Chapter Text
Staying in the same town for years was mind-numbing enough, but going to school with the same people since Kindergarten sometimes made Kyle want to go crazy. In elementary school, it seemed like a good thing; everyone going to the same school forever made it impossible to drift away from one another. However, things would always find a way to change, even in a small, stagnant town.
Kyle drove himself to school every morning and always arrived before 7:45 AM. The school start time was 8:20, but Kyle had responsibilities. He parked his car in the lot, grateful to be one of the few with a parking pass, and went in through the side door. The front door stayed locked until 8:00, but the side door never closed, and no one had bothered to fix it. Occasionally, Kyle worried that someone would go in through the side door to try and hurt the students, but when he brought it to the attention of the school’s administration, they simply said they didn’t have the funding for a “frivolous expense.” Kyle didn’t think safety was frivolous, but he knew that the chances of something like that happening were near zero. It was much more likely a student would come into the school at night and vandalize the place.
Kyle opened the door and walked inside, wondering if today was the day he’d encounter a trashed school and spray-painted graffiti, but the school remained unchanged since Friday; the halls were just as eerie as always, filled with bright lights and grimy floors. Kyle scrunched up his nose and walked to his locker, taking in a deep breath as he took out his textbooks. In the mornings, Kyle often felt as though taking so many Advanced Placement classes was a terrible choice. Hauling his heavy AP Chemistry and AP Psychology textbooks never failed to increase his stress. They were a physical reminder of the importance of the classes, and Kyle had to carry them into his first period.
He dropped his backpack off and went to his old history classroom, from when he took American History in the tenth grade. The teacher of the class was the proctor for the school’s student government—though the teacher never attended student government meetings, and Kyle wrote the agenda every morning. He uncapped a marker and tried to use it on the whiteboard, feeling exceptionally angry when the marker was too dry to make clear lines.
“Just throw it away if it’s dry,” Kyle mumbled, then felt promptly embarrassed at his anger. He threw the marker into a trash can on the other side of the room, picked up another, and wrote the day’s agenda. Every Monday, the leaders of the student government met with the class representatives at lunch to discuss what they had to do that week. Usually, there wasn’t much to be done.
This week, though, restrictions on student-athletes were being enforced. Kyle smiled to himself as he put it on the agenda, writing upcoming fundraisers and events under it. At such a small school, it seemed like student-athletes got away with just about everything. They could fail, but they could still go to practice and games. Often, they even got their grades inflated at the end of the semester.
When Kyle was on their school’s Varsity Basketball team, he refused to act like that. He quit when he couldn’t keep his grades up, and it was deeply unfair that everyone else at the school got to have their cake and eat it too.
Kyle exhaled and left the room, checking his phone to see that it was already 8:00. Students would start coming in, and Kyle would have to deal with people talking. He didn’t like going to his first period early, mainly because it wasn’t a real class. South Park High School didn’t offer AP Calculus BC; they stopped offering it five years ago when the class sizes got too small and the pass rates too low. He begged his counselor to figure out a way for Kyle to take the course online, and now his first period was spent alone in an empty room while he gazed at a screen.
Instead, Kyle walked around, passing each corkboard around the school. He took down a poster that was somehow still up, even though it was advertising a fundraiser that took place three months ago. There was a committee in charge of decorating the school and putting posters on the corkboards, but they never did any work. What to expect, though, of a committee led by Eric Cartman? Kyle frowned when he saw another poster, this one for a dance that already happened in the winter, and started to take it off when he heard a voice behind him.
“Hey, man.” The voice was somewhat far away, but Kyle looked over his shoulder anyway. He saw Clyde, which made sense—the voice was absurdly whiney. Clyde was talking to Stan, of all people, looking at him with a kind smile on his face. Kyle watched as Clyde put his arm on Stan’s back before promptly walking away, wondering why in the world he turned to look in the first place. He shouldn’t have even been walking around the school; it wasn’t his job to do so, anyway.
Kyle went into his classroom and sunk into his seat, opening his laptop and taking out a notebook. He stared ahead, looking at the teacher’s desk and her comfortable chair. He always considered sitting in it but felt strangely guilty whenever he tried. Kyle shook his head and tried to clear his mind, thinking about how he had work to do. He opened up his coursework and took in deep breaths, focusing on his math.
Calculus AB was much easier, at first, but he found BC more enjoyable. Sometimes, it made him feel special—the idea that he was the only person at his school taking it. Mostly, he liked figuring out complex problems. He liked that there was a system and that even when there was no solution, it counted as an answer.
Kyle was ahead in the curriculum, but that didn’t mean that he could allow himself to slack off. He completed his work and immediately started prepping for his next class the moment he was done. AP Chemistry didn’t start for another twenty minutes, but he needed to review his homework. He frowned as he looked over his answers and compared them to the key; he got a question wrong. Kyle quickly erased the answer and replaced it, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t figure out what exactly he did wrong.
He took in a sharp breath when he heard the bell ring and packed up his stuff, slowly walking to Chemistry. It was only two doors away, but no matter how quickly he got there, Heidi was always outside the door before he was.
“Hi, Heidi.” Kyle smiled at her as she turned to look at him. Her lips were always glossy and she seemed unable to make any expression aside from a perfectly content smile.
“Kyle!” She showed her brilliant white teeth to him in the form of a bright grin, lightly touching his shoulder as she spoke. “How was your weekend?”
“It was okay,” Kyle said. He always hated when people asked that question because he tended to do very little over the weekends. Kyle would volunteer, would study, and would often attend debate tournaments—but none of that was even remotely interesting. “I helped Ike with some stuff and we went down to Denver. I volunteered for the Denver Rescue Mission, too. How was yours?”
