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It’s a regular Wednesday at South Park High. The smell of Salisbury steak mingles with testosterone-infused sweat and floral top notes of hairspray and perfume. Kyle watches the movements of colorful jackets, denim, and skin from his corner seat. They all look happy enough, he thinks. The other freshmen and older kids all eat and talk with energy as if their worries were pulled out by an invisible hand guarding the classroom doors, letting them walk out of it unscathed and ready for adolescence.
Yes, they are happy. Unlike him, with his mashed potatoes getting cold and a red F burning a hole through his English lit assignment. It’s not his first academic failure, but it will be the first one his mother will know of.
His eyes are getting more tired by the second, making the human zoo around him blurry, more bearable. Images of his mother’s face flood his mind and he swears that the indignant “WHAT WHAT WHAT?!” is loud enough inside his head that everyone else can hear it too. Maybe it’s true, judging by the way that his three friends sitting at the same table start talking at him.
“Jesus, if I got this upset over an F…”
“Uh, dude, you okay?”
“ Mf mmph mpfh mmn…”
“It’s not that big of a deal, I’m sure you can bump up the grade.”
“Yeah, just use your Jew powers of charm and deception to get back in Ms. Teets’s good graces.”
“ Mpnph!”
Kyle simply pokes the cold meat and green beans with his fork, too tired to respond or get mad at Cartman’s comments. He has been tired a lot lately, and thinking about it getting only harder from here makes him want to die. Maybe he needs to focus fully on basketball and ignore everything else, get a scholarship to play college ball, get into NBA, get super fucking rich and rub it into his parents’ faces. Sounds like a plan. Like a totally doable, realistic plan for a diabetic Jewish nerd from Colorado.
The other boys at the table chatter a bit more, mostly about him. Kyle is about to leave and smoke behind the dumpsters when Cartman reaches out to tug at his sleeve with an inquisitive look on his face. Kyle sighs and watches the fat boy reach into his backpack to procure a sharpie - he doesn’t get where that’s going until Eric starts scribbling on his hand, a sliver of pink tongue peeking out between his lips in concentration. He really can be so stupid sometimes that it makes Kyle want to choke him out.
“Ooh Kyle, mi amor, que pasa?” Cartman says in a bad impression of J-Lo’s voice. The hand with drawn-on eyes and full lips sways in front on Kyle’s face, and it seems that ‘Jennifer’ got an upgrade from years ago - her eyes are more realistic, the curved brows and shiny pupils adding expression to the cartoony face. Fatass did draw quite well, not that Kyle would admit it in regard to this.
“Got work done?” he mutters, still angry with himself but not wanting to be a complete asshole and ignore his most annoying friend. The wannabe ventriloquist pretends to gasp.
“Qué?? This is all natural!”
“Cartman, come on...”
“Oh what, you don’t like me? Don’t want some of my taco-flavored kisses?”
They had tacos yesterday for lunch and for some reason Kyle isn’t disgusted hearing this, or by the exaggerated accent and the kissy sounds. It’s just too silly. He feels a smile threatening to make its way onto his poker face but fights it, holding on to the resentment from before. It’s unrelated to Eric, for once, but he can’t deny himself a certain level of pride in being this upset.
“I’ve told you before, I refuse to communicate with this thing, Cartman.”
The other boy’s face falls subtly, making Kyle regret his attitude immediately. Usually, Cartman would fight back right away and try to get deeper under Kyle’s skin, but for some reason he’s quiet now, as if contemplating his next move. His hand moves away a bit, and before J-Lo can retreat back into the depths of Eric’s imagination, Kyle grabs the discarded sharpie and starts scribbling poorly on his own hand.
“…But I know someone else who will.”
Guilt is a powerful thing, making him do stupid shit like this. He is so bad at it, but there are two eyes, a crooked nose, and some kind of beard on his pointer finger and thumb instead of botoxed lips. Kind of macho. In a sudden bout of inspiration he takes a thin bean pod from his plate and sticks it into the puppet’s mouth. A cigarette, or maybe a hay-straw.
“Howdy there, miss.”
A blush of embarrassment creeps up his chest. Kyle stares at the distance between his and Eric’s hands, anticipating some sort of ridicule from the guys. When it doesn’t come, his brain fires another banger on autopilot.
