DC: I do not own South Park. (Obviously)


Throughout our history as a people, school has always been an institution that reflects the rest of the world. Class systems, caste systems, cliques, factions, you name it. No one goes un-judged, and we just seem to blindly follow along. But given my current position, why should I complain?

I'm Kenny McCormick. I've died and been thrown back onto this ultramarine rock for seventeen years. Seventeen years of being impaled, incinerated, asphyxiated, trampled, bludgeoned, et cetera, et cetera. I've lived seventeen years in pain and agony. But let me not act like some faggy Goth kid. That's not what you came for.

High school is many things. It's a fairy tale, it's a nightmare. It's your wettest dream, it's your chastity belt. It's a crossroads, it's predestination. No one cares where you came from, only where you're going. High school is brighter than the iridescent day and darker than the inky black night. High school is a rainbow under the lash. A psychedelic sedative. An earthbound eagle.

Basically, where I stand is not within either of the two major cliques. I've taken a liking to my niche as the school's official prophylactic dispenser dispenser. Many say I've gone down on everyone, and I won't deny it. Bebe, Wendy, Stan and Kyle at the same time, Tweek, Craig, Token and Clyde, (who were confused at the time, but I help them clear things up) the entire cheerleading squad, and the list just goes on.

Scratch that, I do deny it, because there are some people on my "no-fly" list.

Cartman, anyone?

So I'm quite content with where I am, rather than being dragged into the patriarchal "boyfriends" and the matriarchal "girlfriends."

Make no mistake. The bottom halves of gay couples are included in the "girlfriends" clique. And, as expected, 99% of them have adopted feminine personalities. The only one who's retained his testosterone is Tweek, and I'm pretty sure he's turning. It's a bit difficult to ignore the occasional slight hip swing, the barrettes he wears in his hair from time to time, and his newfound obsession with hair care, despite keeping it messy. Long story short, he's becoming a poof.

Basically, this is a place where men are men, women are women, and men are women.

It pisses me off, really. To see all this mushy shit in the hallways. To see Stan carry Kyle around like luggage, or seeing their hands constantly locked. To walk in on a freshman couple making out in the bedroom. The air is tainted with a red fog of love, and it hurts my nose. But it's not my place to say a damn thing, and so I keep my mouth shut.

And you know, it wasn't always like this. It's just that this generation of students had to come in and spoil the bunch.

In middle school, everyone seemed to go through their "bi-curious" phase at once, save for Butters, who was bi-curious from the start. Most came out straight as a line, but a handful of us came out gay or versatile.

And don't get the wrong idea. I don't publicly rip on relationships like some whiny little bitch. I know how to keep it to myself. It's just that they' e been flying in my face, especially with Stan and Kyle.

Besides, what'll love get me? I get to have Butters, who was the school's official "virgin in the night" before I got to him, every other night. I have no commitments, nothing to lose, and I feel pretty damn great about it.

And now for our feature presentation.

It's late October. The 23rd, to be exact. There's a light snow outside, but nothing heavy yet. Period 3, Home Ec. It's my Senior year, and I've already fulfilled the quota for graduation, so I couldn't give less of a crap about my classes. I sit at my desk, an unflattering surface engraved with crudely-drawn genitals, as I guide my 2B graphite pencil along the surface of my Bristol drawing board. I've taken up two pastimes lately: smoking and drawing comics, the latter of which I'm pretty good at. Or so I've been told. I was admitted into the school's advanced art program, which the school district chooses to fund rather than repairs to the gym. I'm not at Stan Lee's level, but to be fair, I have a completely different art style. My characters are usually three-and-a-half heads high with egg-shaped eyes, triangular noses, and slightly blocky fingers. That doesn't mean that I don't pay attention to detail, it just means that it's not to be compared to many other action/adventure comics.

It's called Minstrel, it's about an Average Joe who has to slay one thousand dragons to have the hand of the Dragonslayer king's daughter, Minerva. But I digress...

Well, really, what does it matter when my ears filter Mrs. Patel's words into white noise anyway?

I'll tell you, drawing is the only thing keeping me from pressing the reset button on my day by jumping out the window. Luckily, the dulled metal bell resounds throughout the hallways. No more of Mrs. Patel's nasal whine of a voice for another twenty-four hours, despite the fact that I obviously wasn't listening. I delicately insert my Bristol into the portfolio section of my backpack, one that had taken two weeks of work at the local shoe store to afford. I throw on my bag and rush of the room, giving Butters a quick grope as I always do, which, just as always, causes him to tense up and blush, the skin under his large, round, true blue eyes contrasting the organs above by turning a scarlet-pink.

