a drug addict. Five-year-old Kyle didn't know what a drug addict was, but, even at his young age, he knew it couldn't be anything good because Cartman never called him anything good. He decided he didn't need his insulin, and stopped taking it, without telling anybody.

   “Hi, bubbe!” Sheila grinned as Kyle and Gerald came into the kitchen, having just come home from kindergarten. She couldn't help but notice his sluggish walk. “Did you have a good day?”

   “Yes, Mommy,” Kyle said, who slowly made his way over to a chair, and leaned against it.

   “He slept pretty much the whole way home,” Gerald told her.

Sheila was immediately concerned; Kyle looked exhausted; school didn't usually tire him out this much. She noticed that he was sweating slightly, and he was breathing rather heavily, as well. “Kyle, come here.” She stood, concern written all over her face, but she didn't have time to do anything else.

Both Sheila and Gerald knew they would never forget the moment their little child collapsed on the kitchen floor after kindergarten. She had never been so frightened in her entire life, even when he was stabilised at the hospital.

Already an overprotective mother, Sheila then went into overdrive, doing everything she possibly could to make sure no harm would ever come to her child ever again.

   “It's great that it's so normal for him. I think a lot of kids might be self-conscious about it,” said Janet.

   “Like I said, it's always been a part of his life.”

   “It doesn't affect him when he competes?”

   “No. As long as he takes his insulin, and eats regularly, he's fine. He knows how to check his blood sugar, so he knows what he's doing.”

Janet nodded. “So, can you tell us a little bit more about pageant life? How do you get Kyle ready for a competition?”

   “So, about a couple of days before competition, I'll take him to the salon, where he'll have his hair washed, and a facial, and a manicure. I make sure he exfoliates and moisturises his face every day. The most important thing is practise,” said Sheila. “Kyle will practise every day, and then a few days before the pageant, he'll practise three times a day. A lot of the time, I'll enter him in little local pageants whenever we have a free weekend, to keep him in practise.”

   “I've watched him practise, and he's definitely putting the work in, but his routines aren't as choreographed as the girls, are they?” asked Janet, making a mental note that although Sheila had said she wasn't pushing Kyle, she was also having him compete practically every weekend. She found that rather interesting, and was going to make sure it ended up in the final cut. Not that she was trying to push an agenda; it was just something that the viewers would want to know.

   “Kyle doesn't Pro-am,” said Sheila, referring to the type of 'dance-modelling' the girls did for all the categories apart from Beauty. “None of the boys do, but his routines are more choreographed. I think it gives him an edge, and in this industry, every little bit helps towards a win.”

   “And do you think winning is important?”

Again, Sheila hesitated. “It's not the end of the world if he doesn't win, but we do these pageants wanting to win them. Everyone who does them wants to win. We want to win a Supreme title in each State. Kyle has never won first place. He's won his group lots of times, but he's never won the whole pageant. If he does, I'll be over the moon.”

   “It's been well documented that pageant moms will do a lot to ensure their child wins. We've read about spray tans, wigs, and false teeth? Is this something that's done for the boys, as well?”

Sheila hesitated just a little bit, before she smiled.

   “Oh, yes, the flippers; they're more for the little girls – they use them to cover up missing teeth. If you have missing teeth, then you lose points, so a lot of kids need them, but I have seen one or two boys wearing them. Kyle doesn't need one, however; he was lucky to be born with perfect, straight teeth.”

Gerald kept quiet as Sheila chatted to the camera woman. It was down to Sheila and possibly genetics that Kyle had 'perfect, straight teeth.'

Not long after they had married and Sheila was pregnant with Kyle, she had told him that as a child she had had badly crooked teeth and was bullied terribly. At the age of twelve she got braces, but the bullying didn't stop until her braces were removed in college. She told him she didn't want that for their future child.

From the moment Kyle was old enough, Sheila took his bottle away, and didn't allow him to use sippy cups and dummies, not wanting him to mess up his teeth. But Kyle never really knew what he was missing out on, as he was allowed to drink using fun, bendy straws. Sure, there were more than a few spillages, but Sheila didn't mind. It would be worth it if her son wouldn't be as miserable at school as she was.

She even prevented him from sucking his thumb, and fashioned thumb guards to fit over his hands every night. Again, Kyle never knew the drawbacks of thumb-sucking because he had never started.

“He has such a perfect smile,” Sheila boasted. “The secret to his smile on stage is, when he has his back to the judges for a while, like if he's walking back up the runway, or if they're doing the step, step turn, he'll open his mouth to relax his smile, and then resume it before he turns around. That way it doesn't look fake.”

Janet nodded silently, intrigued by all that Sheila was saying. She had potentially struck gold here. She discretely took a breath before she prepared to ask her next question. She had Sheila in a good place right now, and so Janet knew she had to be careful with what she said and how she said it.

   “Like I mentioned earlier, Kyle has done a lot of competitions, which sometimes involves a lot of travelling. How does he manage to keep up with his schoolwork?” she asked delicately, hoping that the question masked the implication of Sheila pushing her child. Well, it wasn't an implication; anyone with eyes could see how exhausted Kyle was.

   “My bubbe is a very intelligent boy; he knows that he's got to work hard at everything he does, and that includes school. He likes school; he asks his teacher for the homework before we fly out for a competition, and then he does it when he has free time. We did so many pageants last year because we were just starting out and he was really behind the other kids. We were just playing catch up,” Sheila told the camera, bristling ever so slightly, which did not escape Janet's attention.

An hour later, and Janet was all done, but she and her crew hung around to film Kyle's evening practise. The kid looked a bit tense and annoyed, and she wondered if it was because of the dog; she hadn't seen it around the house anywhere.

To her, the practise session went okay; Janet felt that she had spent enough time with them to know when Kyle was not on top form, and to her, he appeared to be. She had to admire his ability to switch off his personal feelings and turn into someone who appeared to be genetically engineered for pageants. It was more than a little bit creepy, but it fascinated her.

She watched as he executed perfect turns, perfect walks, perfect waves, while keeping a big, natural smile on his face, and his bright eyes locked on the imaginary judges.

As Kyle had a big, National pageant coming up in Texas the following weekend, Sheila was watching him like a hawk, ready to call out the tiniest blip.

Watching Kyle practise his formal wear routine, Janet gestured for the camera to pan over to Sheila, who was placing her hand under her chin, signalling to Kyle that his head was too low.

   “Head up,” she said. “Now, spot. Spot the judges.”

The camera panned back to Kyle as the smiling boy made eye contact with each imaginary judge, before executing a half turn, and slowly walking back up the makeshift catwalk.

After Sheila had deemed his routines satisfactory, the session was over, and Janet asked Kyle if he was okay to have a quick chat alone.

   “Fine,” said Kyle shortly, taking a seat. He leaned back in the lawn chair and folded his arms.

   “Thanks. Nothing major, just want to get your opinions,” she said, taking a seat opposite him. “So, do you enjoy doing pageants?”

   “Sure, I guess so,” said Kyle non-committally, and Janet could sense he was not in the mood for an interview. Nonetheless, she carried on.

   “What's your least favourite category?”

   “Western Wear,” Kyle answered. He hated his outfit, the removable chaps most of all. Usually, if the pageant had the Outfit of Choice category, Sheila would use the Western Wear outfit. “I don't like Swimwear, either.”

   “Why not?” asked Janet, and Kyle told her how he felt about the costumes he had to wear. It was much easier telling her than Sheila.

   “What do you like best about pageants?” she asked, and Kyle only shrugged, unable to keep the annoyance off his face, which was just what Janet was hoping for.

Knowing she was going to make it worse, she asked the question that she was desperate to know the answer to.

   “Where's the dog that you won?”

In an instant, Kyles mood changed, and he looked off to the side, despair written all over his face. He turned to look at Janet, and the look in his glistening eyes told her everything. “She gave him away?” Janet asked, and Kyle nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was not going to cry on camera. “I'm sorry,” said Janet sincerely, and Kyle nodded, his gaze on his lap. “You know what? You can go; we'll talk some other time.”

Standing up, Kyle muttered a “thanks” as he left the garage and headed up to his room.

The next week, Sheila was packing their suitcases for the pageant in Texas. Janet was there, and Sheila was showing her Kyle's costumes as she packed them in her carry-on. She was just telling Janet about the disastrous moment when their suitcases got lost, when Kyle entered the room, looking drained.

   “Mom,” his voice was thick and congested. “I don't feel good.”

Sheila knelt down and felt Kyle's forehead; he was burning up, his nose was running and he looked even paler than usual. There was no denying that he was unwell.

   “Well, I guess we could skip this pageant,” she began slowly. “But it's a National; we paid a lot to compete. All that money will go to waste.”

   “But I feel horrible.”

   “I know, bubbe. Tell you what, why don't we make the journey anyway – it's in Texas, not that far – and I guarantee that once we get there, you'll feel better.”

Kyle was too weak and tired to argue, and a few hours later they were making the twelve hour drive to Texas, with Kyle asleep in the back seat and the film maker in the front with her camera.

Sheila was very certain that by the next day, Kyle would be feeling better; it wasn't like he never got sick.

The next morning, Kyle felt no better than he had the previous day; in fact he felt worse; his nose was clogged, his eyes were itchy, his throat was inflamed, he had a headache and he kept coughing. Every muscle in his body ached. Kyle had caught the flu.

As he did not speak, due to his sore throat, Sheila went ahead and registered Kyle in the pageant anyway. Kyle just followed his mother numbly, wanting all the noise to stop. Everything was just so loud and bright, and he was having trouble concentrating on anything that was said.

Once they were in their hotel room, Sheila gave him some medicine and told him to rest up. Before he fell asleep, Kyle heard her chatting with the film maker.

The next day, the day of the pageant, he felt even worse.