“That’s so cool!” Heidi said, moving to start to walk into class. They always sat down and took out their notebooks before the bell rang. “You always manage to do so much stuff. I’m kinda jealous. And mine was good, yeah. I hung out with Wendy and Red on Saturday; we went to this super good Italian place that just opened a month ago.”
“Oh, with Red? I didn’t know you two were friends?” Though, it seemed as though Kyle was never noticing who was friends with whom. Since when did Stan and Clyde talk? Heidi shrugged in response and said:
“She’s more Wendy’s friend, but I like her.” Heidi paused for a moment and started rummaging through her bag until she found her pencil case, placing it carefully on her desk before she continued. “I think I like how direct she is. It’s really refreshing.”
“She’s definitely honest,” Kyle said, and his tone sounded strangely judgmental. He didn’t intend to sound that way; he admired Red and thought she was one of the few people at their school who did any amount of work. Heidi just nodded in response, looking ahead as the teacher set up her computer. The bell rang and the lecture began, but Kyle was still tripped up over his homework.
While the teacher went around to collect their homework papers, Kyle turned to Heidi and whispered, “Did you understand question five?” Heidi nodded her head, so Kyle continued, “Can you explain it to me?”
“Yeah,” Heidi said, giving him a small smile. “Later.” But class came and went over the course of an hour, and Heidi didn’t say a word. Maybe she meant later as in after school, but the two of them didn’t talk outside of school. Heidi waved goodbye to him and left the classroom first, and Kyle was left with nothing but the sight of her brown hair bobbing in her ponytail.
Kyle stood up and left soon after, walking to his AP Literature class. The first part of his day was so busy he often felt as though he was going to go crazy, but at least Wendy was in this class. She didn’t wait for him outside the door the way Heidi did, but she always looked up from her book when he walked by.
Today, she was reading Wuthering Heights and bookmarked her page when she heard Kyle sit down next to her. Wendy smiled at him and said, “Did you see they’re tightening up on academic standards for athletes? It’s taken them way too long.” Kyle appreciated this about Wendy: how she never bothered to speak useless small talk with him.
“Yeah, fucking finally,” Kyle agreed, opening his backpack and pulling out a copy of A Street Car Named Desire. They started reading it out loud in class just a few days ago, and Kyle found the story too tragic and disturbing for his tastes. Wendy already had her copy out, still in pristine condition, and Kyle admired how she could read the books they had to for class while still reading classics for fun. “When I was on the basketball team, half the players were failing at least two classes. It was crazy, I swear. They weren’t even dumb, they just knew they didn’t have to do anything.”
“Yeah, well,” Wendy said, opening her book. “What can you expect? No one cares, not anymore.” Kyle didn’t know what to say, but he did agree with Wendy, so he just gave her a slight nod that she couldn’t even see. They continued reading the play that day, and Wendy and Kyle always volunteered to read parts. Wendy was Stella, a mild woman who deeply loved her husband, while Kyle was Blanche, Stella’s older sister who was deeply despised by Stella’s husband.
Kyle’s third period went by quickly, and they were almost done with the play by the time class was over—it was incredibly short, after all. Kyle and Wendy went to the same place on Monday: the student council room. They were always the first ones there, and Wendy looked over Kyle’s agenda before picking up a marker. She wrote an arrow under the fundraisers, following it up with: “Honoring death in the community?”
“Why’d you write that?” Kyle asked, and Wendy just looked at him in confusion. He opened his mouth to ask again, but the door opened and Red came into the room, moving to lounge in the teacher’s chair.
“I really don’t wanna deal with the class reps whining,” Red said, a scowl on her face. She took out her computer and opened the notetaking document for today’s meeting.
Wendy laughed at Red’s words, pulling a chair up next to her while she said, “It’s not all that bad. Bebe’s funny.”
“You’re biased,” Kyle said, continuing to stand at the front of the room.
“Nah, she’s right.” Red twisted around in the teacher’s chair, her computer on her lap as she spun. “Bebe is fucking hilarious and you just don’t get it.”
“I think the only time she ever really spoke to me was to talk about my ass,” Kyle complained, watching the door as Butters opened it. He walked in, with Cartman and Tolkien shortly behind him.
“Uh, I didn’t know if I was supposed to work on the agenda,” Butters said, sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs connected to the desks. “So, I just added all the, uh, financial information relevant. Just in case.” Being treasurer was a thankless position in a school with such little funding, so no one ran for it. Kyle thought Butters would say yes if he asked him to take the job, and he did; Butters was good at it, too.
“No one even reads the fucking agendas,” Cartman said, his voice as grating and annoying as it had always been. He sat on a desk, and as much as Kyle wanted to say he was worried the desk would collapse under Cartman’s weight, he had shaped up since elementary school. Not a lot, he was still big, but he was more muscular and bulky than anything. Cartman continued to whine as Tolkien walked up to Kyle, speaking to him in a soft voice when he asked:
“How are you doing?”
“I’m alright,” Kyle said, and Tolkien looked so concerned that Kyle was worried he was coming across as sad. He didn’t seem assured by Kyle’s words, so Kyle continued, “Seriously, I am. How are you?”
“I mean, I’m okay.” Tolkien shrugged and slinked off to sit on a desk. “I was just worried about you.” Kyle resolved to make himself look happier, just so that he wouldn’t have to deal with unwarranted concerns.
“Okay, everyone,” Kyle began, even though Bebe wasn’t here yet. She tended to be late more often than not. “So, sports changes. How are we going to enforce academic violations for student-athletes?”
“He sounds so faggy,” Cartman stage whispered to Tolkien, who didn’t do a thing in response. It annoyed Kyle that Cartman never stopped making the same jokes, but he occasionally found a strange sense of enjoyment in it. It was nice to know that some things would always stay the same.
“I can talk to all the coaches, make sure they’re aware that any athletes with two failing grades can’t attend practice. And those who retain Fs for over two weeks won’t be allowed to participate in any games or competitions,” Wendy said, and Kyle heard the clack-clack of Red’s computer as she took notes.
