Ah…

Another day, another day... every day brings you new chances, right? Or, at least I think so. Every day is another story different from the last. There are new words & new twists in the writing that you never expect, a new climax & a new riddle to solve before you get to the end of the book. One riddle to solve every day & a new experience to add to the book. With the experiences, there are more characters & more problems to work your way around.

Though, a lot of the problems are shared by other people.

So none of this is new. Is there originality? I'm not sure anymore. I'm sure there is a story just like mine out there somewhere. I'm sure they've already gotten over this problem & have gotten the exact same results I'm predicting.

"Hey, Kyle!"

I turn around instantly. I can recognize your voice any time, any place, Stan.

You're jogging down the hallway to me. I grin at you as you wave like an idiot toward me, then turn to shut my locker. Turning back, you're right next to me. We do a little 'secret handshake' thing that only we do because we've always been a little dorky like that, and then you lope an arm over my shoulders.

"Sup, Stanny-boy?"

"Sup, dude? Wanna hang out?"

I roll my eyes. Why is that even a question? You're my super best friend, you already know the answer. When do I not want to hang out with you? "Duh!"

"Awesome," you say and then pause, turning your head to look at me as we start down the hallway of this goddamned high school. "I think we should go and eat." I look up at you curiously.

"Lunch was only a little while ago, wasn't it?"

You shrug. "Still hungry."

I can't help but laugh. "You're starting to sound like Cartman."

"Shut up," you counter, but we both laugh loudly.

I grin, then elbow you in the side. "I'll go if you're buying." I tease. You tease back. Normality.

"Fine, but only if the girlfriend drives," you say, tossing me the keys & smacking my ass in good sportsmanship as you run away. I chase after you. Don't you goddamn joke with me about that, though. I know it's a joke, but I don't wanna lie to myself about you. Not about you.

"Fine, I'll drive!" I shout after you. "But you're still paying for gas and lunch!"

You laugh and grin widely. I can't see you grin, but I know that you are. I expect it. "Works for me!" You boast loudly, as usual. I like you. Er, no, I meant, how like you…! No, who am I kidding? I do like you. I won't lie to myself.

We speed down the highway. No one else is really alive in this hick town anyway this late after school. You had sports, I just like to stay after because it's quiet.

As soon as we get to the old diner modeled after the 50's, we seat ourselves. You pick our usual table; the booth next to the window to the right of the door. You sit on the left, across from me, as I sit on the side closest to the door.

Across the way, our usual waitress smiles at us. "Be with you in a minute, guys!" We nod at her. She smiles, then turns back to the family she's currently serving, the only other customers here right now.

Quickly, you put your hands up on the table by resting your elbows on the faux-wood surface. "So, dude," you say and I know you're gong to tell me a story by the way you're sitting up in your seat and leaning toward me like you have an absolutely this-is-a-big-secret secret to tell me, by the way you're folding and unfolding your hands and licking your lips like they're dry. I expect it. And I know. "Today, in lunch, there was this fuckin' epic food fight, man!"

"Oh, yeah, I heard." I nod at the end, telling you silently to continue.

You lick your lips. Oh, god, save me from staring, please. Then you continue, shifting in your seat as you formulate the thoughts in your head. "Well, Cartman started it with Kenny, but then Kenny disappeared; you know how he is, ya know?" You roll your eyes, then continue. "Well," I can't help but laugh every time you say 'well' now. "You know how Cartman always gets like four lunches?" I chuckle silently and nod. You smile and then continue on with your odd gestures and the story of the day. "Well, Kenny decided it would be cool if he took some of his lunch while he wasn't looking. But, of course Cartman wouldn't have any a that shit, so he, like, tackle Kenny off the table! And then Kenny throws like a freakin' pie at his face, so Cartman, like, jumps back, right?" You make a weird gesture by throwing your fist backwards. You end up hitting the back of the seat, but you hardly notice and you continue on with your story. You're so dense sometimes. But that's what makes you, well… you. "So while Cartman's picking pie out of his hair, Kenny dashes across the caf. What's left of his food, Cartman throws after 'im, and, bam! He hits Wendy in the back of the head!" You smack your hands together wildly, symbolizing the pie and Wendy's head.