   “Ma, I really don't wanna do it,” he croaked as Tony did his hair. Although Tony allowed a sympathetic look to cross his face, his did not say anything. It wasn't really his place, he thought. Personally, he would have removed Kyle from the pageant, and he believed it would be the best thing for Sheila to do. Yes, she would lose the money from the entry fee, but that was just life. Sometimes you just had to cut your losses.

   “You'll be fine,” said Sheila, who was sat at the little desk near the bed, flipping through Kyle's portfolio. “I'll give you some more medicine later, and when it kicks in, you'll feel okay.”

   “But I don't wanna do it; I feel sick; I just wanna sleep.” Kyle had his hands over his face in order to try and block out some of the light. This was possibly his worst headache yet; even the Tiger Balm wasn't helping. Not to mention the blocked nose, chesty cough, earache, and achy limbs.

   “Kyle, I paid a lot of money for you to be here; do you really want to make that 12 hour drive all the way back home for nothing?”

   “Yes!”

   “I'm sorry, bubbe, but you can't.” Sheila's voice was sweet enough. “Besides, I've already registered you; we can't back out now.”

Kyle knew it was hopeless; Sheila wasn't going to be talked out of anything. Kyle had no choice but to compete and he sluggishly followed her downstairs, only vaguely aware of the camera that was following them.

In the ballroom, the noise levels seemed rowdier than ever, and the loud music didn't help matters. Kyle closed his eyes as he sat down, trying to help his headache, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

A few moments later, he was sleeping, his head resting against Sheila's arm. Other contestants and their families kept glancing at them, and the documentary camera was pointed at Sheila. Sheila paid the watchers no mind, glanced down at her sleeping son, and watched silently as the pageant proceeded.

Half an hour before Kyle's age group was due to line up, Sheila gently shook him awake and stood him on unsteady feet, smoothing out his tux.

“After Beauty, you can rest, okay?” she told him, giving Kyle's face another quick dusting of powder to make him look healthier. She also quickly applied some concealer under his eyes. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a bottle of medicine and gave two spoonfuls to her drowsy son.

On stage, as he did his beauty walk, everything felt slow and sounded muffled to Kyle. He kept blinking because his eyes were watering; he felt weak, so he stumbled a lot, and he needed to sneeze, so he kept pulling faces as he tried to suppress it. He wasn't smiling, more grimacing because his headache was causing him much pain.

Sheila was standing off to the side, and shook her head as she watched him, sighing. She raised her arm, trying to get Kyle's attention, but he wasn't even looking at the judges, let alone her. He was taking too long walking down the runway; if he didn't speed up, the judges were going to take points off.

   “Facial Beauty and Best Dressed are the only chances he's got,” she said to the film director. “He's not going to win anything higher.” She was now beginning to regret her decision, but honestly, who could have predicted Kyle would perform this badly?

When Kyle had finished, she met him at the stairs and led him away. “Look, I know you're not feeling great,” she said, as she marched him out of the ballroom, with Tony and the film crew hurrying along in her haste. “But you've been doing this long enough now, and this really isn't acceptable. You didn't stand up straight, you didn't make eye contact, or even smile!”

Kyle, almost being dragged along, tried to pull his arm out of her grip, but he couldn't in his weakened state. “Right, come on, you need to get changed.” Sheila manoeuvred him inside the hotel room, pointing to the bed where his Talent outfit lay. Despite his poor performance, she still had hope that he would do a little better in the other categories.

   “I don't want to,” Kyle muttered, rubbing his eyes, smudging his makeup.

“Oh, now look what you've done!” Sheila huffed, sitting him on the chair. Kyle deliberately rubbed his eyes again, and Sheila shot him a frustrated look. At her glance, Tony came over and began cleaning Kyle's face. “Did you forget you're wearing makeup? Now, sit still and let Tony fix it. You need to hurry and get changed.”

   “No, I don't want to,” Kyle repeated, shaking his head slightly. The movement caused him pain, and so he gently pressed his hands against his head. “I can't do the next one. I'm not doing it.”

   “Well, you can't be late,” said Sheila, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

   “I don't want to.” Perhaps if he said it enough times, it would sink in for her.

   “You know you get points deducted if you're late. You can't afford to lose any more points.”

   “I'm not doing it!”

Sheila leaned forward, and hissed, “don't you embarrass me like this!” in his ear.

   “Mom, I don't feel good,” said Kyle, as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, wondering if she could hear him over the pounding in his head and ears. His other hand was resting over his closed eyes, to try and block out some of the light.

   “Kyle, we can't keep messing around like this. We don't have the time.”

On and on she went, and her words somehow filtered through to Kyle's muddy brain, and she was all he could hear. He must remember to smile, to make eye contact, to keep his head up, to be more energetic, et cetera, et cetera.

Her words seemed to be getting louder and louder, and Kyle felt like he was being physically hit in the head. He covered his face, leaning away from Tony, and shook his head. Next thing he knew, he had started crying.

   “I can't do it, Ma! I can't do it!” he sobbed. “I can't do it any more.”

Tony stopped applying the makeup, and looked at Sheila out of the corner of his eye. Sheila looked at Kyle, before she gave a small nod.

   “Right, that's it. You're not doing any more. Go to bed; I'm pulling you from the pageant.”

Sick though he was, Kyle squinted at her through sore, swollen eyes. He didn't have to compete? Who was this woman, and what had she done with Sheila Broflovski?

   “What?” he croaked.

   “Go on; get some sleep. We'll be in the next room,” she said, as Kyle slowly stood and pulled his ushanka on, before climbing into bed fully clothed. He was asleep with moments.

They headed to Tony's room, where Sheila sat down at the desk, unable to keep the disappointment off her face. “He wouldn't have won,” said Sheila when asked by Janet. “Yeah, it's disappointing, but he's clearly more unwell than I thought. And you never know before, it's always a little bit later, when they seem to be getting worse. He kinda had a little meltdown.”

Tony began packing away his makeup, having gathered his bag from Kyle's room before he left, feeling unsure of what to say.

   “Are you going to stay?” asked Janet, and Sheila hesitated.

   “Well, we didn't fly here, so we wouldn't have to wait around,” she began. “But there is a small chance he might have won something. I know he didn't do great, but the judges have already seen his photos. They aren't blind.”

   “You think he has a chance? What are his odds?” Janet asked.

   “I think he's got the same chance as everyone else. Obviously, he won't win the Ultimate, but I don't think we'll be walking away empty-handed.”

As it was, they remained at the hotel for the weekend, with Sheila periodically checking on Kyle, who spent the rest of the pageant drifting in and out of sleep.

By Sunday evening, he wasn't feeling much better, and so he stayed in the hotel room napping as Sheila, Tony, Janet, Tom, and George watched the crowning ceremony. If Sheila had hoped the judges would look past Kyle's poor performance, and just focus on his looks, then she was sorely disappointed, as Kyle only won a small, divisional trophy for “Best Hair”. She awkwardly climbed up on the stage to receive the award, and couldn't help but wonder if the judges had even looked at his portfolio. If they had, there was no way he would have won just a small Divisional prize, and so she decided to stick around until the end of the ceremony.

To her surprise, Kyle didn't win anything else, and she leaned back, frowning slightly. Did they look at his portfolio, at his new pictures? If they did, then how come he didn't win for that category?

   “Well, you win some, you lose some,” she said graciously when asked, politely applauding as Serenity Day was awarded the Grand Supreme title. “He didn't do his best, and the judges noticed. But, you know, all we can do is try harder at the next one.”

Chapter Text

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 17

A month later, and they were all back in Texas for the National Diamonds and Pearls Pageant. They were in Sheila's hotel room, where Janet was filming Tony applying Kyle's makeup. Janet silently gestured for the camera to zoom in on Kyle's face, almost a profile, to see the process; powder, blusher to give him some colour, concealer to cover his under eye circles, eye-liner, mascara, and lip balm.

They continued to film as Kyle cringed and grimaced as Tony applied the eyeliner. The film crew noticed that Kyle seemed to have lost what little pep he had when they had met him, and now there was almost nothing left behind his hollow gaze.

   “And does he wear this for every pageant?” asked Janet.

   “Yes, he does,” said Sheila, leaning forward and giving Kyle 'the look', the one that told him to keep still. Kyle, for the most part, stopped fidgeting, but continued to lean away from the dreaded eyeliner pen. "We have to do Kyle's eye makeup first," Sheila tried not to laugh, "because it's so hard to keep him still, and we don't wanna ruin the rest of his makeup."

   “Well, I don't like it. I hate wearing it,” interjected Kyle an uncharacteristically empty look on his face. Though this was true, he had stopped taking it off as soon as he was permitted. Yes, he hated the feeling of it on his face, but at least when he had it on, no one could see how ugly he was.

   “You should be used to it by now,” Sheila told him, “so you need to stop making such a fuss over everything.”

   “I'm not making a fuss; I'm stating a fact.”

   “Well, you don't need to keep stating it over and over again, do you? You wear makeup for competitions, end of story.”

   “I don't want to wear it any more,” said Kyle. He felt a mixture of adrenaline and nerves from denying his mother so publicly, though it did not show in his flat voice.

   “It doesn't matter what you want; you're not competing without it, you'll lose.”

Kyle didn't respond to that, and only looked down at the floor, his face and eyes expressionless.

Once they were finished, Tony removed the white sheet and Kyle stood and left the room. The first category that day was the interview, and he was wearing the official pageant T-shirt, and black jeans. Kyle walked down the hallway, with Tony and Sheila following him, painfully aware of the camera that was in front of him, just off to the side.

   “What's your favourite colour?” asked Sheila, as he marched through the hall, looking down slightly.

   “Green,” he answered dutifully, staring at the floor, hoping that a headache would not come his way. He couldn't deal with that now.

   “If you went to the moon, who would you take with you?”

   “My little brother, because he's too small to go by himself.”

   “If you could be anyone in the world, who would you be?”

   “Myself, so I can obtain my goals.”