Tolkien nodded and thought for a moment before he spoke, telling everyone, “Yeah, but I don’t think coaches would want to enforce it. They need their players, you know? The athletic director should check up on their practices weekly, and we need to keep tabs on their attendance, as well.” Kyle always liked Tolkien, but it was particularly thoughtful of him to care about the rules even though he was on the volleyball team.
“Yes,” Kyle agreed, smiling at Tolkien. “Athletes also can’t attend games if they haven’t gone to school that day. I don’t know how to enforce it, though. Should we make someone attend every game?”
“No, that’s ridiculous,” Red said, rolling her eyes. “We can just check after and punish them.” Kyle wanted to ask how they would check before coming up with a million answers to his own question. He appreciated Red’s honesty, but he wouldn’t mind a little curtesy in her delivery.
“Bad news for the football team,” Cartman said, his voice ripe with laughter. “Stan might never be able to play again!”
“I don’t know if this is the right time,” Wendy said, shaking her head at Cartman. “Sorry, Kyle.” Kyle glanced at Wendy for a moment, annoyed that she apologized to him. Stan had absolutely nothing to do with Kyle.
“Yeah, man,” Tolkien said, crossing his arms.
“Okay, well,” Kyle began, looking back to the agenda. “There’s a fundraiser for the cheerleading team this Friday, but I still don’t have any of the details.”
“I can tell you,” Bebe said as she walked through the door, finally gracing everyone with her presence. “We want a team trip!”
“Bebe, that tells me nothing.”
“It’s a bake sale,” she said, pulling up a chair next to Wendy. “Wendy and I are baking, duh. It’ll be in the gym after school.”
“Maybe next time, fill out the event form?” Kyle asked, looking at both Bebe and Wendy. Bebe ignored his glance while Wendy just smiled.
“Sure, Kyle,” Wendy said. “Next time, I’ll just fill it out myself instead of asking Bebe to do it.”
“You literally never asked me to do it.” Bebe turned to face Wendy and started fake punching her while Red laughed under her breath.
“God, women,” Cartman mumbled before raising his voice. “Is that it? Can I leave?”
“Well, not really,” Wendy started before she looked at the clock; there were only three minutes left until lunch was over. “Ah, never mind. We can talk about it next week, I guess.”
“Cool,” Cartman said, rushing to leave while Butters trailed behind him. Kyle had no idea what he was in a rush for, considering how little Cartman actually did in class. Though, maybe Kyle was giving him too little credit---Cartman was an exceptional cheater, after all.
Bebe left after him, pushing her chair back in and waving to Wendy and Red before she left. Tolkien patted Kyle on the shoulder before he left, while Red departed without a word.
“Ready for AP Psych?” Kyle asked, and Wendy groaned. She put her chair back and walked out with Kyle, shaking her head before she spoke.
“I have no idea why I decided to take it.” Wendy stopped at her locker to take out her textbook and grimaced at its weight. “Way too much memorization.”
“At least it’s easy.”
“Of course, you’d say that.” Wendy rolled her eyes as she put her textbook away. They continued to walk towards the class, which Kyle was strangely dreading. “Why are you even taking it?”
“It looked good on my application,” Kyle said, stopping in front of the door and opening it for Wendy. She gave him a mocking smile and walked in as he continued to speak. “Columbia saw all my courses and was like, oh my god, let’s accept this guy. He sounds super smart and reliable. And, who knows? Maybe with all my credits, I’ll end up graduating early.”
“God, I hope not,” Wendy teased. “You don’t need another reason to feel superior to everyone, Mr. Student Body President.” Kyle laughed, but he knew that if Wendy ran against him for president, she would have certainly one. She wanted to be the vice president because the role was more sociable, while the president was stuck reading emails and writing agendas.
Their AP Psychology teacher insisted on having a seating chart, which Kyle didn’t particularly mind. He couldn’t talk much in class, anyway. His seat partner was David, who Kyle often found funny and interesting. David was intelligent and never wanted to cheat off of Kyle—a trait that Kyle would always appreciate.
Today, the lecture seemed to pass by quicker than usual. Kyle tried to take notes, and he did have some done, but his thoughts would constantly escape him. He knew that Stan had poor attendance, but he didn’t think it was worse than any senior sick of school. Was he so determined to sabotage his future that he would just stop going to class, even if it meant he couldn’t play a sport he loved?
Kyle shook his head and willed himself to focus, but before he knew it, the bell rang and all he thought about the entire class was Stan. Kyle waved goodbye to Wendy when he exited the room and went to his next class, but even in his elective, he was distracted.
Kyle loved his elective, mainly because it was his only easy class, but also because he loved photography. It was one of the few mediums of art he could grasp, and the teacher was kind to him. Today, Kyle took his camera and wandered to the fields around the school. He took a picture of the dreary spring sky and thought maybe if Stan was the center of the photo, everything would seem so much brighter; but Stan wasn’t there, and he would never be the subject of any of Kyle’s photos. There was no use thinking of him so fondly, not while he still avoided Kyle.
When Kyle left the school, he felt far too exhausted for anything. Mondays were the only weekday where he didn’t have afterschool commitments, and he was particularly grateful for it today. Kyle didn’t know what about the day left him feeling so drained, but as he walked to his car, he kept thinking about going home and napping. Of course, he couldn’t just nap; he had work to do. Kyle had another scholarship application to fill out, an essay due at the end of the week, and—
Kenny was there, leaning against Kyle’s car. It seemed like he noticed Kyle far before Kyle noticed him because he was already waving, a large grin on his face. His dirty blond hair seemed to shine despite the foggy weather.
“Kyle!” he called out, and Kyle could only sigh. “Can you drive me home?” Kyle waited until he was closer to respond, even though he had never once said no to Kenny.
