Chapter Text
Stan dangled his feet from the ledge, basking in the peacefulness of early morning in the mountains. The chorus of chirping crickets was a soothing soundtrack for his thoughts, while the sun shone on the snowy hills (yes, snow and summer crickets could coexist in South Park, nobody ever knew what season it was supposed to be in their fucked up little mountain town).
No one else was at school yet besides his introverted best friend Kenny, who wouldn't be talking even if he were next to Stan instead of doing God-knows-what in the bathroom, leaving Stan a few minutes to clear his head before the craziness of the school day. It was the only upside to being dragged out of bed early to help out on the farm. The stench of pot clung to him, and he had been too tired to argue with an already-drunk Randy demanding he dress in weed-themed clothes from head to foot—except for a black beanie from his goth days, which his mother slipped into his bag in solidarity.
Stan closed his eyes, trying to soak in the quiet while he could. Any second now, the halls would flood with people demanding his attention. And he couldn't ignore them—they had all known each other since kindergarten.
All except one—the stranger approaching him now.
He could only be the new kid they had already heard so much about (mainly from Cartman, who already hated him for being a Jew from Jersey
and didn't even know the guy was also ginger).
With a self-assured stride, the newcomer approached. He exuded unbelievable confidence—maybe not that unbelievable given his perfect tan, his height, and that impressive figure...
The stranger grinned mischievously, and Stan lost his breath.
"Hey there, stud," drawled a deep voice with an unmistakeable Jersey accent. "What's shakin'? Mind if I join you?" He extending his hand. "The name's Kyley B. What's your name?"
A wave of nausea washed over Stan, and striking green eyes looked down at him. "Uh, you good, man?"
Before Stan could say no, his stomach revolted. He doubled over, clutching his abdomen, and regrettably, shot the contents of his poorly-chewed breakfast right onto Kyley.
Burning with panic and humiliation, Stan didn't wait for a reaction. He bolted.
Kenny emerged from the bathroom and chased him. "Not again! You alright, dude?"
Stan dragged Kenny by the hoodie into the accessible bathroom, and with his face buried in his hands, managed a few words between heavy breaths. "The...the new kid."
"See, what'd I tell you? I mean, one earring, and a shirt that tight? He's gay. There might be some hope, Stan."
Stan's face was burning. "It's already hopeless." The weight of embarrassment hung heavily on his shoulders. "I puked all over him, and pretty soon he'll know—"
"Aw, don't worry dude," said Kenny, putting a gloved hand on Stan's shoulder. "I'll investigate for you. And make sure no one lets Jersey boy in on your little problem. He'll just think you were sick or something. You just manage Eric."
Stan nodded solemnly.
Stan managed to avoid Kyley all day with a little help, and soon it was lunchtime. Stan and Kenny had already decided one of them would get Eric to eat lunch outside—away from any opportunity to alienate the new kid.
Instead of turns, it became Stan's duty. By Friday, Stan was considering murdering Eric Cartman. Like, more than usual.
"I noticed you ate lunch with me every day this week," he said, like this was some massive revelation, and could be anything but a punishment. "Finally ready to admit how horrible it is to have Jews in South Park?"
Rolling his eyes, Stan decided to change the topic to something less aggravating. "I'm not gonna be sitting with you next week, so let's talk pranks—and no Nazi shit."
"Oh, look at Stan, going all gaga for the new guy."
"Drop it, Cartman," he said dangerously. "I mean it."
Cartman, with his sly grin, continued. "Did you know that earlier today at lunch, the Jew said you're weird and disgusting for puking on him?"
Well, that wasn't all that...unreasonable, or anything. Puke was disgusting, even your own, nevermind a stranger's. But it still hurt.
"So has everyone I've ever puked on. Which doesn't include you."
It was true. This week was giving him deja vu to his hormonal middle school days, especially the awkward couple weeks he crushed on Kenny. Cartman was the only person he could rely on to let him eat and keep food down. Nothing in the universe could make that repulsive hateful fatass attractive. The very idea was nauseating in the complete opposite way.
"Ooh I'm so hurt you don't never had a gay little crush on me," said Cartman, rolling his eyes and making a flamboyant gesture. "Its so pathetic, you're still gonna defend your new little crush because you have the hots for him and you're trying to be all politically correct."
Simmering, Stan clenched his fists. "I'm warning you, Cartman. Back off."
Cartman was unaffected. "Jesus, calm down, hippie. No need to be so moody. Didn't know you'd get sand in your vagina over being called gay."
"I am bisexual, dumbass, and I'm annoyed about your anti-Semitic bullshit." Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. "What does being Jewish have to do with not liking to be puked on?"
Kenny appeared out of nowhere. "Nothing."
"See! Kenny likes him."
"Uh..."
"What?" asked Stan, stomach dropping. Cartman surely hadn't gotten to Kenny, right?
Right?
"Well, Stan, I can promise I don't dislike him for being Jewish"—Kenny glared pointedly at Cartman—"he just... seemed kinda...shallow, and judgy."
"Oh, like you're cool with being puked on."
"Hey, I was nice about it, wasn't I?" said Kenny, waggling his eyebrows. "I know my sexiness was just overwhelming."
"I hate you both," muttered Stan, putting away his lunch.
"Where are you going?"
"To tell your D-cup cheerleader you smoke."
"Stan!" Kenny called after him. "No!"