Throughout the entire trip down to the ballroom, Sheila kept the questions coming thick and fast, wanting him to be prepared for anything, and Kyle kept answering in a monotone, his face blank.

This competition went a lot better than the last one; Kyle was “back on form”, as Sheila had said. Janet was pleased as she was getting some great footage of him here. She knew he was reluctant to be filmed, so her best shots were of him practising, performing, and zooming in with a long lens from far away when he didn't know he was being filmed.

At this particular pageant, she had footage of him sitting in the ballroom, watching the other contestants. He mostly looked bored, but he also looked lonely, stressed, annoyed, tired. She got a great shot of him sitting in the ballroom, crossing his arms and scowling angrily.

Janet and her crew headed backstage with Sheila and Kyle; they were lining up for the Beauty category, and Sheila was talking to Kyle.

   “Right, let me see your smile,” said Sheila, and Kyle turned to face her with his 'pageant smile'. “Good; it's gotta stay that way the whole time, okay?”

   “I know,” he said through gritted teeth. “You don't have to keep telling me!”

   “Hey! You watch your attitude, mister!”

Kyle turned away from her, and the camera caught his annoyed face. Sheila left to go and watch, and Janet stayed. She captured Kyle behind the curtain, waiting for his name to be called. He was scowling, and the moment his name was called, he instantly switched on his pageant smile, and stepped out on stage.

Throughout the competition, the more miserable Kyle looked, the more Janet filmed him. She was certain she could use footage from this one pageant for her entire documentary if she wanted. When she'd started filming the Broflovskis', she had decided not to use any kind of narration, and her only spoken words would be the few short interviews. Now she knew that she had made the right choice; Kyle's face said more than words ever could.

At that moment, she was standing next to George, who had the camera pointing at Kyle. He was standing at the side of the stage, waiting to go on for Talent. He was watching another boy, whom Sheila said was his main competition, with an apprehensive, yet intent stare.

However, Janet wanted to capture some of the lighter moments as well; never let it be said that she was biased. Since Kyle looked the happiest when playing with his friends, she made sure to get it on film. She recorded him and Jake laughing together in between categories, telling jokes, and playing with toy cars. She captured Brianna holding his hand and hugging him, and Kyle teaching her how to do his basketball tricks. There was Brianna attempting to put some sparkly barrettes in Kyle's hair, Kyle smiling as he watched her dance, and Brianna cheering as she watched him perform.

Of course, Janet knew that no pageant documentary would be complete without footage of the overbearing stage mother. The interviews had been great, but she needed some candid stuff, like her talking to her son before he went on stage, sitting with the other pageant mothers, and organising all of Kyle's costumes and photos.

Whenever Kyle was stage, she stood right behind the judges table, watching him like a hawk, gesturing when he needed to lift his chin, to open his eyes a bit more, to look at the judges, and she would check her watch to make sure he wasn't going over the time limit.

But again, she didn't want to appear biased, so she managed to get footage of Sheila smiling and nodding in approval, and also of her clapping and cheering for him.

   “You know, I think we got something great,” she said to Tom and George while Sheila was watching Kyle on stage. They were standing off to the side of the room, Janet had her back resting against the wall, and they alternated between watching Sheila and watching Kyle.

   “I think so, too,” said George. “We've struck gold here.”

   “I mean, I don't want to brag, but I think we could even win an Emmy for this,” Janet said.

   “We might,” Tom nodded. “So, how long are we gonna continue filming them for?”

   “I don't know,” Janet tilted her head. “We've got a lot; enough for a whole doc already. But this kid does nothing but compete, and I really want the viewers to understand that. He'll be twelve in a few months, so he's been doing this for years. I've already got an idea for a montage where we show all the different pageants and the States, just to get across how far these guys travel. That's what I want.”

   “Nice,” said Tom. “Great idea. That will work nicely.”

   “I just – I really just want to avoid all that crazy editing and controversial stuff, and just show them for who they really are, you know?” said Janet. “So, I wanna get more footage of them, especially outside of the competitions.”

When Kyle returned to school the following week, he was accompanied by Janet, Tom, and George. Not in the sense that they walked into the building with him, but they were in the classroom. Over the weekend, Kyle had been crowned "Personality Supreme", just beating out Serenity Day, who had won the "Model Supreme" title.

Naturally, all the kids were curious and excited to see the cameras.

   “What's it for?” asked Bebe, as she and her friends gathered around it.

   “We're shooting a documentary about school kids,” Janet told her, “so we want you to act natural. Just pretend that we aren't here.”

   “Why did you choose us?” asked Wendy. “There must have been tonnes of great school in the city you could have picked.”

   “We want to show real kids, and how they really act,” said Janet, and Wendy nodded and smiled, determined to be on her best behaviour. This could be a great opportunity to show people that those from small 'red-neck' towns were hard working and intelligent, and not walking stereotypes.

Many of them didn't, sneaking glances at the camera every so often, smiling and waving, but Janet expected that, and she doubted that she would use this footage anyway. In fact, the only person who ignored the camera, apart from Wendy, was Kyle.

On the playground, Janet and her crew tried to remain inconspicuous, as they filmed Kyle, who looked more relaxed than he had been for ages. He was standing with Stan near the back of they playground, the two of them deep in conversation. Stan, remembering how upset Kyle had been at being left out, was filling in his friend on everything he had missed. It wasn't much, but Stan was doing his best to be a good friend.

   “Hey, fairy boy,” said Craig loudly as he walked past them, loud enough for the boom mic to pick up. Kyle's jaw dropped, but Craig had already gone.

   “How you doing today, princess?” Clyde yelled from the bench, and his friends laughed. Kyle felt his cheeks burning.

   “Just ignore it, dude,” said Stan, gently nudging Kyle to get his attention. “They're just doing it because of that camera.”

   “Yeah, I know,” said Kyle, shaking his head slightly. It was hard to resume the conversation when the boys were constantly shouting insults at him. The fact that all of it was being filmed just made it extra humiliating.

But just when Kyle thought it couldn't get any worse, it did.

Eric Cartman. It was impossible to not see that fat lump of hatred anyway, but that particular day, he was marching back and forth, holding his iPad above his head. Upon closer inspection, he was showing everyone pictures of Kyle during his competitions.

   “Kahl Broflovski does pageants! Kahl Broflovski, South Park's Miss America!” he yelled, making sure to turn the iPad towards the camera. “Our very own little ginger, Jewish, Jersey, diabetic pageant princess!” He, apparently, thought this was hilarious, as he began cackling loudly.

   “Shut the fuck up, Cartman!” Kyle had stepped forward and was now a few feet in front of him. Cartman stopped laughing and straightened up. The other kids began to gather round, and Stan stood behind Kyle.

   “Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do?” he asked, a malicious glint in his eye. “I'll put you in the hospital, asshole!”

   “Yeah, right; you can't even put your coat on properly.” Kyle pointed to Cartman's mismatched buttons.

   “Well, you would know, Coco Chanel!”

   “Good one, Eric!” Butters called from the side, and Kyle glared at him. The other kids were laughing, and he looked at Cartman once again.

   “Seriously, shut your fat, fucking mouth, or I'm gonna shut it for you!” At this point, he did not care about the camera that he knew was filming.

   “Bring it on, bitch-boy!” Cartman removed his jacket, panting, and held up his fists. “Let's go right now, come on! Come on!”

Kyle did not hesitate. With a scream of rage, he charged at Cartman, easily knocking him off his feet. The other kids jumped and cheered in sheer delight as Kyle punched and kicked Cartman repeatedly.

Cartman managed to get a few flabby punches in, but he was no match for an angry Kyle. When was he ever? “Kahl?! Kahl, enough! Stop!” he yelled, shielding his face, but Kyle didn't listen, and continued to punch him.

Kicking his legs, Cartman was able to scramble out of reach, but in a flash, Kyle was kneeling over him, and he continued to punch Cartman over and over again, the both of them cursing and grunting in anger.

Stan ran forward and dragged Kyle away, if only to prevent his friend from getting into more trouble.

Breathing heavily, Kyle wiped his sweaty face, and turned to the crowd.

   “If you bastards don't cut it out, I swear I will kick all your asses!” he promised, before he headed inside with Stan.

Now that the fun was other, the other kids slowly headed back to their games. Butters helped a whimpering, bruised, and bleeding Cartman sit up, and escorted him to the nurse's office.

Still filming, Tom, George, and Janet silently glanced at one another, each knowing what the other two were thinking; that was definitely going in the final cut.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18

   “So, are you excited, bubbe?” asked Sheila as she drove toward their destination. Kyle, who was sat in the back with his earbuds in, did not answer her. Sheila reached behind her and tapped him on the leg, causing him to jump slightly.

   “What?” he said, removing his earbuds.

   “I said, are you excited?” she repeated, as Janet panned the camera back and forth between them, as if she were filming a tennis match.

Kyle pulled a face and shrugged. He put his earbuds back in, and turned to look out of the window. Sheila frowned at him in the rear view mirror, but said nothing.

Kyle spent the journey gazing out of the car window, although not really taking anything in, and only removed his earbuds when Sheila pulled up outside the building.

   “This is amazing!” said Sheila, as they headed towards the glass double doors. “Think of the people you'll be able to help!”

   “Yeah, that's me(!)” Kyle muttered sarcastically. “How did they even find out about me?”

   “They contacted me after one of the directors told them about you. They thought you would be good.”

   “But why is a pageant director telling people about me?” asked Kyle. Sheila shook her head; she couldn't believe how Kyle still didn't know how well-known he was in the pageant world.

The building itself was tall and modern, with lots of glass windows. A sign mounted outside read 'Kreative Kids'.

They went into the lobby and met the receptionist.

   “Hi! Can I help you?” she smiled.

   “I'm Sheila Broflovski; we're here to meet Barbara McCarthy.”