“Yeah, sure,” Kyle said, opening the door to the driver’s seat. Kenny crawled into the passenger’s seat and immediately tried to connect his phone to Kyle’s car. “Dude, no. I’m playing my music.”
“Ugh,” Kenny said, leaning back in his seat. “Fine, play your stupid playlist.”
“Not my playlist. I’m feeling classical today.” Kyle looked at Kenny and exhaled when he saw him unbuckled. “Seatbelt, please.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Kenny buckled his seatbelt before turning to look at Kyle, cringing when the soft piano and violin duet came out of the speakers. “Does this relax you?”
“Yes.” Kenny’s house was farther than Kyle’s, so it was always an inconvenience to drive him. Still, Kyle often felt as though he owed Kenny something. The bus didn’t run well, and he didn’t want to make Kenny ask someone else for a ride. Everyone at their school was terrible at driving, anyway.
“How was your day?” Kenny asked, mindlessly picking at his fingernails.
“Fine,” Kyle said, already sick of answering questions like that. “Yours?”
“Fine? Tell me more.”
“Nothing more to say, really. I mean, I liked reading the play in Lit.”
“Oh, I love it!” Kenny said, and Kyle forgot that Kenny was in a different AP Literature period. He always liked reading fiction, so it didn’t come as a shock. “It’s sad, though. I read it all the night we got it, and the end made me think for a few hours.”
“Really?” Kyle hadn’t finished it yet; he much preferred reading the play out with others.
“Yeah, it’s just really good. My day was fine, too. Craig read in my Lit class, though, and his voice started to grate on me.”
“Craig’s in Lit? I thought he wanted to be an astronaut or some shit?” Kenny laughed, a belly laugh that was far too loud considering the occasion.
“I mean, yeah, when we were like ten. I have no idea what that guy wants to do now.”
“Aren’t you his friend?” Kyle asked, even though he never really thought Kenny and Craig were friends. Kenny just seemed to get along with everyone and always knew the important details about people.
“Kinda, yeah,” Kenny said, looking around Kyle’s car. Kyle felt somewhat uncomfortable, though he knew Kenny had seen his car dozens of times before. Today it wasn’t as clean as usual, and he wished Kenny would give him a heads-up whenever he needed a ride. “Do you know what Wendy wants to do?”
“Research, maybe.” Wendy changed her mind a lot. She wanted to be a doctor, an activist, and an actress all in one semester; but she mainly talked about going into academia. Wendy always loved reading, and she would make a particularly excellent professor.
“Oh, I could see that. What about Tolkien?”
“Dude, I have no idea. I don’t think I even talk to him.”
“You do,” Kenny insisted. “And he’s always talking about you, too.”
“I think I’d know if Tolkien and I were such good friends.”
“Yeah, whatever. What about you?”
“What?”
“What do you wanna do?” Kyle could think of so many answers. He was like Wendy in the sense that he wanted to do so much, and wanted to learn so many things, but he was also tired. The idea of doing something absurdly difficult, like medicine, made him squirm. He could always go into law, but then it would be another four years of stressing about grades and getting into graduate school.
“I’m…. unsure,” Kyle said. “What do you think I’d be good at?”
“Pretty much anything, dude,” Kenny assured, looking out the window. They were almost at Kenny’s house, but he didn’t look particularly excited to go home. “You have reality in the palm of your hand.”
“That’s kind of dramatic.”
“Nah,” Kenny said, exhaling as Kyle pulled over. Seeing Kenny’s house always made Kyle feel somewhat depressed yet also nostalgic. He remembered when he didn’t want to go over to Kenny’s just because his house had the better games, and all the simpler times surrounding that. “Thanks for the ride! See you!” Kyle stayed until he watched Kenny walk in before finally starting to drive home.
Maybe he could just take an hour to himself before starting on all his work. It was only 3:00 PM, after all, so he had plenty of time. His classical music filled the background as he drove, feeling a sense of calm wash over him. It would be so perfect if every moment was like this one.
Kyle pulled into his driveway and walked inside, already talking as he came in.
“Hey, Mom,” he started, taking his shoes off and putting them in the shoe rack. “Do you think we could provide—”
Stan. Stan was in Kyle’s living room. He looked unkempt with his baggy jeans and loose black T-shirt, but his hair was perfect. He wasn’t wearing a hat, yet Kyle could tell he had one on earlier in the day; Stan’s hair was messed up in a way that could only look good on him. His posture was casual, with one leg crossed over the other and his arm slung over the couch, but his eyes were wide; and God, had it been forever since Kyle had looked into his eyes. They were so blue, like the sapphire seas bordering islands, but they were rimmed with bright red pain.
“Okay,” Kyle began, peeling his eyes off of Stan. He looked to his mom who was sitting next to Stan and tried to communicate with her through his eyes. Sadly, she didn’t get it and just looked at him. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, Bubbeh,” Sheila said, nodding as she spoke. “Your friend will just be staying with us for a little while, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Kyle had so many things he wanted to say: Stan wasn’t his friend, they hadn’t talked since the seventh grade; his mom couldn’t just let Stan stay without asking Kyle; but most of all, he wanted to ask if Stan was okay because he was clearly crying. It hurt Kyle in a deeply profound way, to look into Stan’s eyes and not see his fire, to only see the fact that he was in pain. “Can I ask why?”
“Well, it’s a complicated situation. I was just talking to Stanley here, and I do think this is for the best and—”
“No, but why?”
“Kyle, don’t interrupt me!”
“I just want to know why!” Kyle said, allowing himself to raise his voice. No matter how old he got, his heart never stopped racing whenever he argued with his mother.
“Do you have no sensitivity?” Shelia chastised, but Kyle had no idea what in the world he had to be sensitive about.
“Why can’t you just tell me?”
