Submission 006 for the awsm KyleKenny archive
A Semitic Rhythm
Zakuyoe
The prom was the dance—the dance—in the minds of nearly every senior student in South Park high school. Granted that the school was already small as it was with extracurricular activities being quite limited, having something like a Senior Prom was pretty much the best thing since sliced bread. Girls were raving over their prom dresses, while boys obsessed with their dates and how dazzling they looked in those said dresses.
Virtually everyone was ecstatic for the upcoming prom—that is, everyone except Kyle Broflovski.
Kenny McKormick, of course, hadn't been pleased. "Why aren't you going, dude?"
"Not interested," a very mellow Kyle responded as he sat in front of his desk. By now his seat was used to the warmth of Kyle's body, the lamp used to shedding light on a five-million-page textbook, and his desk surface used to the excessive eraser shavings from writing too many mistakes.
"Not interested?" repeated the blonde, supporting his head from the blasphemy coming out of the Jewish boy's mouth. "Not interested? Dude, Kyle! This is like the only thing South Park high's ever organized for us! Don't go to prom and you've just wasted four years in high school!"
"Not really," Kyle said matter-of-factly, raising his pencil. "Without those four years I would never have learned about integrals and hybridization and the truth behind the bombing of—"
"Stop being such a wise-ass," said Kenny with a smirk. "I already bought you a ticket for the prom, so you're gonna have to fucking come with me."
Kyle stared at the oh-so-innocent looking boy with mouth agape. "Why the hell did you buy me a ticket? You know I don't like dancing."
"Because I'm going," replied Kenny, "which means you have to go by default. And, whether you like it or not, I'm gonna have to get you a decent tux."
Kyle grunted at the thought. "No way in hell, dude."
-
(Kyle only agreed to it after receiving a particular incentive, in case anyone was wondering).
-
As epilepsy-inducing lights were swirling themselves all over the dance floor, with blaring contemporary music booming much too loudly for anyone's ears' own benefit, Kyle sat down at a seat next to the drinks and folded his arms across his chest.
There would be no way he'd dance. Not even with Kenny's pleadings.
"Just one dance!" exclaimed Kenny, trying to drag Kyle to the middle of their school's gymnasium and pull the boy's arm off completely. "Dude, you're so wasting the ten dollars I paid for your ticket!"
"Shouldn't have bought it," Kyle replied with a shrug.
"Dude, what's so bad about dancing?" asked Kenny, frowning slightly. "I mean, it's not even dancing, really… more grinding than anything, really."
"You do that all the time in the school bathrooms," Kyle replied as coolly as he could while still being heard. Kyle had spent the next few moments creating the visual in his head, how every time he came out of the stalls Kenny would always slip that knee between his thigh after pushing him against the wall… but he quickly composed himself and found himself talking to a pouting Kenny once more. "You don't need a dance floor for that, dude."
"Lame," snapped Kenny. "Won't you at least slow dance with me? You know, whenever a song like that comes up."
"No."
"Why not?" whined the blonde, finally giving up and plopping himself down on the seat next to the Jewish boy. "Why won't you dance with me, dude?—it's not against your religion, is it?"
Kyle bit his lip for a moment, shuddering at the mental image of his mother line dancing. "Definitely isn't, though I wish it were."
"Then why?" Kyle hazarded a glance somewhere past the inquisitive Kenny, and all it took was a follow-up on Kyle's gazes to figure Kyle out. "You aren't serious, are you?"
"Dead," Kyle replied. "It's the only thing Cartman's actually right about."
Kenny laughed at the thought of the pudgy boy being right about something, but it had quickly faded once he realized Kyle had not been kidding. "You mean you really believed Cartman all those years before when he told you Jews had no rhythm?"
"It's true, dude," Kyle replied, thinking once again about his mom. "My mom's a prime example. She can't line dance to save her life…."
"That's your mom, though," said Kenny. "I'm sure you've got better rhythm."
"No, I don't."
"Sure you do, Kyle. All those times in the bathroom…. You were definitely setting the pace, dude." A quick image flashed through Kyle's mind before quickly shaking it out of his head.
"No dude, I suck at dancing—of any sort."
In the end the Jewish boy would not be swayed, and for the longest time Kenny did nothing to prove him wrong. He sat beside him song after song, merely holding the boy's hand as he watched opportunities fly by him. It had continued this way song after song, all until the very end when the lights dimmed.
It had been time for the slow dance.
"You're coming with me," Kenny stated, and before Kyle knew it he was pulled straight out of his seat. Yet he couldn't help but smirk as they made their way to a dark corner of the building—since everyone slow danced in dim corners of school gymnasiums.
Yep, that made much sense.
"So you say Jews got no rhythm?" Kenny asked, growling deep in his throat before pushing him onto the chair.
-
By the time the evening was over Kyle was convinced that indeed, certain Jews (him being inclusive) did have rhythm. But as for what means Kenny had used to prove such truthful statements, I'll leave that to the mercy of your imaginations.
Although given a dark corner, a determined blonde, and a certain Jewish boy in a very promising situation, what other means could you possibly imagine Kenny using?
- fin -
Zakuyoe's Archive of KyleKenny oneshots:
001 - Holiday-Soaked Irony
002 - Maybe One Day
003 - Miles
004 - Scarlet-Stained Letters
005 - Scrabble
006 - Semitic Rhythm