   “Oh, yes. Come with me, please.” She stepped out from behind the desk, and led them down a well-lit hallway, and into a little room. “Miss McCarthy will be with you in just a moment,” the receptionist told them. “In the meantime, make yourselves comfortable, and help yourselves to the food and drink.”

Giving them one last smile, she excused herself, and shut the door behind her.

Kyle sat down in one of the chairs, leaning back against the cushions, and looked around. The room was warm and comfortable; there was soft lighting everywhere, there were toys and board games on the mahogany bookcase, sofas with lots of cushions, pictures on the wall. Well, it wasn't the worst room he'd been in.

   “Do you remember what you have to say?” asked Sheila, as she sat down on another chair.

   “Yes,” Kyle sighed, still observing the room, and resolutely looking anywhere except the camera.

   “Don't look so miserable,” Sheila said. “This is a great opportunity for you.”

   “If you say so,” Kyle said.

Sheila could not say anything else as a young, friendly-looking woman entered the room, smiling at them.

   “Hi!” she beamed, as Sheila stood up, and they shook hands. “I'm Barbara McCarthy, but just call me Barb. It's nice to meet you.”

   “It's nice to meet you, too, Barb,” said Sheila. Barb and turned to Kyle.

   “And is this Kyle?”

Kyle stood as well, and politely shook her hand. He was surprised; she was a lot younger than he thought she would be. “Really lovely to have you here. Shall we get started?”

   “Sure, we'd love to,” said Sheila, and then Barb noticed Janet with her camera, and though she kept smiling, she looked a little confused.

   “Hello.” She approached Janet, and shook her hand, too.

   “Hi, I'm Janet Cooper, and I'm filming the Broflovskis for a documentary. Is it all right to record you guys? If you don't consent to being on camera, that's absolutely fine.”

   “Oh, you can record, it's fine,” said Barb, and then she turned back to Kyle. “Are you ready?” she asked, and Kyle nodded. “Well, great, let's get started.” She gestured for him to sit down, and then did so herself. “Okay, so before we start, I just want to explain that this isn't going to a be proper, formal interview,” she told Kyle. “Just think of it as having a casual chat, okay? There's no need to be nervous, just relax, and be yourself; that's what we want.”

Kyle felt instantly at ease; she was so warm and kind, and although he didn't want to do this interview, he found himself warming to her.

So, they sat opposite each other; Barb had a notepad and pen, and they casually spoke about diabetes. Barb also had a little tape recorder, which had been set up on the table next to Kyle's chair. They spoke about how Kyle managed his condition with his busy schedule, how he tested his blood sugar, what it was like growing up with diabetes, how other kids handled it, etc.

Kyle found that the informal setting really helped, and he spoke more freely about it than he ever had done before.

Still, there was a small part of him that was annoyed. It wasn't that he was ashamed of being diabetic; he had literally known nothing else his whole life, he just didn't like talking about it. If you saw someone with a missing arm, you wouldn't ask them why it was missing. Well, some would, but that was beside the point.

Yes, raising awareness was good, but shouldn't it be his decision? It wasn't like he was the only diabetic kid in the world, couldn't they have picked someone else?

At least, Kyle told himself, none of his friends would read this, so he could comfort himself with that.

   “Well, that was fun, wasn't it, bubbe?” said Sheila during the drive home a few hours later.

   “No,” said Kyle, leaning back in his seat, holding his earbuds, waiting to put them in. Again, Sheila frowned at him.

   “No? You didn't like it? You don't like the fact that people – children – will read it, and realise that having diabetes is nothing to be ashamed of?”

   “I'm not ashamed of it,” Kyle protested. “I just didn't wanna do this.”

   “You sound really ungrateful,” said Sheila, and Kyle's jaw dropped. “You know, I go out of my way for you; not only will this interview raise awareness for diabetes in children, but the money is also going into your college fund. I'm only trying to help you, bubbe.”

   “I know you are.” Kyle didn't know why he was trying to placate her; it would only end with him having to apologise for something that was completely out of his control anyway. “I don't like interviews.”

   “That was only your first one, how can you say you don't like them?”

   “What? I do interviews all the time; in competitions.”

   “Those don't really count, do they? This was an interview for a magazine, and it was a great opportunity for you.”

   “Yeah.” Kyle, in no mood to argue, put in his earbuds in, and Sheila dropped it, like he knew she would.

The following month, Tom and George were filming Sheila, who was sat at the kitchen table. Janet was sat out of shot, and Sheila was choosing new photos of Kyle for his portfolio.

   “The idea is to give the judges some variety,” she said, as she spread out some of Kyle's head shots on the table. “So we got the real formal, elegant ones..” she hesitated as the camera zoomed in on the appropriate photos, “and we got more natural ones, some in the studio, some on location. Choosing the right pictures can make the difference between winning and losing.”

   “So the pictures are factored into the final score?” Janet asked.

   “Yes. It's a side category, and all the points from the side categories are added up in the final score. It's not just about the photoshoot, though,” said Sheila. “It's almost like a biography, or a career in photos. I've got photos of him competing in here, along with him winning. So does everyone else. I also have pictures of him volunteering; when you win a title, you have to do volunteer work otherwise they'll take the crown away.” She leaned back and allowed the camera to pan in on a picture of Kyle reading to a room of kindergarteners.

   “Do you use the same photos for every pageant?” asked Janet.

   “Yes, and no,” said Sheila. “Some of them, we use for every contest, because they always score well, like this one.” She pointed to the head shot of Kyle that had won him the National Cover Model title the year before. “We try to choose the photos that show his personality. I'm going to look them over with Tony later, and we'll choose them together.”

   “Does Tony usually help you choose?”

   “Sometimes. He's been doing this for a lot longer than I have, so I trust him. But this pageant will be different. ... I am nervous.” Sheila admitted. “This is a brand new system; we've never competed there before. It's the biggest pageant in America. I don't think Kyle realises how tough it's gonna be.” In fact, Sheila wasn't sure who was more nervous, her or Tony! Everyone there was going to be at the very top of their game, and Kyle had to be, as well. He was already having extra coaching, extra basketball lessons, and she was making sure he kept on top of his skincare routine.

   “Is there a reason you've never entered Kyle in this pageant before?”

   “He wasn't ready. He didn't have enough experience, and now that we've been doing this for a couple of years, I feel confident now to put him forward. But we've still got a tonne of prep to do.”

   “Do you think he can do it? I mean, do you think he'll do well?”

   “Yes, I do. He can hold his own up there with the best of them, and I think he's gonna do great. The only way for Kyle to succeed is to know what's expected of him, and surpass that.”

   “Hi, Kyle!” Ivy, the cosmetologist at the salon, beamed as Kyle, Sheila, and the film crew stepped into the salon three days before the big pageant. “Nice to see you again.”

   “You too,” replied Kyle politely.

   “I've got him booked in for a full treatment?” Ivy confirmed to Sheila, who nodded. If Ivy was surprised at seeing a miniature film crew with them, it didn't show on her face.

   “This is a really important pageant, so Kyle's got to look his best,” Sheila explained, as Ivy led Kyle over to the chair.

   “We'll take good care of him,” Ivy assured her.

Kyle pulled his new Switch out of his pocket, and started it up as his hair treatment began. He felt lucky that Ivy was clearly a professional; he hardly noticed her applying lotion to his hair. Or maybe his new game was just that interesting. “So, this is a Keratin treatment, which keeps his hair soft and smooth, and in good condition,” Ivy explained to Janet, as she gently massaged Kyle's head. “His hair is so curly that if he doesn't take care of it, it'll become damaged.”

Kyle tuned the adults out as Ivy continued her treatment, far too invested in his new game. As always, he paused it when his hair had to be washed, and he rested his head against the basin, closing his eyes. As soon as Ivy gave him the okay, Kyle sat up, and unpaused his game, while Ivy gently blow-dried his hair. He knew he was being filmed, but at that moment he didn't care; he was engrossed in battling Stan on this new video game. Now that Kyle had finally got a Switch, he was determined to catch up, and that meant demolishing Stan at every multiplayer game there was. So far, he was doing well, but Stan had played this particular game a lot more than Kyle had, and so he had the upper hand.

Occasionally biting his lip, and cursing under his breath every so often, he didn't look up from the screen as Ivy gave him a deep conditioning treatment, and applied various hair masks.

   “So, does Kyle have this for every pageant?” asked Janet, turning to Sheila. The two of them were sitting in the chairs by the wall, where Sheila was flipping through a magazine. Tom had one camera on them, and George had the other on Kyle and Ivy.

   “Not this much,” said Sheila. “He'll usually get a hair treatment, because as we use a lot of hairspray I want to keep it in good condition, but as the stakes are so high for this competition, I want him to have every advantage, and that's why he's getting extras.”

Meanwhile, Ivy was explaining to George that this particular hair treatment she was now doing was to remove product build up, hydrate the scalp, and cure broken cuticles.

The only times Kyle looked up from his game were to snack on the fruit, and cheese and crackers that were laid out for him. He made sure to pace himself, knowing he was going to be there for most of the day, and he felt glad that he had remembered to bring a charger. Luckily for him, Janet did not ask him any questions, so he was able to relax as much as he could while getting a full beauty treatment.

Sheila kept chatting to Janet, keeping one eye on Kyle, as they discussed the upcoming competition, and Sheila made no effort to hide her nerves about the weekend.

It was Sunday evening, and the crowning ceremony of the National Majestic Pageant, AKA, the 'biggest pageant in America' was about to start.

The judges were sat at their table, and the emcee was playing music while they waited for the previous years' Royalty to come on stage and perform. Balloons and streamers littered the floor, and the room was filled with excited chatter.

Sheila was sat with some of her friends, one of whom had a young baby, who was also a contestant.

   “Hi, Melody!” Sheila beamed. The 15-month-old, in a blue, sparkly Beauty dress, reached out her arms, and Sheila took her. “Oh, you look so cute!” Sheila bounced the baby on her knee, while admiring the curly hairpiece that had been attached to her sparse locks.

