A/N: I'm supposed to be writing my novel for NaNo right about now, but this idea popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone. I know it is a bit short, but it is a prologue. There will be longer chapters, once the insanity known as National Novel Writing Month is over. Please tell me what you think, constructive criticism is welcomed and highly appreciated. Also, Lola is dressed in the kodona style, I thought it suited her personality.

With an old fashioned wooden palette balanced on one thumb and a paintbrush held like a pencil in the other, Lola dabbed thick gobs of oil paint onto the blank canvas, filling the negative space with layers of bright secondary colors. Lola stepped back and squinted, examining her painting with a critical eye. The still life was perfect-perfectly boring. Swirling the brush in a fluorescent yellow, she let her fingers take control, painting a jagged highlight on the edge of the apple that rested in the middle of a medley of fruit and random objects she had come across.

Her honey blonde hair fell past her shoulders in sweaty clumps, she half heartedly brushed it back with a paint stained hand. The room was beginning to grow darker, with streaks pink and orange; the shadows were longer. With a sigh, Lola pushed her painting against the wall. The acrid, stinging scent of turpentine filled the air as she soaked her brushes in the clear liquid, rinsing away the traces of red, blue and yellow that clogged the fine bristles.

Carelessly throwing her paint splattered smock over a wooden chair, Lola shut off the lights and walked up the rickety stairs; stopping only to grab her sketchbook and a stub of charcoal.

Slamming the front door behind her, she gazed at her street. Most nights, she could be seen sitting on her front porch sketching the group of sixth graders that often played street hockey; a round headed Canadian boy their leader. Tonight, however, the street was empty and Lola didn't feel like sitting and drawing lamp posts or abandoned basketballs.

Maybe I'll go to the 7-11 for a little while. It's got to be better than hanging around like a loser, thought Lola, now determined to get there as soon as possible.

The 7-11 was an icon for the teenagers in South Park; if any big event occurred, nine times out of ten it happened at the 7-11. Couples fall apart, unlikely people hooked up; the7-11 was a haven for gossips and observers alike. Each wall had a purpose: the front was for talking and flirting, the left side was for drinking, the right side was for smoking whatever illegal substance students came across that week and the back wall- well, Lola had never sketched people there, for obvious reasons.

The orange neon sign glowed in the dusky evening light, illuminating the silhouettes of various teenagers leaning, sitting, or standing against the concrete walls of the convenience store.

Climbing onto the hood of a beat up blue Chevy- the citizens of South Park rarely installed car alarms-Lola pulled the stub of charcoal from behind her ear and opened her sketchbook to a fresh page, beginning to draw the form of Kenny drinking God knows what from a glass bottle. Lola's hand flew across the page, trying to capture the smudgy likeness of Kenny thirstily chugging his drink, bottle tipped towards the darkening sky.

A sudden shifting movement caused Lola to drop her charcoal onto the pitch black asphalt below.

"Sorry." A male voice whispered in Lola's ear and her stomach dropped. No. It couldn't be. There was no way- "I was wondering what you were doing up here." Kyle Broflovski's deep green eyes met Lola's brown ones. Lola's palms began to sweat and she looked down at her lap, regretting the decision to wear brown knickerbockers and a Victorian style button down vest. She looked like a freak- a girl trapped in boy's clothes that had been the height of fashion a century ago.

"Uh, nothing," Lola managed to squeak, keeping her gaze fixed on her knees.

"It doesn't look like nothing to me."

Was it her imagination or did Kyle's voice have a flirtatious lilt?

No. Impossible! There was no way in hell Kyle Broflovski would flirt with me.

Kyle gently pulled the sketchbook from her limp hands, when his fingers brushed against hers they felt electrocuted, similar to the tingling sensation Lola would get when her foot would fall asleep. Flipping through page after page of her incomplete drawings, he whistled softly, snapping her out of her trance like state.

"They aren't really that great," she murmured, blushing.

He placed his hand over hers, protective.

"Are you kidding me? These are amazing. You have a talent."

A small smile graced her features for about a millisecond, the moment passed and she returned to biting her lower lip, a nervous habit she'd acquired over the years.

"You should smile more often."

Kyle leaned in closer, so close she could smell his breath- minty, with a whiff of something harsh (alcohol?)- And her heart pumped faster, anticipating the moment she had dreamt about for years.

"Duuude." Stan's inebriated voice surprised them both; Kyle jerked back as if he had gotten a bucket of icy cold water dumped over his auburn curls.

"Dude, you have seesh thissh," Stan slurred, "Kenny can drink a 'tire bottle of Smirnoff in thirtshy seconds."

"Coming," Kyle called over his shoulder. "Good night, Lola," he murmured, giving her a light peck on the lips before effortlessly hopping off the car and disappearing into the night.

Lola touched her lips with one paint stained finger.

Had that really happened?