“Look, Kyle—”
“No!” Kyle said, turning to look at Stan. “Can you tell me?” And Kyle waited, he waited for what felt like an hour. Far too much time to be spent looking at the man who was once his childhood best friend, who was once kind and brave. Now, he seemed to have nothing except for redness all over. Redness in his eyes, redness in his cheeks, and redness pouring down from his bottom lip as he started to gnaw on it.
Kyle turned his back on the both of them and walked outside, ignoring his mother’s shouts behind him. He shut the door behind him and almost considered collapsing near the door, but he had to get away. He didn’t want to see his mom’s face, but he especially did not want to see Stan’s. Kyle had, essentially, just thrown a fit and walked away, and he didn’t want to see Stan’s judgment at Kyle’s blatant immaturity.
Kyle walked and walked along the street, marveling at just how tiny the town was. Of course, Kyle was well aware of how small South Park was; he often felt claustrophobic just living there. Still, sometimes he wondered why he even had a car. Everything was so walkable, though it was always freezing.
The greenery was starting to come back, but Kyle almost wished for the barren trees of winter. He liked the way they looked, naked and covered in snow whilst the pine trees stayed green and beautiful. He walked and didn’t even pull out his phone, just staring at everything near him until he was finally somewhere.
Tweek Bros. Coffeehouse was one of the shittiest places in town, and although Tweak Tweek was cool, his parents creeped Kyle out. The exterior was incredibly ugly, with bold red lettering on top of a sad, brown building. At least it was full of windows, so Kyle could see that Tweak was the one working the counter. Thank God, though he always seemed to be the one working the counter; occasionally, Kyle thought that the Tweeks’ had a kid just to force him to work for them.
Kyle opened the door to the coffee shop and walked in, already hearing Tweek’s voice:
“Gah!” Kyle gave Tweek a small wave, and he twitched in response. How lovely. Their menu wasn’t very diverse, and Kyle didn’t like coffee all that much. He looked over it once, twice, but saw no tea on the menu.
“Could I get your, uh,” Kyle stuttered, reading all the different names of blends. Of course, they couldn’t just be normal and have names like mochas or cappuccinos. “The night owl blend? Is that good?”
“It’s, ugh, okay,” Tweek said, his body shivering so violently that Kyle wondered if it was painful. “I like the early bird special.”
“How much caffeine is in that one?”
“Enough to, uh, keep you up for a few hours.”
“Yeah, no thanks then,” Kyle said, taking out his card. “Could I just get a small?” Tweek aggressively nodded and pointed to the tablet instead of telling Kyle the price. Two dollars plus a tip was a good price, so Kyle tipped a dollar and paid. He lingered near the register, thinking about when he was friends with Tweek. It was so easy to just know people, then.
“Tweek,” Kyle said, looking at the twitching man in front of him. He seemed better than he was in elementary school, at the very least. “How have you been?”
“Uh!” Tweek looked incredibly startled and his eyes darted around the store. He even looked over his shoulder, as though there was some presence behind him. “The same, I think! Argh, I don’t know!” Kyle nodded, watching as Tweek turned to start making the coffee.
“Dude, I get it.” Kyle had no idea how he was normally, but he especially didn’t know now.
“No offense, man,” Tweek said, his hands somehow steady as he worked the coffee machine. “But, uh, I don’t know if you really get it.”
“Probably not.” Kyle didn’t completely get why Tweek was the way he was, but every time he talked, Kyle felt like he understood him. Often, Kyle wanted to freak the fuck out and say he had no idea whenever someone asked him how he was; but he didn’t. “Hey, do you know what college you’re going to?”
“Colorado College.” Colorado College was excellent, a liberal arts school with a relatively low admissions rate. Tweek’s voice was firm and still, and Kyle was awed by the confidence in his tone. He finished making Kyle’s coffee and put a lid on it, handing it to him.
“That’s a really good school, dude. Congrats.” Tweek nodded at Kyle, and his chapped lips formed into a bright smile. Kyle smiled back, grabbed his coffee, and found himself genuinely thankful he walked into the coffee shop. He left without a word, but it was nice to talk with Tweek, though it was brief.
Kyle may have known everyone since elementary school, but he didn’t entirely know them—not in the deep, honest way he knew some people. He knew everything there was to know about Kenny, even if they didn’t talk for a month. Kyle could tell from a mile away what Kenny was feeling, whether Kenny had a hoodie covering his face or a smile covering his expression. He knew Cartman, and how he lashed out for any sort of attention. Kyle remembered Cartman’s rare candid moments: when he asked them to come over while he was living in a hot dog, when he first began dating Heidi, and when he always tried to make Valentine’s Day perfect.
More than anyone, however, Kyle knew Stan. He knew Stan’s hopes and would always remember his kindness. He was always the one to care for animals, always the empathetic one who seemed sensitive; but he wasn’t sensitive, not really. Kyle was the sensitive one, always lashing out in anger, and Stan was the buffer. He was the nice one, the one who understood Kyle and made him palatable to the general public.
Still, Kyle was unsure if he wanted to see Stan. He quickly found himself back in front of his house, standing at the front door and wondering how in the world he was going to talk to anyone. He was simultaneously embarrassed and righteous over how he stormed off, and he didn’t know whether he should apologize or stand his ground. Nonetheless, Kyle opened the door and discovered that Shelia was nowhere to be found.
Stan was still on the couch, in the exact same spot he was in when Kyle left. His eyes still looked red, but they were different. It seemed like the sort of redness one got after rubbing their eyes far too much. Kyle didn’t know what to say, but he knew Stan wasn’t going to say anything; he was just sitting there, arms crossed, gazing into Kyle as though he was something strange. Kyle felt the warmth of the coffee cup cascade through his body and threw it away—he really hated the taste.