   “Thanks!” grinned her mother, Olivia. “So, first time; you nervous?”

   “Yeah,” Sheila admitted. “I hope Kyle gets something; he really tried hard.”

   “He did amazing,” said Olivia.

   “Thank you. Did you manage to fix Melody's dress? Sorry I wasn't there to watch her.” With so many categories, and a very tight schedule, Sheila had found herself very busy not only shepherding Kyle to and from the hotel room for his numerous costume changes, but also making sure he squeezed in some practise whenever he had a spare moment. She was absolutely shattered.

   “Yeah, the skirt was still too big, so we just pinned it, hoped for the best, and it turned out okay, thank God.” As was common with the babies, Melody's Beauty dress was comprised of two separate parts, in order to allow for easier changing. Luckily for Olivia, that meant she only had to pin the waistband of Melody's puffy, sequinned skirt.

   “Did they like her?” asked Sheila.

   “I think so,” said Olivia. “I could see them when I took her up there, and they were laughing when she blew kisses.”

   “I saw a bit of her dressed as Pebbles for Outfit of Choice, and she looked so precious!” said Sheila.

Before Olivia could reply, the music died down, and the emcee walked to the centre of the stage, microphone in hand. “Right, I'm gonna go sit with Kyle,” Sheila whispered, handing Melody back. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, you too,” Olivia whispered, as Sheila stood and discretely made her way across the aisle to where Tony and Kyle were sitting. She passed them both, and sat on the empty chair.

“Good luck, bubbe,” she said, as the music started up again, and the Royalty came bounding on stage.

Kyle, sat in his tuxedo, hair and makeup styled to perfection, did not reply, but Sheila was busy watching the ceremony, and did not notice. It had been two very long, tough days, with seven different categories to compete in, and he was absolutely exhausted. He had gotten separated from Jake and Brianna, and they were somewhere on the other side of the room.

Janet, and Tom, were standing to the left, not too far from where Kyle was, and on Janet's nod, Tom zoomed in to Kyle looking all but mentally checked out. His arms hung limply by his sides, his face was blank, and his eyes were empty. 

George was on the other side, filming some establishing shots of the stage, the crowd, the prizes, plus the ceremony itself.

It was only when Sheila nudged Kyle that he realised he was supposed to line up on stage with his age group, and robotically, he stood, and walked to the stage.

On stage, he had no idea whether or not he was in numerical order, though nobody was shuffling him about, so he supposed he must be. Kyle did the one thing he felt like he knew how to do any more, and smiled as the emcee started announcing the divisional winners.

   “Your Best Hair for the 10 – 12 Boys is... Kyle Broflovski!”

Recognising his name, Kyle raised his hand, and a medal was placed around his neck. Soon another one was, and then another one. Then he won three small trophies for Most Handsome, Best Dressed, and First Runner Up.

Once the emcee gave the okay, Kyle gathered his trophies, and walked back over to his mother. He placed the trophies on the chair next to her, and sat down, removing his medals. Once he had also placed them on the chair, he grudgingly accepted Tony's high five, while Sheila neatly arranged the trophies, standing them up, and gently hanging the medals over the back of the chair.

The ceremony seemed to drag on to Kyle, even more so than usual. Robotically, he clapped for every Supreme winner that was announced. The further into the evening they got, the more he could sense Sheila's anxiety and worry growing, as he hadn't won a single Supreme title. Not Talent, not Photogenic, not Personality, nothing.

Sheila didn't think he had done that bad. She slumped in her chair a little bit, keeping her eyes on the stage. She had truly thought he was ready for this pageant, and he really had done well. They couldn't even come back next year and try again, because then Kyle would be too old.

Biting his lip, Kyle looked down at his knees, wanting the event to be over and done with already.

   “And now, silence please, ladies and gentlemen.”

The room fell absolutely silent. It seemed that everybody in there collectively held their breath. There was not even a drum roll, for this was far too serious.

Sheila grabbed Kyle's hand and held it tightly, leaning forward slightly. “It's a pleasure to announce this National title. The winner will receive a $10,000 cash prize, plus this beautiful crown, trophy, and sash; ladies and gentlemen, your Grand National Ultimate Grand Supreme is... Kyle Broflovski!”

An explosion of music. People cheering. Applause. The sound of his mother sobbing. Someone had scooped him up and was running towards the stage, hugging him tightly, and he looked up and saw that it was Tony. He placed Kyle on the end of the catwalk next to the eight-foot-high trophy and straightened out his tux, before slapping the boy a high five, beaming.

Kyle did as he had been instructed to do countless times before and smiled graciously as a satin and velvet customised sash was placed over his shoulder and a heavy fourteen-inch high crown adorned with jewels was placed atop his head, confetti falling all around him. This time, however, a fur-lined robed was draped around his shoulders and a perfectly fanned wad of hundred dollar bills was handed to him.

Head held up high to stop his crown from falling off, Kyle held the money up at chest height as he smiled for the cameras. The lady who had crowned him, dressed in her pageant finery, bent down and hugged him, pausing for yet more photos, while the crowd cheered and clapped.

A flash of red caught his eye, and the lady stepped back as Sheila leapt onto the stage, enfolding Kyle in a rib-cracking hug, knocking his crown askew, and he quickly grabbed it to stop it from falling. Tears were streaming down her face. Readjusting his crown, she stepped back off the stage, still crying.

As he stood on the stage, looking out at the cheering crowd that was partially obscured by the bright lights, his smile dropped just a tiny bit. He wasn't sure if this was really happening or not. It was all a little overwhelming, and he wasn't sure of what to do. His eyes darted around, still not quite believing it.

The cameras kept flashing, and the resulting photos, which caused him to look something akin to an animal trapped in a cage, would eventually become the ones Janet would use for promotion.

Despite this, part of him felt quite happy, Kyle thought, as he was helped off of the stage and made his way over to the winners' section, where the Kings, Queens, and the Supremes were. He sat down, his trophy being placed next to him, and he immediately took the crown off. He couldn't hear the people around him congratulating him. He had won the highest title. There had to be at least 300 contestants and he had beat them all. He couldn't help but feel accomplished, which was strange, considering how much he hated these contests. Kyle guessed he couldn't deny that the feeling of winning first place – no matter what it was for – was a great one.

After the crowning ceremony, while the emcee and the director were trying to clean the stage up a bit for photos, Kyle and a few other boys were playing with the balloons that littered the floor, trying not to let them touch the ground. Finally able to relax for what felt like the first time in years, he was not aware that he was being filmed. The camera took a moment to focus on the chair that housed Kyle's crown, sash, and robe, before showing Kyle looking so happy playing, and just being a normal kid.

   “Ma?” said Kyle from the back seat as they drove home from the pageant. His Ultimate Grand Supreme crown was in the front seat. “I can stop now, okay? I did it; I won first place. We don't do any more,” he hoped he sounded confident and assertive. “We can stop,” he repeated.

   “I'm so proud of you,” Sheila gushed. “We did it; we finally did it!”

   “We did it,” Kyle repeated, “and we don't need to do any more. No more.”

   “If that's what you want, bubbe,” said Sheila. “Although, we have to return next year to crown the winner, or else they'll take the title away.”

   “... Okay, Ma.”

Chapter Text

Three Years Later

Kyle was now fourteen, and had been out of the pageant business for the past three years. Sheila had allowed him to quit after he'd won the Ultimate Grand Supreme, just as she had said. One catch. He did indeed have to go back and crown the winner the following year, but, perhaps afraid that his win was a fluke, she also had him compete in another National. He won another Ultimate, and at last she seemed satisfied, and finally allowed him to retire.

He'd cut his hair after he quit pageants, and had kept it short ever since, so now no one could spend hours brushing and styling and touching it. Sheila had almost fainted when she saw him without his curls; that was fun.

He'd grown several inches during those three years, but was still shorter than most in his class, and due to years of playing sports, was quite thin and lean. Puberty had been kind to him. Sure, he had the odd breakout every now and then, and was currently going through an awkward, gangly phase, but apart from that, he couldn't really complain.

Sheila had been right about one thing, though; Kyle did end up thanking her for his skin care routine. Many of the girls in his class had more than once begged him for tips on getting clearer skin.

Kyle had gone back to living a normal life; the teasing had stopped (except by Cartman but that was a given) and they'd all graduated to middle school. He was really enjoying it, and was regularly the top of his class.

Until the documentary aired. Janet had agreed to wait a few years before it was released in order to allow time for editing, and promotion, and also to give Kyle a bit of a break.

But now the bullying had started again, and so had the headaches, which had mysteriously vanished after his last pageant. A lot of the kids seemed to have forgotten about his 'hobby', but now that trailers and photographs for the documentary were everywhere, many of his peers found it hilarious, and did not hesitate to let him know that.

It was the jibes that were whispered in the classroom, it was the sniggering that followed him through the halls, it was the shouted jokes that rang through the cafeteria, and Kyle absolutely hated it. But, as usual, there was nothing he could do except ignore it. His only saving grace was that he was no longer competing.

He returned home from school that day in a bad mood, and immediately went upstairs to his room. Shrugging off his backpack, he sat down his computer, and put on his headphones. There he remained for the next four hours, blasting The Cure at top volume, and playing computer games.

A few hours later, the documentary was premiering, and he knew Sheila was downstairs watching it, but Kyle was staying in his room, wanting nothing to do with it. He knew Ike was at a friend's house, and Kyle imagined his dad was in his study.

That part of his life was over for good, and he just wanted to pretend it all never happened. Except now he had a strong urge to go into the trophy room and destroy everything in there. But he didn't, and stayed in his room, playing his game, trying to distract himself from what tomorrow would bring.

A message popped up on his screen, and Kyle paused his game and saw that it was Bebe. Wondering what she could possibly want, he clicked on it. It was an article promoting the documentary, and he stared at the link. It seemed to be taunting him, and his hand hovered over the mouse.

