"Kenny, you are such an asshole," came the snarl as I approached the car. Hopping inside, I gave Kyle a strange look, "Good morning to you too," I replied slowly, carefully. He was in one of those moods, and I thought it would be for the best if he left him alone about it.

After a few minutes of shivering in silence, I finally gave up, "Why am I an asshole, Kyle?"

Kyle's eyes snapped around, and he almost bared his teeth, "I can't believe you'd do that to Bebe," he snarled.

I held a brief staring contest with him, but broke the look uncomfortably. "I just wasn't interested anymore," I murmured in my own defense. "And I was nice about it too," I added.

After Kyle gave a scoff at his first statement, I couldn't help but frown a bit, not wanting my ride mad at me. Walking home was a pain. "Why does it matter so much to you?"

Kyle's ears and face got all red and stuff, and drove without speaking. Stan had that mess of an old pick-up truck and Cartman could take the bus for all he cared, I guessed. But I guess he liked me better than Cartman (ha ha, obviously), because he did give me a ride to and from school.

"Would it help if I told you I was sorry?" I ventured, flashing him a grin. People just didn't say no to the McCormick smile.

It just was not done.

Kyle pursed his lips, then sighed, rolling his eyes, "I guess. Whatever, Ken," he muttered, and we didn't speak the rest of the ride to school. Pussy.

I decided to seek companionship with Cartman at lunch. I suppose it was a poor choice, but I stuck to it…for about five minutes.

"Hey, Kenny."

"Hi, Cartman."

"Try takin' that mangy hood off every once in a while and maybe the Jew would be able to talk to you."

"Nah, that's not it…"

"Sand in his vagina?"

I snorted, and he nodded wisely, "I don't see why you talk to him so much. He's just a dirty Jew."

I shifted uncomfortably, and shrugged, hoping he wouldn't get around to harassing me this time.

I knew he would.

After a couple more minutes, he began to sing, after I mentioned that I needed a ride home, "On a cold and grey Chicago mornin', a poor little baby's born, in the ghetto, and his momma cries, 'cause if there's one thing she don't need, it's another hungry mouth to feed-"

"Cartman, you are such an asshole."

"In the ghetto-oo."

"God damn it, Cartm-"

"Hehe, in the ghettoooo," he drawled out high-pitchedly.

"You stupid fat fuck," I said, hoping it would hit a nerve, and it did, I guess.

"AY! I'm gonna kick you STRAIGHT in the NUTS!"

I stood, and I headed for another table, still pissed off, though he hadn't threatened to kick anyone "square in the nuts" for almost a month.

I headed to Craig's gang, then turned back when his middle finger met Token's gaze. I'd better not.

Then I cast my eyes towards the outcast's table.

They were laughing, chatting, and appeared happy. I scratched my head through my hood; how had they not gotten friends through all these years?

I sighed and headed for that group, deciding for now that was where I belonged.

Even if it was with…Pip, Butters, Jimmy, Tweek, and that weird French kid.

I never could remember his nickname.

"Can I sit here?" I asked, feeling my face go hot suddenly, so I let out a sigh.

I wondered vaguely if they could even understand what I was saying.

Tweek jumped a bit, and scooted his chair to the side and grabbed at his shirt, "AH GOD! What! Don't sneak up on my like that! JESUS!"

I didn't bother looking at him while Butters and Pip looked at each other and Jimmy raised two thin and underused arms, grinning, "Tim-Timmy!" he said in his approval.

That was enough for me, and I sat down with them, and Butters began to speak, and it sounded louder than usual, so I guess he was looking me in the eye – or trying, because my eyes were on the table.

"Ah- uh- Kenny?" he said, obviously unsure if I was listening.

"Oh, yeah, Butters?"

"We-well, we were jus' wondering…if you'd like- like to take your hood off ta- ta eat…?"

I shifted uncomfortably, and sighed, "I can't afford to buy a lunch."

The French kid curled his lip slightly and pushed an apple toward me that he obviously wasn't going to eat.

I looked at it and hesitantly thanked him, not really trusting it.

Then was when I had to do it for the first time today, and I undid the thinned and fraying strings to loosen my hood, and then I let it drop. A few of the people at the table leaned forward a bit to look at me, I guess, because I heard a few chairs squeak under them at the shift.

So I spent lunch with the losers, and I took my hood down for a full period.

It felt uncomfortable and my ears got cold. I noticed my hair was getting long because the front was past my eyebrows and the dirty stuff was getting in my eyes so I kept touching it and scratching my forehead.

After the bell rang, I stood up awkwardly and waved at all of them, and Timmy was the only one that responded.

After school, I'd begun talking to Stan, who was a bit busy bitching about Wendy and – brace yourself – Cartman dating. He just kept going and going, and I could hardly understand him because his voice got all high when he was mad, and occasionally if would waver in pitch, so I'd nod at those points. I busied myself with messing with the string of my hood, and sighed in a low, drained sort of way.

Today had been lonely.

I hadn't died yet, so I guess that was something to be thankful for, so when we began home (with Kyle still pissed), and Stan's car got hit, I wasn't surprised that it was on my side, nor that I was successfully crushed, or even that Stan had acted all surprised, "Oh my God! You killed Kenny!" And across the intersection, Kyle poked his head out the window and screamed in reply, "You bastards!"

Assholes. Like it really mattered to them after almost sixteen years of this bullshit.

All Stan cared about was his car getting totaled and that blood stained clothes; and Kyle…well, I guess he cared about Bebe. I always kind of thought that Kyle, of all people, gave a damn.

Okay, so I had some thinking to do in Hell today.
I know I'm a McCormick, and I know I'm poor.
I know I'm trash, and I know that I'm a pervert.
I know no one wants their kids associating with me.
I'm okay with that too…I think.I can understand where they're coming from, but I still hate them.
Mom says hating people will send you straight to Hell.
I can't help but laugh.