“Hey, dude,’ Kyle said, walking towards him. He felt as though he was talking to a timid cat that he didn’t want to scare away. “What’s up?” Stan didn’t say anything, which was fair, Kyle didn’t like responding to that question either. Kyle sat down on the couch, leaving a bit of distance between the two of them before he continued, “I didn’t see you at school today. Or, ever. What classes do you take?”
“I don’t know,” Stan said, his voice rough and low. “My elective is Music.”
“Oh, really? I take Photography. I kind of admire people who can do things like write music or paint. Photography is simpler for me, you know? You just capture the beautiful thing instead of making it.” Stan nodded, and Kyle frowned. Stan wasn’t being rude, necessarily, but Kyle didn’t understand why Stan would stay at his house if he didn’t even want to speak to him. Kyle fidgeted for a few seconds, but he couldn’t help himself from speaking again. “I didn’t know our school even offered music, honestly. For seniors, that is. I thought we could only take AP Music Theory.”
“That’s what I take.”
“Stan! That’s crazy! I’ve heard it’s really hard. I mean, I considered taking it so I could still get my art credits and keep a rigorous schedule but—”
“Kyle,” Stan interrupted, and his voice broke on the last note of Kyle’s name. His eyes were so wide that Kyle thought he could swim in their endless horizon. “Why are you talking to me?”
Kyle opened his mouth, ready to answer, but he didn’t have a good reason. He could tell Stan that he wanted to talk to him because he knew him, but that thought suddenly seemed silly. He didn’t know Stan; he didn’t even know what classes he was taking.
Still, he at least knew Stan better than he knew Heidi and Wendy and Tweek and Kenny and anyone else at the school. Maybe he didn’t know his life now, or what in the world was bothering him, yet he knew something deeper. Kyle had no idea how Stan would react if Kyle told him that; if he reacted with disgust, it would likely crush Kyle into a million glass pieces.
Kyle sat on the couch for far longer than he should have, especially considering how much work he had to do; but Stan sat there, too. He couldn’t delude himself into believing that their silence was companionable, but it was nonetheless enjoyable. Kyle had, somehow, forgotten the pleasure of sitting and simply being with someone.
Eventually, he did leave, but only when the sun had set and Kyle started to get reckless. He walked up to his room without saying anything to Stan, but he watched him out of the corner of his eye. As Kyle walked up the stairs and into his room, Stan started to relax more and more. It hurt Kyle, somewhat, but he had more important things to focus on.
He could delay work on his scholarship application and essay, but his math and science homework had to get done. Kyle considered texting Heidi and asking her about AP Chemistry but felt silly when he pulled out his phone. He could figure it out on his own; he always did.
It took him over an hour, but Kyle finished. He put his worksheets into his bag and showered while he wondered where Stan was going to shower and where he was going to sleep. They didn’t have a guest bedroom, and Stan wouldn’t be able to share a room with anyone. Unless his mom made them share a room, a thought Kyle didn’t know his feelings on.
Kyle crawled into bed and dreamed of childhood. His mind illustrated winter in third grade when Wendy would ice skate and Stan would vomit. He saw the four of them waiting at the same bus stop every day, hearing Cartman’s bullshit regularly; he saw their elementary school playground, specifically when Stan tried to beat up a Mormon kid and ended up befriending him. For most of the night, Kyle dreamed of Stan rescuing them from a cult and whispered promises of “super best friends.”
When Kyle woke up the next morning, he half expected Stan to be gone. He thought, for a moment, that a red-eyed, rough-voiced Stan was another vision from his dreams; but, when Kyle walked downstairs, he saw Stan. He was sitting at the table, right across from Ike, and stared at his phone while he scarfed down his breakfast. Kyle sat down next to Ike and ate a small serving of scrambled eggs, listening to Shelia ramble.
She wasn’t particularly a morning person, but she enjoyed talking. She wanted to know everyone’s plans for the day, wanted to know how everyone slept and specifically wanted to know all about Stan.
“Oh, make sure to eat your fill,” Shelia said, moving to pile more food onto Stan’s plate.
“Ah, no thanks,” he replied, looking up to give her a sheepish expression.
“I’ve got to make sure you stay healthy.”
“You’ve done plenty already,” Stan said, talking with a bite of toast in his mouth. It was gross, but it didn’t make Kyle want to stop looking at him. Kyle ate quickly and walked back upstairs, changing his clothes, gathering his books, and styling his hair.
He had always found his hair difficult to work with and had always preferred hair like Stan’s. Kyle’s hair was big and each curl had to be moisturized and gelled, but Stan’s hair complimented him. Kyle’s hair became matted and frizzy under the comfort of a hat, while Stan’s simply became delightfully messy.
Kyle opened the door to the bathroom and left, seeing his mother at the end of the hallway. He felt his heart pound from nerves and wondered if she was finally going to confront him for how he acted the night before. Instead, she opened her arms to him and hugged him so tightly that Kyle felt as though he couldn’t breathe.
“I didn’t mean to surprise you,” she told him, and Kyle was still stunned he wasn’t being lectured. “I just felt so bad for your poor friend, and I knew I had to do something.”
“But living with us?” Kyle questioned, as it made no sense to him. Stan wasn’t the next-door neighbor anymore, he lived on that far-off farm.
“He’s struggling, bubbalah.” The endearment always made Kyle feel embarrassed, but he was grateful it never changed. “I know it’s hard. I know he hasn’t been around recently, but you’re still friends, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” Kyle said, even though he knew they were certainly not friends. Even if he had fanciful thoughts about Stan, they weren’t close; not anymore. Shelia moved her hands to grasp Kyle’s face and lightly kissed his hair as Kyle struggled to escape her grasp. She let out a deep laugh at his efforts before hugging him once again and going to her and Gerald’s room. Kyle walked back downstairs and saw Stan laying down on the couch, still staring at his phone.
