This is my first time writing any sort of fiction ever. I'm used to writing analytical grad-school papers, so I apologize if it's a bit wordy.
AN: I don't know the real order of ages of the four main boys. I'm assuming Kyle is the youngest for this story.
Disclaimer: I do not own the South Park characters. Story is titled after a song by The Smiths (go listen!). Also, I made Stan a good cook in this story (although it is a minor detail) in honor of the story that got me into fanfic: SSWTE (go read!).
"So, what do you want?" Kenny asks me. I think for a moment. "Wendy," I answer simply. But I know things are never that simple. Kyle's POV. Kyle/Wendy/Stan love triangle. Het. Chaptered.
Please, please, please….let me get what I want
Chapter 1:
"Dude, what kind of beer do you want for your keg? Me and Cartman are gonna pick it up after I get out of class."
I pause to think for a moment before answering Stan's question. What sort of beer do you get to mark your 21st birthday?
"Honestly, I don't care," I respond into the phone receiver to my best friend. "Get whatever's cheapest."
"Dude, you know Cartman will totally rip on you if you Jew out and get the cheapest beer," Stan sighs exasperatingly into my ear. "Just give me a few choices and we'll see what they have in stock."
"Okay, fine," I snap. "Just get one of the light domestic beers, and don't mention to Cartman that I said anything about the price."
"Deal. Oh, and we'll pick up some liquor for the party too since you can't buy anything until midnight!" Stan laughs at me. "Tonight's party is gonna be awesome! I'll call you later, but we'll probably get to your place around seven to get set up. See you later."
Despite my earlier annoyance, I can't help smiling as I get off the phone with Stan. We've been best friends since…well, forever, and I'm pleased that he's spearheading the plans for the party tonight. Of course, Stan also planned his girlfriend Wendy's 21st, and Cartman's, and Kenny's, and now finally, finally, mine. He's got it down to a fine art at this point.
I might as well get started cleaning up before I have to get to class.
I look around the living room area of the one-bedroom townhouse that my parents bought for me. I still can't believe my parents have equity in this place. For some reason they thought I'd do too much partying if I lived on campus with Stan and Cartman our freshman year, but they were wrong. It turned out that it was much easier to party off campus without the ubiquitous eye of the campus police around.
These days, Stan and Cartman share a rented apartment off-campus, and Kenny moved into his brother's apartment on the other side of town after community college. We're in our last semester at Denver University, and we've been trying to make the most out of our college years while we can. So far, so good, since most of our friends from South Park came to college here too.
I mentally count out the number of people who should be stopping by tonight. "How the hell am I going to fit 30 people in here?" I mutter as I pick up a tennis shoe littering the hallway by the staircase.
I trudge up the stairs to my bedroom, wondering what sort of shape I left it in this morning, and feel relieved when I realize it's pretty tidy. As I walk into the bathroom across from my bedroom to note its deficiencies, I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Staring back at me is a good-looking, boyish face with short, auburn curls cropped close to my head. I'm an average height and slightly better than average build, which unfortunately is often disguised by the many layers of clothes I have to wear to keep warm. I'm not as classically handsome as Stan, or have the bad-boy image that Kenny has, but I've done well enough to have attracted a fair share of female attention over the past four years. Speaking of which…
"God, I hope Wendy doesn't bring Rebecca…" I groan aloud as I look away from the mirror.
Rebecca is Wendy's roommate, whom I unceremoniously hooked up a few times last year. Though I think Rebecca has (mostly) moved on, things are a little awkward around her. You know, I still don't know understand she and Wendy get along…they're just so different. Make no mistake, Rebecca was a good lay, but there is little else to recommend her. She's not smart like Wendy, and she doesn't have a personality like Wendy. But if having Wendy there tonight means Rebecca is going to be there, then I'll have to deal.
I'm smiling again as I head back downstairs to get some cleaning supplies. Yes, tonight should be fun.
I'm walking on campus to my afternoon engineering class, when I see a dark-haired figure waving at me from several yards away. As my eyes focus on the now-approaching figure, I realize it's a familiar face.
"Hey Wendy," I smile as she joins my side and walks along with me. "What's up?"
"Oh, nothing," she shrugs, "but I'm excited for the party tonight! What time is everyone getting there?"
"Uh, I think Stan and Cartman are coming over around seven…aren't you coming with Stan?" I eye Wendy quizzically.
"Well, we haven't figured it out yet, but probably. That way we can get an early start on our drinking too!" she laughs.
"That's what I like to hear, drinking buddy!" I laugh along as I playfully punch her arm. For being such a thin girl, Wendy sure can drink. She definitely can outdrink Stan, who usually passes out before 1 a.m., and she can almost, almost outdrink me. Must be part of that women's lib movement she's always talking about.
Our laughter subsides and we're left smiling at each other. I hold her blue-eyed gaze for a second before she looks towards the ground.
"Oh, and don't worry—Rebecca's going home this weekend, so she won't be there. I know things are awkward between you two," Wendy hastily mentions, and I'm surprised she's so blunt.
I offer a weak smile in response, despite my extreme relief to hear this news. I don't want to disparage her friend in front of her.