Knowing that he would regret it, Kyle opened the article, which had originally been written a few years' previous, and began to read.

“The already strange world of child beauty pageants is set to get even weirder in an upcoming documentary called “Pretty Boys”, showing us the life of boys on the pageant circuit.

I'm there to meet Sheila Broflovski, from South Park, Colorado, mother to 10-year-old Kyle, the undisputed king of the male pageant scene, and the main focus of the documentary.

I arrive at the Hilton in Houston, Texas, where the National Elite Faces pageant is being held. Even though it's early in the morning, Moms, Dads, and their kids are traversing through the lobby, either heading to the back room, where contestants will have their hair and makeup done, or finding an empty space to fit in some last minute practise. They are all hoping for the same thing; to win one of the top prizes – crowns and trophies, cash, or even the chance to be noticed by a modelling agent.

I head up to room 1410, and Sheila welcomes me inside. It would be an ordinary hotel room, were it not for the fact that there are a few miniature elaborate costumes hanging up – Kyle's outfits for the competition, and several glossy 8x10 photos for the Photogenic round are arranged on the bed.

Kyle, an angelic looking child, is sat in a chair, while his coach/hair and makeup artist, Tony Matthews, gets him ready. As I take a seat, Tony is brushing Kyle's hair, an impressive mass of red curls. He sprays the locks with water, which he then begins styling into a sort of newscasters coif. I am told that it can take up to and over 30 minutes just to do Kyle's hair.

   “It's all natural,” Sheila boasts. “There's no extensions or hair dye, despite what will people will say.”

With success, comes controversy – Kyle's eyes are such a vivid shade of green that his mother has been accused of using coloured contact lenses, not to mention the previous accusations of hair dye/extensions.

“He gets his eye colour from my mother,” says Sheila, who has brown eyes and her husband, Gerald, has blue. “But I'd never use contacts, no matter what colour his eyes are.”

Though Kyle politely says hello to me, he soon turns a sullen gaze to the TV, which is playing cartoons. His attention alternates between that and his cell phone, where he taps away at the screen every so often.

Like every other parent, Sheila wants Kyle to win the highest title; the Ultimate Grand Supreme. Kyle only shrugs when I ask him what he wants to win.

He answers me in one-word sentences, clearly fed up. That is, until Sheila admonishes him. “Kyle, where are your manners? I raised you better than that.”
After that, he's much more cooperative. It is instantly clear who's the boss here.

   “I like the talent part the best,” he tells me when I ask what his favourite category is. “Because I get to play basketball, and I don't have to have as much hairspray on.”

Although Kyle has been competing for a little over two years, he's become quite well-known on the circuit, and has won an impressive 29 National titles, but Sheila admits it wasn't always easy.

   “We really had to work hard at it,” she says, sitting on the edge of one of the double beds, glancing over at Kyle and Tony every so often.

A sheet now covers Kyle's pristine white suit, and Tony sits in front of him, a makeup case lying open on the counter beside them. It's easy to see why he wins so much; Kyle is flawless, with a face that any child model would envy.

“The first several pageants we did, Kyle lost them all, and it was hard. Even after he started winning the National titles, he would still lose every now and then, but it was all trial and error. He just didn't really stand out enough, I think,” she continues when asked why. As we talk, I can't help but notice Kyle squirming in his chair, out of the corner of my eye. Tony has an eyeliner pen in his hand, and Kyle is trying to avoid it. A stern glance from Sheila is all it takes to get him to sit still.

“It's hard for a boy to be noticed, so we had to work twice as hard. He got better clothes, and Tony started coaching him.” She gestures to the man who is currently applying concealer to cover the dark circles under Kyle's eyes. Though Sheila insists she's not overworking him, there's a suspicious absence of these dark circles in Kyle's older photos, as seen in a portfolio she proudly shows me.

Tony, who wanted to be a professional dancer as a teenager, has been involved in the pageant business for more than 12 years.

   “I attended one because my niece was doing pageants at the time,” he explained to me over the phone yesterday. “And I loved it, I loved everything about it. All the costumes, the makeup; everything. I actually ended up backstage because Hallie's makeup artist had been delayed, and so they asked me to step in.”

Having been involved in dance productions for many years, one thing Tony knew how to do was apply stage makeup. Soon, he was getting requests from other parents to do their kids' makeup, and Tony decided to make this his full-time job. “I already knew how to put together stage costumes, and I use a lot of the moves I used to do in my dance shows for the routines.”

Tony first met Sheila and Kyle when they were still doing small, local pageants, and soon took Kyle on as one of his clients. Now Kyle is his only client. “I work one-on-one with Sheila and Kyle now; he's the most successful kid I've ever coached, and I'm so proud of him.”

But, he specifies, he did help his previous clients find other coaches. “Of course, I couldn't just let them go! Luckily, a lot of us coaches know each other, and so I quickly found them some great people.” (They decline to mention how much extra it costs for Tony to only coach Kyle)

Now, with a final dusting of powder, Tony is done. Kyle removes the sheet, but remains sitting, still engrossed in his phone.

Sheila tells me that she entered Kyle in pageants, as a way of boosting his confidence. “He had no self-esteem at all, and I wanted him to get some confidence in himself.”

I ask her the question everyone wants to ask a pageant mom; how is letting strangers judge him on his looks helping his self-esteem? Especially since Sheila told me that most of Kyle confidence issues are down to him believing he is ugly.

   “I don't look at it as being judged for his looks; I look at it as a positive experience. Kyle knows that if he doesn't win, it doesn't mean he's ugly; it all comes down to what the judges prefer. He wins Photogenic a lot, so it's been great for his self-esteem. Every kid here is wearing makeup,” Sheila says. “You can't not wear it; the bright lights wash you out otherwise. Besides, Kyle did an all-natural pageant and won first place there, so that's proof he doesn't need it. But if he didn't wear it for other pageants, then he would look like a corpse. You know you're perfect with or without makeup, right bubbe?” She looks over at Kyle.

   “Right,” he replies, looking as if he is only replying out of obligation.

Soon, they are ready to go down to the ballroom, where the contest has already started.

Kyle brightens considerably when we reach the ballroom, and he sees his friends; a boy and girl around his age. They immediately form a little circle, and begin chatting animatedly. It's the most alive I've seen Kyle all morning.

Their joy does not last for long, as it's time for the pageant to begin. Kyle and Jake, his friend, line up along the wall, with the other boys in their age group. Sheila and Tony approach Kyle, and make some last-minute adjustments; Tony makes sure there are no stray hairs on Kyle's tornado-proof 'do, while Sheila straightens out his clothes, fixing his lapels, adjusting his sleeves, fussing with his bow tie, making sure there is not even the tiniest crease in his clothes. Kyle stares straight ahead, his face blank.

   “Okay, show me your smile,” says Sheila. Kyle turns around and gives her a dazzling pageant smile, and Sheila nods in approval.

When Kyle steps on stage, he completely changes; he smiles at the judges, the turning of his head and the “spontaneous” raised eyebrows make it look like he's truly enjoying himself. If keeping your head and eyes locked on the judges while turning can be considered an art, then Kyle has it down to a T.
However, as soon as he steps off, the smile drops, and Kyle heads back over to his friends. He seems tired already.

After a long weekend, Kyle is eventually crowned Photogenic Supreme. Standing on the stage, draped in a banner, a huge crown sits on his head, and a wad of cash in his hand.

   “It's a good title,” Sheila says to me as Kyle steps off stage. “We've won this one before, but it's still a high one, so I'm happy with that.”

   “Sure, I guess,” is all Kyle says when I ask him if he's happy with his prize. He turns to his mother. “Can I go see my friends now?”

At her nod, Kyle is off in a flash, his crown already discarded on a chair. Sheila picks it up and holds it, smiling.

After he had finished reading, Kyle closed the article. A frown crossed his face. Once again, his life was being upended and there was nothing he could do about it. He was wondering how long it would take for all the fuss to die down this time, when his phone buzzed. He picked it up and saw that it was a text from Cartman.

“FAAAAG!” was all it read, because of course he would be watching it. Kyle growled and was about to reply, when he received a text from Stan.

'Dude, ur trending on twitter!”

Kyle had been keeping off Facebook and Twitter that night, not wanting to read the comments he would inevitably get, but his curiosity was aroused, and so he opened his Twitter, dread building up within him. Sure enough #PrettyBoys, and #KyleBroflovski were trending, and he nervously tapped on the first one.

“Anyone else think this kid doesn't really want this?” One user had posted.

“Sweet kid, awful mom.”

“Aw, man, I feel so bad for him.”

“Wow, I didn't even know they did pageants for boys.”

“As long as the kid wants to do it, I don't see a problem.”

“What a disgusting woman his mother is.”

“This is making me feel really uncomfortable. Anyone else?”

“This kid is gonna snap and kill his mother one day.”

“Yeah, I wouldn't call that a meltdown, lady, that was more of a breakdown.”

“So, Kyle wins a puppy, the one time we see he's actually happy, and his mom takes it away. What a bitch!”

Kyle closed the app after reading that. That still hurt; he missed that puppy so much.

Feeling like he was making a huge mistake, Kyle opened up Facebook, and saw that he had 35 friend requests, over 50 notifications, and as many messages. The messages were mainly from Cartman, who had photo-shopped his face onto Miss America winners; not only had he sent them via private message, he had also posted them on Kyle's timeline. The boy sighed, deleting them one by one. Wendy, Bebe, Butters, and a few others had posted comforting, supportive comments on his profile, but a few of the boys in his class had posted things like “princess”, and other such horrible remarks, and Kyle deleted those as well, before tackling his notifications. Most of them were from friends tagging him in their posts, as well as other users he didn't know tagging him in theirs. Someone had made a “Kyle Broflovski Fan Page”, which already had over 500 likes, and was already filled with photos of him, which made him very uncomfortable.