“Hey man, do you need me to drive you?” Kyle asked, checking the time on his phone. He had to leave soon to get to school at 7:45 AM.
“Yeah, that’d be great.” Stan didn’t even look at Kyle when he spoke and made no effort to go.
“We have to leave soon.”
“Uh,” Stan said, mumbling as he typed something out on his phone. “No, we don’t. It’s so early.”
“I like to get there early,” Kyle explained, tapping his foot against his dark hardwood flooring. Stan groaned and finally started to sit up, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re so tired. I mean, you already got up to eat.”
“That’s different,” Stan said. “It’s right here, and it’s good. It’s easy to get up for. It’s hard to get up to go to the same shitty building I’ve been trapped in my whole life.” Kyle thought Stan was being way too dramatic, but he couldn’t disagree with his sentiment. The school often felt like a box filled with artificial yellow lighting, peeled paint, and antique memories.
“I’m gonna wait in my car. Meet me out in like, five minutes, please. At most!” Stan gave Kyle a very serious nod before giggling to himself, and Kyle thought that was the best agreement he’d get from Stan. He started heating his car and already couldn’t get his mind off of today’s work. He had a test in AP Calculus that he felt woefully unprepared for, even though he knew the material like the back of his hand. He led South Park High School’s Event Committee, which met after school on Tuesdays and he had to make sure he had full approval for the fundraiser on Friday. There was always so much—too much, and his mind was still buzzing with tasks when Stan opened the door and sat down.
Kyle immediately started driving and dared not to play anything. Stan stayed silent, as well, and Kyle couldn’t help but remember when the two of them couldn’t shut up to save their lives. If they were next to each other, they were talking. Even if they exhausted every possible topic, they’d figure something out.
The drive to school was short as always, and Stan didn’t even say “thank you” when he exited the car. Kyle sighed, closed his eyes, and tried to prepare himself for the day before he went inside. It barely helped.
“Are the doors even open this early?” Stan asked.
“No,” Kyle said, walking to the side door. “But the lock on this one doesn’t work, so I just go in through here.”
“Wow, and you didn’t tell someone it was broken?”
“I did. The school’s too poor to fix it.” Stan laughed, and Kyle opened the door. He dropped off his bag, like always, and went to the student government room as well. There wasn’t a meeting today, but he wrote on the whiteboard in big letters: “FILL OUT FORM BEFORE PLANNING EVENTS.”
“Jesus, man,” Stan said as Kyle wrote. “It’s that important?” Kyle didn’t know why Stan was talking to him all of a sudden, but it was nice to interact with him. He thought, briefly, that maybe this is what it would’ve been like if they stayed friends.
“Yeah. We need administration approval to hold events, and they get mad at me if I don’t have all the information in the form.” Kyle walked out of the room, and Stan followed behind him. He went into the school’s storeroom took out a recycling bin and walked into his AP Literature classroom, putting it down there.
“I saw there wasn’t a bin here, yesterday,” Kyle explained to Stan, frowning as he stared down at it. “I don’t know why not. I don’t think someone took it, ‘cause what would they even use it for? I needed to put one here, though. We use so much paper in this class.”
“Yeah.” Stan nodded, and his face scrunched up in thought. “Too much paper, honestly. I hate handwriting.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you took this class.”
“I’m in Kenny’s period.”
“Cool,” Kyle said. He started to walk to the room where he held his committee and wrote the agenda on the classroom’s whiteboard. He wrote about Friday’s fundraisers, prom preparations, and potential senior events.
“Do you have to write it?” Stan asked, squinting at the board. “Can’t you just say it when you get here?”
“It helps me stay organized,” Kyle said, trying to remember if he missed anything. “I can’t just come up here and start talking.”
“I don’t know, man. Sounds easier to me. Especially since you have to come so early just to write stuff down.”
“I don’t have to,” Kyle insisted. “I just want to. I like the routine and the quiet before class.” However, that quiet wouldn’t last much longer. Kyle had already started to hear footsteps in the school, and people were already crowding in.
When Kyle left the room and walked with Stan, he had the misfortune of encountering perhaps the most annoying person to deal with in the morning. Kyle had no idea how he dealt with it for years and end.
“Kyle and Stan!” Cartman exclaimed, a smile on his face. He had a talent for looking kind and innocent to the untrained eye. “Together once again! Why didn’t you tell me you two were fucking again, Kyle?” Kyle rolled his eyes and started to walk away, but Stan stayed still.
“Dude, really?” Stan said, looking at Cartman with a funny expression on his face. He looked both upset and amused. “You’re still like this?”
“And you’re still a queer,” Cartman replied, shrugging his shoulders.
“Whatever, dude,” Kyle said, looking at Stan and trying to get him to move away. Still, Stan stayed where he was.
“No, man. It’s not really whatever. It’s not like we’re little kids, you know? He can’t keep saying shit like this, and he can’t be fucking homophobic and get away with it.” Stan sounded like he was speaking to Kyle, but he looked at Cartman the whole time.
“I don’t know,” Kyle said, keeping his voice low. “It’s just Cartman, right? Can’t let him get you.” Stan shook his head and stepped forward towards Cartman. Kyle didn’t want to deal with a stupid argument, not this early, so he just walked away. He didn’t hear Stan follow, but only a few minutes later, Kyle heard Stan’s voice behind him.
“Are you and him friends?”
“Uh, no,” Kyle said, laughing to himself. “We only talk during our Student Government meetings.”
“And he’s just always saying shit like that?”
“Yeah, but it’s like, better than it was before? Still bad, still annoying, but less terrible.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Stan said, and Kyle turned to look at him. Stan looked entirely frustrated.
