This is reposted and has been changed dramatically. I do not own any of the characters used in this fic. Enjoy!
I never thought a teacher would ever be able to bore me so much. However, with Mr. Harris's combination of a slow, droning voice and a lesson plan consisting of material I had already covered for countless hours thanks to the insistence of my father, my history teacher managed to, once again, exceed my expectations.
"Although the North was victorious at the Battle of Shiloh, they ended up losing more men than the South, causing the Union to question Grant's methods…" His voice makes me want to slam my face into a wall over and over again and for a moment, I contemplate using my desk as a makeshift surface when I hear a voice to my left. Turning my head, I notice my best friend Stan leaning over his desk, black wisps of hair falling over his eyes as he attempts to attract the attention of his current girlfriend, Wendy Testaburger. He whispers her name multiple times, to which she mutters, "Shut up Stan," and continues to stare at the teacher. I let out a chuckle, to which I receive a glare from Stan and, without taking her eyes from the front of the classroom, a small smile from Wendy.
I begin to doodle in my notebook because, what else am I going to do in a class in which I already know everything? Pay attention? Besides, it doesn't seem like anyone else is taking notes or listening to anything our teacher is saying. By the time I hear the bell ring, I've managed to successfully draw a doodle of Cartman on the floor bleeding with me towering over him holding a bloodstained knife.
"If only…" I whisper to myself as I close the notebook and shove it into my book bag.
Everyone around me begins to stand when the teacher suddenly yells, "Everyone back in your seats!" We all groan and sit ourselves back down. Mr. Harris composes himself and begins. "Most of your grades are unacceptably low. It's like you don't even try to pay attention in class." We don't. "Now, because I don't want to give out so many low marks, I am going to assign a project."
Another longer, louder groan.
"I'm doing this for your own good! This will help you!" He walks over to the white board and uncaps a red marker. "I'm going to write down your partners."
As he writes on the board he continues to speak, "You and your partner will be required to write an essay on a battle that took place during the Civil War. The essay should outline its significance and how it influenced the war. The battle can be of your choice. You will also create a diagram outlining the battle, which you will present to the class." He steps away from the board and allows us to see whom we will be suffering alongside.
Eric and Annie
Kenny and Heidi
Clyde and Butters
Token and Red
Kyle and Wendy
Stan and Craig
Tweek and Bebe
"You have three weeks."
Taking another bite of my beef pastrami loaded sandwich, I calmly chew while silently listening to the conversation taking place in front of me.
"-and I haven't hooked up with her yet. Remind me to thank Mr. Harris." A sly smile dances across my perverted friend's lips.
Kenny sure as hell knows how to get girls, but I can never pinpoint exactly what it is that draws his prey to him so easily. It's most likely the fact that Kenny is a pretty good looking dude, but I feel it also has something to do with this sort of confidence that is easily sensed by everyone he comes into contact with. Whether it's his personality, his looks, or his power of persuasion, I'll never know.
"Dude, why are you wasting your time on Heidi? She's not even that hot," Stan questions. Kenny simply looks at him incredulously.
"Stan. Have you seen her tits? They're like… fuckin'…" The blonde cups his hands and moves each in the shape of a semicircle as if that will give us a visual of Heidi's rack from God. Stan rolls his eyes, although I'm sure he knows perfectly well what Kenny is talking about. I know I do.
"Speaking of nice tits…" The blonde's eyes fill with mischief as he leans closer to a somewhat fearful looking Stan. "What exactly lies under your raven haired girlfriend's sweatshirt?" I stop chewing and stare the noirette, who's eyes are now wide, clearly taken aback by the question.
"That's none of your business!" Stan shrieks, an octave higher than the usual pitch of his voice.
"Oh come on," Kenny persists, "we all wanna know… don't we Cartman?"
"We wouldn't have to ask if the bitch didn't wear that goddamned sweatshirt all the time," the fat ass says without looking up from his food.
"Yeah what's up with that?" Everyone's eyes turn to me, surprised to hear my voice since I haven't so much as made a sound the entire lunch period. I look at Stan expectantly, and my other tablemates follow suit. Stan shrugs.