"Well, I gotta head over to University Hall for my class," she says after a moment of silence. "I'll see you later tonight," she adds as she turns to hug me.
She wraps her arms loosely around me in a quick hug. It's funny; we're almost the same height.
Wendy is so much taller than Rebecca…
"Bye, Wendy, see you tonight," I wave as she walks away. I notice a guy check Wendy out as she passes by. But this doesn't surprise me at all. Because as Wendy is walking away, I notice that I'm checking her out too.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" I question myself aloud. Wendy? My best friend's girlfriend? Oh come on…It's not like you haven't admired her ass before…you're a normal guy! She's hot! It doesn't mean anything.
While I continue my mental conversation with myself, I finish getting dressed by pulling a t-shirt over my head. This is the fifth shirt I've tried on….
I hear a knock at my door and I quickly smooth down my hair before heading downstairs to answer it. I'm reciting my mantra in my head as I open the door…
It doesn't mean anything… it doesn't mean anything… it doesn't mean anything…
"Hi Kyle," Wendy smiles as I open the door to see her heart-shaped face. She's wearing a V-neck sweater and jeans so tight they cling to her slim hips and long legs.
She's hot… she's hot… she's hot…
"Hi Wendy," I say meekly as I try to push the uninvited thoughts out of my head. Behind Wendy, I welcome the distraction of Stan and Cartman stumbling across the parking lot while carrying a heavy aluminum keg between them.
"Hey Stan! Hey Cartman!" I call out to my friends, while shielding my eyes from the setting sun. I'm surprised that they seem to be struggling with the keg so much…Stan is pretty strong from years of weightlifting, and Cartman has always been 'big-boned'…
"Aye! You lazy Jew, why don't you do something useful like get the rest of the crap out of my truck! Do I have to do everything?!" Cartman yells breathlessly. "Wendy! Hold the door open for us!" he continues.
"Dumbass," Wendy mumbles as she rolls her eyes and takes the door from me. I grunt in concurrence before stepping down from the porch step to head toward my friends.
Cartman is still grumbling as I pass by on my way to get the supplies. In the bed of his truck is a garbage can for the keg, the beer tap, a folded ping pong table, and several grocery bags of alcohol, mixers, ice, and party foods.
By the time we have set up the beer pong table in the living room, the keg in the ice-filled garbage can on the porch, and the rest of the drinks in the kitchen, Kenny has made his way over and the five of us are already slightly tipsy from a half-finished bottle of cheap tequila. Guests should start trickling in any moment now.
"Shit—I was going to make those potato skins and those wings!" Stan suddenly jumps up from his spot on the couch between Wendy and me. "Shit— and the nachos!"
I smirk. Of course, Stan the party planner/chef extraordinaire has to find a way to bring unnecessary stress upon himself.
"Relax dude, just put out a bowl of chips or something," Kenny suggests from his seat on the living room floor.
"No way! I already bought all the ingredients for everything!" Stan whines.
Kenny waves him off as if he doesn't want to discuss it any more.
"D'ya need a help?" Wendy asks, slightly stumbling over her words.
"No thanks babe, this'll be really easy," Stan smiles to his girlfriend before striding into the kitchen, leaving the four of us behind in the living room.
"I see you're already slurring your words Wendy…it's gonna be a long night for ya, huh?" I tease.
"Oh whatever Kyle, you know I can outdrink you!" she scoffs.
"Wanna bet? I say we take a shot now!"
"Fine," she coos fearlessly.
"You're sooooo going to lose," I taunt, excited by the impromptu competition.
I pour the tequila until the shot glasses are replete with the amber liquor. Suddenly, I remember Kenny and Cartman sitting there on the floor.
"Uh, you guys want a shot?" I ask awkwardly, my adrenaline quickly diminished.
Kenny simply looks at me with a cocked eyebrow.
"Whatever, I'm not joining in on your faggy bet," Cartman replies. "I'd beat you both so bad anyways."
Kenny starts laughing, as it is well known that Cartman cannot hold his liquor and usually ends up either passed out or crying when he's drunk.
"Aye! Fuck you Kenny! Screw you guys, I'm getting a beer!" Cartman rages as he opens the sliding glass door to the patio where the keg is located. He slides the door shut angrily and the three of us explode with laughter.
"Last chance; Kenny?" I ask again once the laughter has abated.
"Okay…" Kenny responds unsurely as he scoots closer to the coffee table where the two shots are already poured. I fill up another shot glass with tequila and the three of us raise the vessels in a toast.
"To the last one standing!" I glare playfully into Wendy's eyes. She holds her own and stares back into mine intensely.
"Good luck, Kyle, you'll need it!" she mischievously sneers.
Wendy and I summarily slam the shots down our throats, while Kenny gently swallows his. Wendy and I both flinch from the warm sting of the alcohol, simultaneously laughing at each other's scrunched up faces. Kenny, on the other hand, seems too distracted by something to acknowledge the aftershock of the tequila…
"Hey, did you guys just do a shot without me?" Stan accuses as he walks into the room, wiping his hands on his jeans.
"Nah man, you're not missing anything…" Kenny replies to Stan, although his questioning eyes are still set on me.
The subsequent silence in the room is quickly broken as the first guest of the night knocks on my door.
Party time.