“Do you remember when we were younger,” Kyle began while he stared at Stan, noticing that he wore the same shirt as yesterday, “and you always told me to just ignore him? That any reaction he got would just make him act worse? Guess you’re the one who loses his cool now, who can’t ignore him.” To this, Stan seemed to explode with laughter. He laughed and laughed, and Kyle felt a childlike sense of embarrassment. He wanted to curl up and hide and wondered what he said that was so easy to mock. When Stan calmed down and looked at Kyle once again, he only started laughing more.
“What’s so funny?!” Kyle felt his face flushing red, wishing he could run away.
“Relax, man,” Stan said, laughter still prevalent in his voice.
“Ugh!” Kyle cried out, briskly walking to his first period. Stan thought he was stupid. He thought that Kyle was still a child, that he didn’t know anything. Of course, everything Kyle said was funny, just like how the proclamations of an over-ambitious eight-year-old are hilarious.
He slammed the door of the empty classroom and wondered how the fuck he was going to focus on a test right now. Kyle took out his computer and tried to take deep breaths before opening his test, but it barely helped. Every time he looked at a question and tried to think, his mind couldn’t help but wander.
Kyle wanted to flip his computer and scream and then felt ashamed for feeling so intensely. Stan was right and Kyle did need to relax, but he had no idea how. He wasn’t used to relaxing, he was used to spending every waking hour stressing about his academics; Stan ruined that. He made Kyle stress about their stupid relationship instead of the important things. Day one of Stan and Kyle interacting again, and everything had already gone to hell.
The timer on his test was running out, and each question was taking him so much longer than usual. By the time the timer had run out, Kyle had only answered fifteen out of the twenty questions. He didn’t even answer them well and was immensely unsure of his answers. Kyle stood up and aggressively shoved his computer into his bag when the bell rang, walking to AP Chemistry with a pit in his stomach.
“Heidi,” Kyle said, greeting her outside the door.
“Hi, Kyle!” Her hair was done in two braids and her cheeks were blushed; Kyle had no idea how Heidi could try so hard at school and still look so put together and happy. “Are you doing okay?”
“I think I failed my test,” Kyle admitted, leaning against the hallway. “I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me.”
“A lot is happening,” Heidi said, her voice soft and comforting. “I’m sure if you email your teacher and explain everything, they’ll let you make it up.”
“But what is happening?! Do you know, Heidi? Stan came to live with me and I have no idea why, and no one is explaining anything to me!”
“Kyle, please.” Heidi looked around, and Kyle realized just how loud he’d been. He mumbled an apology, but Heidi paid it no mind. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t like to gossip, but everyone’s been talking about Stan lately.”
“So, everyone knows what’s going on with him except for me?”
“I don’t know,” Heidi repeated, tightening her lips together. “Why are you even asking me?” She started to walk inside and Kyle followed, still with more words hanging off his lips.
“I don’t know who else to ask,” he whispered, sitting down next to her. “I feel like I don’t know anyone. Even my mom wouldn’t tell me what’s happening.”
“I’m sorry, Kyle, but I don’t know anything. I really don’t want to keep repeating myself, and I think you should calm down.” Heidi looked away from him and opened her notebook, effectively shutting him out. Kyle took in a deep breath and took out his notebook, aware that he wouldn’t be able to calm down. He tried to focus on his notes and the teacher’s lecture, but it was all irrelevant in his head. Kyle wanted to get out of this class and get away from Heidi telling him that he was being unreasonably angry. Maybe in AP Literature, Wendy would give him a direct answer.
Kyle had always thought the two of them retained some sort of friendship. They kept “dating” on and off into middle school before Stan left her—similar to how he left nearly everyone else. Without an explanation, Stan decided that he was too good for people like Kyle and Wendy and that he knew something they didn’t; but Kyle occasionally saw the two of them speak. Very rarely, he’d see the two of them in a hallway, talking and smiling like they knew everything about each other.
By the time the bell rang, Kyle had his bag packed and hurried to leave the classroom. He went into his next class and didn’t wait for Wendy to put down her book before he spoke.
“Wendy.” Kyle’s voice was sharp, and he cut his words. “What’s happening with Stan?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. Wendy bookmarked her page and placed Wuthering Heights down. Kyle sat down next to her and leaned back into his hard, plastic seat.
“Stan came to live with me,” Kyle said, picking at his fingernails. “He was just in my house, yesterday. I asked my mom why, and she wouldn’t explain it to me. And yesterday, everyone was acting so weird, asking how I was doing and if I was okay.”
“Oh.” Wendy looked as though she wanted to laugh. “You know, I think if you just outright asked anyone, they would’ve told you—”
“I did! I asked Heidi.”
“Don’t interrupt me,” Wendy said, giving Kyle a harsh look. “Of course, Heidi wouldn’t know, you idiot. She doesn’t talk about people like that. Stan’s mom died, Kyle.”
“What?” Wendy was certainly annoyed: she was tapping her fingers on the hard surface of her desk, but her face softened when she looked at Kyle’s expression; Kyle had no idea what sort of face he was making, but he knew that the shock was overwhelming him.
Kyle didn’t know a thing about Stan. That was undeniable, now. Everyone else knew Stan and knew his grief except for Kyle. God, Clyde knew, and he was likely trying to comfort Stan. Everyone was worried about Kyle because they, somehow, still thought he knew Stan; but he knew less than even his mom.
Wendy’s lips moved, and Kyle could assume she was saying something, but he couldn’t hear a word. The teacher asked for volunteers to read and Kyle mindlessly raised his hand, reading for the part of Blanche. He read his lines with a broken, soft voice, his mind empty as he spoke.
“Whoever you are—I have always depended on the kindness of strangers,” Kyle said, closing out his role in the play. He felt an emptiness that was so intense it felt like a gaping pit was inside of him, threatening to swallow him whole. As his entire being was being consumed, Kyle thought that this was what it was like to be a stranger to the only man he had ever wanted.