“Come ‘ere often?”
The accent is supposed to be Texan, or something like that, but he ends up sounding like Jimbo.
Cartman loves it though. Kyle knows this because as soon as he looks up to gauge the vibe, he is met with an expression of such pure delight on Eric’s face that it makes his heart skip a beat. He isn’t used to Cartman looking happy. Neither to himself, honestly. But it feels good.
“Dude…” Stan shares a look with Kenny, who only giggles and stands up, motioning for Stan to do the same.
“ Mhgmph mn mfphf nph mnf.”
“Uh, okay, see you at PE, guys.”
“Sí, sí, see you soon mis amigos.” J-Lo nods in a gesture of goodbye and watches Stan and Kenny maneuver between bags and benches. When Eric’s attention is back on Kyle, his eyes still have a glint of that excited delight. “Well, well, well… And who might this handsome señor be?”
“Um… Clint. Clint… Thundergun.”
“Encantada, señor Thundergun…”
Kyle is smiling now, unsure why Cartman's antics today feel different, but appreciating it anyway.
===
Their next class is, ironically, Spanish. That's one of the few classes where Cartman pays attention, mostly to show off his linguistic skills and sneak in random jokes that no one besides the teacher gets. Kyle has always been secretly impressed with how easy it is for Eric to learn languages - he is fluent in German as well but has decided against taking it as a class due to the "bitch-ass grammar", and Kyle is somewhat grateful for that. Stan and Kenny share Biology, and not having anyone from their... broship near after the literature class he so loathes would be depressing.
"Now, when we want to talk about something that happened in the near past..."
Kyle is writing down notes, not wanting to flop in Ms. Ramirez' class too, but the sharpie marks on his hand are distracting. He tries to focus for approximately two more seconds and sneaks a glance at Cartman. Fatboy is checking his phone openly, switching from one app to another, boredom evident in his face and in the number of doodles in his notebook. Kyle strains his eyes to see what these doodles are, but Eric catches that and smirks, closing his notebook quickly. He puts his left hand up and starts mimicking the teacher with the smudged remnants of J-Lo's face, and Kyle has to cover his mouth not to laugh, watching Cartman's own animated expressions rather than the puppet.
"Eric!"
"¿Sí?"
"I know that you know this material already, but don't distract others during class."
The teacher's scolding is gentle. She has a soft spot for the boy, seeing how he keeps her entertained with pop-culture references from Latin American TV and music. She must miss home, Kyle thinks, being stuck in the snowy redneck town so far away from the sunny Mexico.
This makes him think about moving out in less than 4 years - sure, it's still a long time before graduation, but as soon as he became a high school student his life started to revolve around the future. Which classes will be the best college prep, how to get extra credit, how to make his resume stand out. Most of it was out of pressure from his parents because, honestly, Kyle just wants to be a teenager and have fun like everyone else seems to be doing. He feels the frustration come over him again, but it's interrupted by a question that he misses.
"Um, could you repeat the question, please?"
Ms. Ramirez sighs and repeats, "Which auxiliary verb do we use in this sentence?"
Kyle stares at the blackboard. Yo ______ leyendo ese libro en clase. Fuck. He knows that this kind of works the same way as in English, with auxiliary verbs and all, but he's blanking.
"Estoy..." He hears Cartman whisper, so that's what he says, hoping that Fatass is not fucking with him.
"Yes, very good, Kyle. Now, estar is only one of the verbs that we..."
Kyle looks at Cartman again, a bit surprised, but smiles and mouths a thank you. The other boy winks back and Kyle feels that foreign feeling again, like someone gave his heart a poke and then shook his stomach around a bit. Must be the Salisbury steak.
===
The rest of the day is chill, much to Kyle's relief. The boys play basketball during PE, which always improves Kyle's mood, especially when he steals the ball from Tolkien or Craig. He does it again - overtakes the ball from Tolkien and makes a clean three-point shot, reveling in his athletic rival's groans and his own team's cheers. For some reason, he wants to find Cartman in the crowd of classmates instead of running to high-five Stan, wants to see Cartman's reaction, and damn, he should have done this a long time ago.