In a flash, he updated his privacy settings, ensuring that no one but his friends could view his profile, or contact him. He changed his profile picture to a group photo of him and his friends where his face wasn't instantly noticeable, and he also changed his name to Kyle B. Hopefully that would grant him a little anonymity.

If Kyle was annoyed by the show, it was nothing compared to how Sheila was feeling, as he found out the following morning.

   “I can't believe Janet did that!” she raged to Gerald over breakfast. Kyle had buried his face in his phone, and was quietly eating cereal, trying to keep a low profile. Ike had his earbuds in and was slumped back against his chair, knees up, texting a friend. He had completely ignored Kyle when the older boy entered the room that morning.

   “All documentaries go a little crazy with the editing,” Gerald shrugged, trying to read his newspaper.

   “But she promised she wouldn't do that! You're a lawyer, can't you do something? She's made me look like the worst person in the world!” She was pacing back and forth, her eyes blazing.

   “If you signed a contract, there's nothing I can do,” Gerald said.

   “But she's made me look like a monster!” Sheila yelled. “Do you realise how much hate I've gotten? People keep messaging me and telling me I'm not fit to have children, that I'm a terrible mother!”

   “Look,” Gerald put down the paper and sighed, “this'll all die down soon. All you can do is rise above it.” He knew it was a long shot, considering who his wife was, but surely she should have anticipated this? Anything to do with child beauty pageants were guaranteed controversy, and Gerald couldn't believe that she had been so unprepared. Besides, he'd seen some clips; he saw no 'crazy editing'; Sheila just didn't want to see the truth. Of course, he couldn't say this to her.

   “I can't just sit here and do nothing!”

Ike, able to hear her through his earbuds, groaned quietly, and took his bowl to the sink before disappearing from the kitchen.

   “Listen, honey, maybe she didn't realise what she was doing, or how much it would upset you,” said Gerald. “Why don't you call her, and see if you can't straighten things out?”

Kyle also took his bowl to the sink, and slipped out of the kitchen unseen, though he heard his mother claim that it would do no good, the documentary was already out there for all to see.

Kyle kept his earbuds on as he walked to school, his gaze fixed firmly on the snowy ground.

He couldn't help but sympathise with his mother; it wasn't right that she was getting hateful messages, and he wondered if Janet really had done lots of editing to make Sheila look bad. She must have done, right? Otherwise his mother wouldn't be so angry. He knew that people had a tendency to believe what they saw, so if they were being portrayed in an unflattering light, then he could see why she was so upset.

He sighed and kicked some loose snow; he'd thought Janet was a nice, decent lady who'd only wanted to show people his life, and what he did. Clearly, that hadn't been true.

He decided to walk rather than catch the bus, and when he reached the school, he spotted Stan standing just outside the doors, and he made his way over to him.

   “Hey, dude,” said Stan as Kyle removed his earbuds, and carefully placed them back in their box.

   “Hey.” Kyle focused on putting the box neatly in his backpack, not quite looking his friend in the eye. He could feel the eyes of the other students on him.

   “You ready for today?” Stan asked, as they entered the double doors, a wheeze of warm air greeting them over the chattering, footsteps, and slamming lockers that accompanied any school.

   “Not at all.”

Stan remained silent for a moment; they both knew that he had Kyle's back, and wouldn't allow anyone to speak badly about his Super Best Friend. Tall, athletic, and muscly, Stan could deliver an ass-kicking almost as good as Kyle, and his popularity meant he could make or break you with one single word.

But he wasn't quite sure of what to say at that moment.

   “So,” said Stan eventually, as they walked through the halls. Kyle was looking ahead, his gaze turned slightly downwards. He'd heard no whispering or giggling so far, so perhaps the majority hadn't watched the documentary? Or maybe they had, and felt sorry for him; Kyle didn't know which one would be worse.

Stan waited patiently, and Kyle finally looked at him. He could see that Stan wanted to ask him something. “Why didn't you tell me you had a girlfriend?”

   “Huh?”

   “That girl in the show; the one who was always hanging around you. Yeah, I watched it,” he added as Kyle opened his mouth, choosing not to mention how revolting he had found it. That was the last thing his friend needed right now. “Dude, she was so into you!”

Kyle found he could not speak. Brianna liked him? When did this happen? He searched his memory and remembered the hugs, the touching of his arm, the compliments on his smile, his eyes, his hair – oh. Oh, he truly was an idiot.

Stan had to laugh as Kyle stood there, dumbfounded. He may be captain of the debate team with a 4.0 GPA, but in some ways, Kyle was still the same clueless kid he had been in elementary school. “You really had no idea?”

   “No! I just thought she was.. really nice.” Kyle felt himself blushing. Stan laughed again, but not unkindly.

   “Dude, you should call her, find out if she still likes you, and go on a date.”

   “You think?” Kyle's hand rested on the phone in his pocket. He still kept in contact with Brianna, who was still competing. Part of him wondered if he should call her, and find out if it was true. She would probably message him before the day was out anyway. “I – no,” he removed his hand, and continued walking with Stan.

   “Why not?”

   “She's probably moved on by now. Besides, I never saw her that way; she was more like a sister to me.”

Sometimes it was better not knowing.

Stan raised his eyebrows, but said nothing as they sat down at their desks.

All in all, it hadn't been the worst day, but it could have gone better. Cartman was being Cartman; watching clips of the documentary on his tablet whenever he could at full volume, dusting off Kyle's old nicknames, 'Princess', and 'Miss America'.

   “Oh, Princess!”

Kyle, walking down the hall, closed his eyes and grit his teeth as he heard the voice that had been the bane of his life since he was four years old. Taking a deep breath, he carried on walking. “Oh, pretty Princess Ka-ahl!”

   “What?!” Kyle growled, spinning around, and seeing Cartman about ten feet away from him, grinning widely. Cartman, though still fat, was a bit more in proportion than he had been when he was a kid, but the fact that he constantly skipped gym class to go to KFC didn't help matters.

   “Don't look so angry, Kahl; you'll get wrinkles,” Cartman said, and a few kids tittered.

   “What do you want?!” Kyle snapped, choosing to ignore that last statement, as more students gathered around them. Naturally, Kyle's infamous temper had followed him to middle school, and most kids were smart enough to keep at arm's length. Nevertheless, a fight was always worth watching.

   “What do you mean?” asked Cartman innocently, a malicious glint in his eye. “You should really get your temper under control, you know.”

   “Go fuck yourself!” hissed Kyle.

   “Now, Kahl, this just won't do for a beauty queen, will it? 'Smile, bubbe, put your chin up, look at the judges,” mocked Cartman in a perfect imitation of Sheila Broflovski. He'd obviously been practising.

   “Shut the fuck up!” Kyle snarled, his face burning, as laughter arose from all around him. He heard a few 'wimps' and 'mommy's boy' thrown in for good measure as well, and he clenched his fists and ground his teeth.

   “What? I'm only trying to help; it's not my fault... ”

It seemed that Cartman still had not learned his lesson, and Kyle let out an enraged yell and leapt on Cartman, pummelling him mercilessly.

As Cartman flailed pathetically under the smaller boy, the kids wasted no time in crowding around to watch the fight, cheering, clapping, and filming on their phones.

Some things never changed.

Kyle gave in and watched the documentary a few weeks after it aired. His curiosity had got the better of him. The way everyone was talking about it, especially with his mother so enraged, he had assumed that it had been very dramatically edited, to make them look a certain way.

Making sure his door was locked, he put on his headphones, and opened YouTube, finding the documentary easily. Taking a deep breath, he clicked on it, and began to watch.

The documentary opened with a outside shot of a hotel with the title 'Pretty Boys: The Life of a Pageant King' over it.

It then cut to a shot of a man announcing a National title; the camera swept over the ballroom, focusing on a few little girls.

   “... Kyle Broflovski!” called the emcee, and Kyle stepped up on stage to the sound of cheering and applause. The camera zoomed in to a close up of a smiling Kyle as he was crowned. It was easy to see the makeup on him.

The more he watched, the further his stomach sank, and to him, the worst part was seeing his younger self obeying Sheila's every word without question. How irritating that Janet had come about a year too late, when he'd been too exhausted to fight back properly. That was why everyone thought he was a wimp, Kyle realised.

As he continued to watch, he discovered that what he saw was what had exactly been filmed. Very little editing had taken place; what viewers saw happened exactly the same on screen as it did in real life. He couldn't quite believe his eyes. Now he knew why Sheila was so angry. She was in denial.

As soon as the documentary had finished, Kyle emptied his browser history. He hadn't given a single thought to those contests for years, and he just wanted to move on with his life.

Sighing heavily, he shut his laptop down, and mentally prepared himself for another day at that hellhole that was school.

   “It'll all blow over soon,” he told himself as he climbed into bed and pulled up the covers. All he could do was hope that that day would come soon.

5 years later

A young, red-headed man, a few months off from turning twenty, let himself into his little apartment in Boulder. Placing his keys in the small ceramic bowl on the little side table, he picked up the mail that was lying next to it.

   “Sarah? You there?” he called, then gave a little shrug when he got no answer, realising she must still be at college.

Making his way through the hall, he entered the living-room, and sat on the blue sofa, rifling through the letters. The TV was off, which was how definitely knew Sarah was out; she hated any kind of silence. “More junk mail,” he muttered, placing them aside so as to deal with them later. Honestly, who still sent junk mail in this day and age? Complete waste of time, let alone bad for the environment.

Standing up, he headed to the kitchen, and made himself a quick sandwich, reminding himself not to eat too much, as he and Sarah were going to have dinner later.

Situating himself back on the sofa, the man pulled out his phone while he ate. Scrolling through his newsfeed, he came across an article that made him pause. The thumbnail contained a picture of a young boy he knew very well indeed, and before he knew it, he had tapped on it and began reading.