"I don't know why she does it. She's got nothing to hide. She isn't fat. But whenever I ask her about it she just says, 'It's comfy,' or, 'It keeps me warm.' She sometimes takes it off when we're alone though…"
"And?" Kenny eagerly prods, eyes widening with excitement. I look to my left and notice that Cartman looks sufficiently anxious as well. A sly smile, much like the one Kenny had on before, grows on the face of my best friend as he answers,
"Let's just say her face isn't the only thing that's really fucking hot," Kenny and Cartman scramble to ask more questions about his girlfriend's physique but my attention is elsewhere. Across the cafeteria, sitting with a group of girls is Wendy, talking and laughing with her friends.
Seeing her makes me wonder how being her partner for this project will pan out. We've worked together one other time, in fourth grade when we had to take care of that goddamned egg. She seemed cool and we got along really well, but a lot's changed since the fourth grade. Especially Wendy.
Wendy Testaburger was outspoken, talented, passionate, opinionated, and somewhat hotheaded. She always fought for what she believed in and, not to mention, she fought with Cartman almost as much as I did. Do. Wendy was also a performer, receiving the lead role in every musical we've ever had in South Park. She really could do it all.
Until 8th grade, that is.
Wendy broke up with Stan the summer after 7th grade. She didn't give a clear reason why, just told him that she needed a break. None of us saw her at all that summer and when we reached 8th grade, Wendy was different. She hardly participated in class, didn't audition for the 8th grade musical, and she didn't even fight back whenever Cartman made sexist remarks in class, which became excruciatingly more frequent the older he became. She talked less, became extremely shy, and wore baggy sweatshirts every single fucking day.
I remember the day Stan confronted her in 9th grade, demanding to know why she broke it off with him. He and I both expected Wendy to become indignant and try to justify her actions, which would result in an argument, which I would have to break up. To both our surprise, Wendy wrapped her arms around Stan and apologized over and over again, begging for his forgiveness. They've been together ever since.
I'm not sure if her change in behavior has peaked the interest of anyone else or if anyone else has even taken notice of how dramatically different she has become. All I know is that I want to find out what made her the way she is now. Maybe this project is just the opportunity I need to find out more about her.
"Kyle?" I snap out of my thoughts, realizing I had been staring at my best friend's girlfriend. Whoops.
I turn to look at Kenny who is staring back at me with a devilish grin. Oh no. This can't be good. "Don't think I didn't see you," he says accusingly. I feel heat rush to my face, and I'm sure I'm blushing horribly. His smirk grows wider. "You totally want your dick in Bebe's mouth." Wait, what?
Stan looks at me, amused. I release a breath I didn't know I was holding. Then my eyes widen as I realize what exactly it was that Kenny just said. He stands up and places his hands on my shoulder before whispering in my ear, "She has nice tits too," he winks at me before swaggering out of the lunchroom, leaving me red faced once again.
"God damn it Kenny," I mutter to myself before Stan stands up from the lunch table.
"Ready to go?" I nod and follow Stan out of the cafeteria, leaving the fat ass alone.
"Whatever! I hate you guys anyway! I like eating alone, you fucking Jew!" I roll my eyes and laugh with my raven-haired friend as we walk to our lockers to prepare for our last classes.
Unfortunately, Stan's locker isn't near mine, so I can't talk to him about how much of a dick Cartman is while leisurely exchanging my books. I grab my math and science textbooks in silence, absorbed in my own thoughts. I shut my locker and almost flinch when I see none other than Wendy leaning on the locker next to mine. Her arms and legs are crossed, and strands of jet-black hair fall over her large chocolate eyes. "Hi Kyle," she says shyly. Why does she feel like she has to be shy around me? I'm her boyfriend's best friend for Christ's sake!
"Uh, hey Wendy," I begin hesitantly. "What's up?"
She pushes her hair behind her ear nervously. "I was just wondering when you wanted to work on the project. I can do it tomorrow afterschool if that works for you? I don't know if you wanted to start it so soon because we do have three weeks but it's a lot of work so I was just thinking we could get a jumpstart on it but if you don't want to that's okay too—"
"Tomorrow's fine, Wendy," I cut her off mid-run-on because I can clearly see her struggling to simply get her thought out. She bites her lip and breaks eye contact, averting her gaze to the floor. "You can come to my house," I finish.
"Sounds good." She locks eyes with me again, gives me a warm smile, and walks away. I stare after her, almost dumbfounded.
That's it. I don't care what I have to do. No matter what it takes, I will find out what happened to Wendy Testaburger.