Eric looks impressed, his eyes wide and mouth slightly open, but he turns away as soon as Kyle and him make eye contact. Kyle's chest swells with pride and a need to tease his friend, so when the game is over some minutes later, he jogs up to Cartman who is speed-walking back to the locker room.
"Hold up there, tubby." He stops Eric right before the gym entrance and blocks his way. "What did you think?"
Cartman feigns nonchalance despite shifting his weight from one foot to another.
"Think of what?"
"The game. That was impressive, right?"
"Yeah, I think Tolkien has really improved his dribbling recently. You know, I think even Clyde has shed some of that chub, maybe we can win against North Park this season. Stan could work on his cardio a bit more, though..."
"You know that's not what I mean."
"Pray tell, Kyle, what exactly do you mean then?"
For a moment Kyle hesitates, unsure of the next move. Cartman has been suspiciously nice to him today, but that has been happening more and more lately, in small ways and mostly when Kyle was upset about school or his family. Fatass still ripped on him like he was on the clock for it, but their mutual antagonism has lacked genuine hatred for a couple of years now. With Stan living on the farm and Kenny already hustling, Cartman and Kyle have been spending a lot of their free time together. Not like they had a choice, really. Kyle needed to know how far he can push it.
"I mean when I made that shot. I saw you looking, and you know, Cartman, I think you were impressed. Not so bad for Jew, huh?"
Kyle swears that his friend's face is getting red and enjoys having some kind of higher power over him.
"Fishing for compliments, really? Where's your pride, man." Eric tsk's, looking away.
"Just want you to admit it."
"Admit what, that you played basketball, the sport you have been practicing for years, well? That's kind of the expectation, Kyle."
His voice is getting rough in a way it does when Cartman is backed into a corner and is angry about it, giving Kyle hope of winning this one.
"Yu-p." He pops the 'p' and crosses his arms, looming over the shorter boy. "Say that you were impressed by me."
"You're such a freak." Cartman sighs and Kyle is afraid that he will shove him away and never be nice to him ever again, but instead he is met with a lopsided smile. "Alright. You weren't too bad. That was a nice shot."
"...Um."
He should've planned ahead. It's his turn to get red in the face and fidget, his brain and body clearly not cooperating.
"Thanks?"
This would be the logical conclusion to the interaction if Kyle were normal. Scratch that, if he were normal he wouldn't bother Eric about this or a hundred other things they always bickered about. Maybe he's crazy too, just sans the voices or whatever Cartman has going on.
"Qué chico tan loco... These teenagers are so strange, aren't they, señor Thundergun?"
J-Lo is back yet again, although faded and wobbly now, but Kyle is ridiculously relieved to see her...him...it... Feeling nauseous once more, he brings his marked hand up, trying his best to keep it steady in the air.
"They sure are, miss Lopez, they sure are." He thinks that the accent sounds somewhat better this time, which shouldn't add confidence, but it does. Eric almost breaks character and stifles a laugh.
"How about we get out of this shithole? I still have that Salisbury steak taste in my mouth and I need some Baja shrimp tacos and a margarita to wash it down!"
"Well, I ain't never had no margaritas in my life, miss. But I'd love to have a dinner with you."
"Oh, and is señor paying?"
"My mama raised me to be a gentleman, miss. Your tacos are on me."
"¡Que maravilloso! Gracias, mi amor." With that, Cartman brings his hand to Kyle's and presses J-Lo's smudged lips against Clint's mess of a beard. Kyle's breath hitches. "You're getting us tacos for real now, you know? Gentleman's word. Now go have a fucking shower, you stink."
Eric has that dopey smile on as he turns around to leave the gym, and Kyle needs a moment to process what has just happened, his heart being poked and stabbed again. He's not even mad about Eric's roundabout way of getting him to pay for dinner, or the fact that he is going to have dinner with the guy, alone, on a school night. Kyle forgets all about the F, or the future, or his mother.
He runs a hand through his messy curls and walks to the locker room, thinking that it's good to be a bit loco sometimes.
...
"Dude..."
"Told you."
"I don't get it."
"You don't have to, Stanley... Love is a wonderful and mysterious thing. Just let it be... Just let it be."