Ugh, Wendy.

It's not like I have anything against Wendy at all!

But, then again, if I said that, I'd be lying. I have you. Er, no… it's that I don't have you is what I'm saying. That's the problem. Because I'm only second best to you, and I expect I'll always be second best, because that's just how humans are. It's always that way.

But this isn't the time to hold a grudge against her right now, because you're still talking.

"After he called her a dirty hippie or something and laughed at her, she picked her and Bebe's lunches and, like, hurled it right back. So, you know, Kenny just jumps up on stage all of a sudden and yells, 'food fight!'" To what Kenny said, you shake your first like a wannabe rocker at a punk-rock concert, but the expression on your face looks like that of a twelve-year-old at a Jo-Bro concert. Contradictory? I think so.

You continue your story, telling me about how someone threw something at Bebe & broke her water bra. I have to laugh at that. How could anyone not, honestly? You also say that every time Cartman got hit, he took a bite and then threw it back.

Oh, that sounds just like Cartman.

"Sorry about that, guys," our usual waitress says, chuckling. "You know how those little kids are when they order - they order too many things just to screw with ya." She rolls her eyes and we both laugh softly. "So, what're you guys gonna have, eh?"

I'm about to open my mouth to order, but then you order for me.

"The usual for both of us." Kinda romantic? "And two cokes." Maybe so.

You smile at me like a dork, so I smile back. You know just what I want anyway, so it doesn't matter, really. She nods and smiles brightly, then says she'll be back with our food shortly. Truthfully, she's right - the service here is fast & good too.

"So, where was I?" Your memory was never all that great, but that's okay with me. You get the important stuff.

I shrug. "You get hit?"

You stuck up one finger at me and lean in on your elbows with a smirk on your face. "Only once!" You say with that grin spreading. "But it was only my shirt," you sit back in your seat to pull loosely at the tight-fit black tee attached to your chest. "So I just got another one from my locker after lunch." You would have another shirt in your locker, seeing as you have gym like everyday, basically. To be honest, it's kinda… hot.

Er, uh, anyway…

"Anything else extravagantly exciting?" I ask, smiling.

"Oh! Wendy got hit in the face with pudding - by one of the teachers!" I have to laugh. You do too. First off, it's Wendy. Second, it was a teacher. We're both cracking up.

"Stan?"

You hear your name and look up. Speak of the devil herself. Wendy.

"Uh… hey, Wendy. What's up?" You ask, slightly nervous.

She shrugs. "You?"

"Just hangin' out with Kyle." You smile brightly. My stomach rolls with anxiety. Are you smiling at just my mention or Wendy? Who, I might add, you have gotten together with and broken up with six times.

Shut up, yeah, I count.

"Huh?" Wendy asks, then notices me. Fucking bitch has tunnel vision! "Oh, hey, Kyle!" She smiles brightly. I smile the beaming smile of a class A liar back at her.

"So, uh, Stan," she says, leaning over the table to flirt by putting her boobs on the menu. Dirty flirting whore. "Wanna hang out?" Ugh, bitch! Get the fuck out.

"Uh," you stutter. "You mean… right now?"

"Well, yeah," she says. "What else would I mean?" Shut the fuck up, hippie bitch. Just shut up already.

You seem flustered with your answer.

This means war.

"Uh, but I…"

"No, Stan," I say. "It's okay if you hang out; go right ahead." My voice is dripping with invisible sarcasm that neither of you pick up on. God dammit. It just doesn't show that much. I'm second best, so it doesn't matter anyway.

I know what's coming. I expect it.

You'll both leave, then I'll just sit here and wallow in my own sorrow; it's okay, go have fun.

You sputter a "protest" at me. She grabs your arm.

I'm only second best, after all, aren't I?

A/N:

So! If you're looking for the Style ending, it's the second chapter! If you want the kinda K2, one-sided!Style ending, go to chapter three~