A/N- Hey, guys. I got this suggestion from HoAcrazylover and I wanted to try it. I've got a few plans for this story, I think it'll be fun to write. I hope you guys like it, let me know what you think so far.

I stumble in to Advanced Biology class about five minutes late, face red and panting from running here from the parking lot. Despite the fact that it's January and literally freezing outside, I'm sweating through my sweatshirt. It was barely a run, maybe I should exercise more.

The teacher looks at me disapprovingly, eyes narrowed and lips pursed like she's tasting something sour. She pushes her glasses up her nose and sighs loudly. "Kyle, this is the third Monday in a row you've been late."

"Yeah, sorry," I mumble, still trying to catch my breath. I walk quickly to my seat next to my lab partner, Wendy. She and I have most of the same classes together because we're on the same honor track. The only class we don't have together is elective. She takes Journalism; I take Intro to Economics. I'm kind of envious of her.

She looks at me, a little amused. "Late again, Kyle. What would your mother say?"

"It's your boyfriend's fault," I say back, keeping my voice low so the teacher doesn't hear. "He's the one that makes me late."

"Oh, sure," she replies, raising an eyebrow at me. "Blame Stan, then."

"Well, it's his fault!"

"Whatever you say, Kyle," she says in a condescending tone, patting me on the head.

I glare at her. "Why don't you give him rides on Mondays, then?"

She shrugs and smiles at me. "On the off chance that it isn't your fault, I don't want to be late."

I raise an eyebrow. "You're his girlfriend, aren't you supposed to make sacrifices for him? Isn't that your job or something?"

She smirks. "You're his best friend, isn't that job yours?"

I shake my head. "No, no, I distinctly remember reading that it's in girlfriend's job description."

She lets out a laugh, and the teacher glares at us. "Miss Testaburger, Mister Broflovski, while I'm sure your conversation is riveting, I'd appreciate it if you paid attention."

We both mutter half-hearted sorry's to the teacher. Wendy glances at me and smiles awkwardly, and we don't talk for the rest of the lecture, just exchange glances and sighs when someone asks a stupid question.

We both slip out of the room quickly after class to avoid the teacher, who was probably going to try to talk to us about respect and silence before letting us leave. Wendy and I walk together to English class, and pretty much the same routine happens there. We whisper to each other, the teacher gets mad, awkward silence ensues.

As we walk to lunch together later, Wendy laughs a little and looks at me, flicking her black hair from her eyes. "For honor roll kids, we're terrible students."

I shrug. "We still get the best grades in the class."

"That's precisely the issue," she replies. "We are far too stuck up and conceited."

I smirk at her and raise an eyebrow. "It's okay, though, because we're right."

She just laughs and shakes her head. "The teachers probably complain about us in the teacher's lounge."

"No, I'm sure they're too busy complaining about Cartman and Craig," I answer.

We get to the lunch room, and say bye to each other as we start to head off to our respective tables and groups of friends. I notice that Wendy is a little fixated on something in the distance. I don't really pay much attention, but then I see what she's looking at. It's Red, one of the cheerleaders, leaning across my friends' table, getting a little too close to Stan. She seems to be giggling and she's touching his arm. Stan seems to not mind at all- in fact, he seems to be enjoying the attention.

I walk up to them and sit down right as Red is walking away. Kenny looks really amused, and Cartman and Butters are paying no attention at all. They're too caught up in what appears to be their French homework. They ended up in that class together because Butters wants to go to Paris someday, and Cartman didn't want to learn Spanish because he "didn't want to encourage the immigrants." Whatever that means.

As I sit down, I punch Stan in the arm and give him a look. I try not to hit him too hard, but I'm not sure if it works. He jumps a little in surprise and turns sharply to look at me.

"Dude, what the fuck was that for?" he says, rubbing his arm and sounding annoyed.

"Come on, you have a girlfriend," I reply, matching his annoyance.

He looks confused. "Red and I were just talking," he mumbles. He sounds kind of like a little kid sometimes, like he's pouting or something.

Kenny stifles a laugh from across the table and leans forward. "Sure, dude. She was just pushing her tits out for fun."

Stan gets a little red at that, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't notice that."

"Sure, you didn't," Kenny replies in a mocking tone. He steals one of Stan's french fries and winks at him with a big smile. "And I didn't notice you staring at her chest."

Stan glares at him. "I wasn't staring at her chest," he says back, an edge in his voice. "And it's not like I went up to her, she came over here."

Kenny laughs and shakes his head. I just roll my eyes. Maybe I didn't see everything that was happening, and maybe I unfairly judged this situation because I care about Wendy and don't want Stan to fuck this up. All I know is that if I had a girlfriend and I loved her like Stan says he loves Wendy, I probably wouldn't have leaned in so close to Red. Maybe Stan wasn't thinking, but he probably should have been.