“You might remember Kyle Broflovski; if you don't remember the name, you remember the face. He was one of, if not the most, famous and successful pageant boys in history.

Kyle's mother, Sheila, began entering him in pageants when he was only eight years old, and after winning a bunch of small, local contests, they moved up into the big leagues, and began on the National pageant circuit.

Before too long, Kyle had his own modelling coach, a wardrobe stuffed with custom made costumes, and spent all of his free time competing, travelling, with endless photo shoots, and even a spot on “Toddlers and Tiaras”. The hard work paid off, however, when Kyle started winning the Supreme titles usually reserved for girls. So quick was his success, that the family were approached by a film-maker to make a documentary on pageant boys. “Pretty Boys: The Life of a Pageant King”, earned 8.5 million viewers on its first airing, caused a load of controversy, and is still regularly shown.

However, the footage made it seem as though Kyle did not want to compete and was only doing it to make his mother happy; images of the boy enduring countless hours of practise, hair and makeup, made for uncomfortable viewing.

Just as uncomfortable, was the teasing that Kyle endured at school. The film camera followed him around, capturing classmates calling him “princess”, “fag”, and “fairy boy”, among others; causing Kyle to get into a fight with one of the boys.

After winning the Ultimate Grand Supreme (the highest award in the pageant world), Kyle quit after only three years of competing. He had won over 60 National titles, over $30,000 in cash, and a legacy reserved for television stars. In terms of success, he was the male Eden Wood.

   “When the emcee announced his name, people would scream and cheer when he performed,” revealed Sheila in one interview many years ago. “People would actually pull their kids out of the pageant when they found out that Kyle was competing.”

It's been almost ten years since Kyle last stepped on to the stage; after quitting, he kept a low profile. It is unknown whether he remained in his home town of South Park, Colorado.

The article was open to comments, and he couldn't help reading some of them.

“I remember watching that; I feel wrong about judging kids from their appearance, but man, he was a cute kid. His mom was horrible, though.”

“Oh, God, yeah, I felt so bad for him with his awful mom.”

“I'd love to see what he looks like now; he was such a little cutie. He's got gorgeous eyes.”

“IKR, his eyes are, like, half the size of his face! I'm so jealous!”

“He always seemed so sad; you can tell he didn't enjoy doing it.”

“I really, really hope he got away from his mom; God, I hated her so much!”

“Lol, we should get Kyle to do an AMA.”

Kyle Broflovski clicked out of the article and put his phone down. It brought back a lot of memories.

For a moment, he sat on the sofa, as events he had not thought about in years but had never really forgotten flooded back into his head. The constant degrading, the pressure, the fear of having to show his repulsive bare face to people, the laughter from his dad's friends, the constant feeling of never being good enough that was like a weight on his chest – a feeling that still lingered to this day.

And Kyle couldn't understand it, because... sometimes he longed to go back to that world. Sure, it was stressful, and overwhelming, and bad for his mental health, but it was a place where he was liked, he was praised, and he was good at what he did. Things just made sense in the pageant world.

Subconsciously, he began to bounce his knee, and he chewed his lower lip. He chest was beginning to feel tight, which no amount of deep breaths could dissipate. That constant weight on his chest seemed to be getting heavier as he sat up straighter and lifted his chin. Things went well when he did that, and so it seemed only logical to do it again.

A small part of his brain realised he wasn't on stage, and he no longer had to have perfect posture, but to slouch seemed unthinkable.

He forced himself to lean forward, his face screwed up as he brought one hand up and rubbed the back of his head, fingers grazing over the short hair. His breathing quickened slightly as he covered his face. He brought his other hand up to his head, fingernails digging into the back of his scalp as he hunched onto his knees.

Kyle took more deep breaths, remembering what his therapist had taught him, and tried to shut out the world around him while he concentrated.

That was how Sarah, a young, cheerful-looking woman found him when she came home, and she immediately rushed over to him.

   “Kyle? Kyle are you okay?” Her delicate brow was creased with worry, and she sat down next to him, gently reaching for his clenched fist, which was now by his side. She hadn't seen him like this for a while.

Kyle, still doing his deep breathing, did not hear her at first. It was only when he felt her touch on his hand that he opened his eyes. “Are you okay?” she repeated.

Kyle sat up and let out a shuddering breath. “I'm fine,” he gasped, looking straight ahead, but Sarah moved closer.

   “I've known you for too long; you can't fool me,” she said. “Come on, just focus on my hand, and remember to breathe.”

   “Okay. Okay.” Having a task definitely helped, which they both knew from experience. He inhaled, then exhaled, and tried to concentrate all of his energy on her hand, which was softly clasped over his. He could feel her thumb rubbing comforting circles on the back of his hand, and she was breathing deeply along with him. He blinked a few times, and that tight knot in his chest loosened slightly. Only slightly, though.

   “What happened?” Her voice was quiet, and concern was written all over her face. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.” She continued to breathe along with him, and kept holding his hand.

   “It's – I...” Kyle couldn't seem to articulate what he was feeling.

Sarah didn't press him. She sat there patiently, knowing that Kyle would either talk, or he wouldn't. If he wanted to tell her, then she would be there for him, and if he didn't, that was fine with her. As long as he was okay.

   “It's all right, I'm here,” she assured him. Kyle was breathing easier now, and she placed her other hand on his back, again rubbing soothing circles on it.

She caught sight of his phone on the floor, and wondered if he had seen or read something. It seemed more than likely, but she also began to wonder if Sheila had messaged him again, and she frowned. Sarah had never met the woman, but from what Kyle had told her, it was no wonder he was low contact with her.

Kyle straightened up a bit, snapping her back to reality, and she commenced focusing on him. His fists had unclenched a little bit, and his breathing was almost regular again.

   “I... read an article..” he gestured to the phone on the floor, feeling his face burning. God, it sounded so stupid when it said it out loud. “About, you know, when I was a kid.”

Sarah nodded, but didn't speak. Kyle didn't speak of his time in the pageant world, apart from that one time he'd told her about it, only because he felt she deserved to know.

Enough time had passed that he was not immediately recognisable. Occasionally, somebody would say he looked familiar, but Kyle would only say they must be mistaking him for someone else. “It just made me feel like I was back there.”

Kyle lowered his head again. What was he, five? Getting so upset over words on a screen, it was ridiculous. He covered his face with his hands. “God, I'm so embarrassed,” he admitted.

   “Why?” asked Sarah.

   “For being so upset. I shouldn't care.” That was what confused him; it all happened over ten years ago, why did he care? It wasn't like he could change the past, and it wasn't like the journalists were contacting him any more.

   “It's only natural to care,” Sarah told him, putting her arm around his shoulders. “It was a big part of your life; anyone would feel the same way.”

   “I guess. I just feel so dumb.”

   “Have you taken your medication today?” Sarah asked, and Kyle nodded, still not looking at her. She knew he was telling the truth, though; Kyle was always meticulous about his medication. Besides, whenever he tried to lie, he always wrung his hands a little bit, which he wasn't doing.

Kyle kept his gaze firmly ahead of him. He wasn't wearing makeup, and he didn't think he could bear to have her look in disgust at him. Sarah had never judged him for not wearing makeup before, but there was a first time for everything. “You're doing great,” she told him, her voice soft and calming. It always helped calm Kyle; seriously, she could read audio books for a living.

   “Thanks.”

   “Are you feeling a bit better now?”

   “Little bit,” he said honestly. “Maybe I'd feel better if I wrote about it. Try and get my thoughts out of my head, you know?”

   “Maybe,” she agreed. “Hey, plus, it'd be a guaranteed A in psyche class,” she joked.

Kyle chuckled a little bit, and Sarah internally relaxed slightly. “Yeah, I could do that. I'd submit it anonymously, though.”

   “Good idea.”

The two of them leaned back against the sofa, letting the silence wash over them. Kyle's fist had properly unclenched now, and he was holding her hand. She gave his hand a little squeeze, and they smiled at each other, though Kyle still didn't quite meet her eye.

   “Have you eaten?” she asked after a few more moments of silence.

   “Yeah, I had a sandwich.”

   “Good. I haven't eaten yet; I wanna save it for the restaurant.”

Kyle chuckled again. “You don't wanna have a little something beforehand?”

   “No way!” She turned to face him. “I don't want to fill up on bread.”

   “You love their breadsticks,” Kyle pointed out.

   “That's different; they're restaurant breadsticks,” she emphasised, and Kyle couldn't help but laugh.

For the first time since she came home, Kyle looked up at her, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  “What?” she laughed.

  “I'm just lucky to have you,” he said, and he really meant it. She was so patient with him.

   “Aw..” she leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Hey, we've got a while to kill before dinner, want to watch a movie?”

   “Sure. You can pick.”

   “No, no, I picked last time; it's your turn. I'm just gonna make us a drink.” She patted Kyle's leg as she stood and walked into the tiny kitchen, leaving Kyle to scroll through Netflix.

As they watched an 80's classic, with Sarah snuggled up against him, Kyle decided not to write about his experiences; those memories were painful. It was the most miserable time of his life, and despite what that article had done to him, he was feeling pretty good right now, so there was no reason to bring it all up again. All things considered, he was pretty lucky; he had his own apartment, a wonderful girlfriend, good friends, and he was doing well in college. He even had a part time job at the local pet store, where he specialised in looking after the dogs.

Having said that.. Kyle picked up his phone, and scheduled an appointment with his therapist.

When the movie was over, the both of them left the living-room and freshened up. Sarah changed into a black dress, and Kyle replaced his T-shirt with a dark green button down.

   “You look lovely,” he told her as she came out of the bathroom, her dark blonde hair freed from its ponytail and cascading around her face.

   “Thank you. So do you.” She smiled warmly, and Kyle forced himself to accept the compliment.

She walked over to him, and took her hand in his.

Lacing their fingers together, Kyle and Sarah left the apartment, knowing they were going to have a great evening.