Butters is an amazing lay. It's so incredibly baffling to that see this gullible little nerd is better in the sack than almost anyone. But I think that he really doesn't know what a physical relationship is. He's always trying to get kisses and cuddles out of me, but I've told him time and time again that I don't want that "puppy love" crap. Will I allow him hugs? Yes. But he's just way too affectionate. I told him I don't want that. Can't he get the message?

It's lunchtime. The snow doesn't bother us. I stride through the bustling hallways and out the poorly-painted red metal doors onto the infinitely-expansive field of the high school. This rolling field, mostly whitened by the snow and littered with tables, trash cans, a quarter-mile track, a football field, a baseball diamond, and a basketball court, is now painted with high schoolers experiencing mid-day freedom. And, of course, everyone homes into the hangout spots of their own respective cliques. "Boyfriends" are entitled to the centers of physical fitness, while the "girlfriends" go to the tables and open grass.

This is the thing that made the group grow apart. I'm left to do my own thing, which is usually either flirting or smoking. Meanwhile, Stan and Cartman hang out with the guys who still act like they have a pair of balls, while Kyle and Butters hang out with the girls. (Despite the fact that Butters is single.) Honestly, over the past few years, Kyle has become the thing that pops into my mind when I hear the word "fag". He's become so effeminate. He has the stereotypical gay tone-of-voice. He has stereotypical gay mannerisms. And I swear to God, I will shoot myself in the head right there if he starts burping rainbows.

His popularity is only beaten by that of the "queen bee", who we all know as Stan's ex, Wendy Testaburger, who holds a secret grudge against Kyle for stealing her man. She's a bitch, though, so I don't sympathize. Tweek, as always, lingers about Milly in the very center of the field, staring off at the basketball court and gossiping while sipping coffee. Tweek thinks it's a secret that he has the hots for Craig, but literally everyone knows. Everyone except Craig, probably because he's an uncaring douche who seems to hate everything that casts a shadow. I don't get what Tweek sees in him. Craig has no obvious talents, no manners, no respect for others, and he's a pretty crappy lover, though that's a given.

It's so strange. It's strange that there's no being "in the closet." It's strange that no matter when you enter, you gravitate towards your clique like it's a social star. It's strange that school, a place that's a potential social sanctuary, has been split down the middle by matriarchal and patriarchal groups.

I decide that I should hang out with "Princess" Kyle today, even though it means being near Wendy for a few minutes, although she doesn't go off on you unless you say something that contradicts her views. I can see Kyle sitting against the table's leg on our highest hill. On his right sits Bebe, who is happily playing with one of the scarlet locks that's escaped the redheaded Jew's forest green eskimo hat. Red has found a comfortable spot reclining between Kyle's legs, using his crotch as a pillow. Wendy sits on top of the table, her legs on his torso. She's rambling on about something, probably something else that she can protest and picket. The ginger femboy is surprisingly listening to every word she's saying.

Though to be fair, Wendy is good at keeping her petty jealousy inconspicuous. Kyle doesn't suspect a thing because she's publicly been a saint to him, and they tend to share opinions on touchy subjects. I only know of her grudge from Bebe, who can't keep a secret for the lives of her entire family.

But I digress.

Anyway, apparently approaching Kyle sets off a silent alarm in Stan's head, because he grabs my shoulder as though giving a guy some warning just did the fucking fandango out the door. I'm shocked enough to reflexively pull my hood closed, as though I'm a turtle afraid of a potential predator. I heave a sigh of relief and let it loosen a bit when I turn to see that it's him.

"Can I get a 'Hey, Kenny!' next time?" I say through my muffling parka hood.

Stan puts his hands up innocently and says, "So-rry, next time I'll make sure you don't have to clutch your pearls."

"Eat me."

"You only get that privilege once."

I roll my eyes. "Anyway, what do you want?"

He shows me the orange rubber sphere we all know very well as a basketball. "Wanna shoot some hoops with me, Craig and Cartman?"

I raise an eyebrow. "And where's Kyle in this equation?"

This time, Stan quirks his eyebrows. "Kyle."

I turn my head with a slightly distasteful squint. "Your boyfriend?"

Stan rolls his eyes. "I know who Kyle is, smartass. I mean why?"

That word causes my mouth to gape a bit. "What do you mean, 'why'? You two haven't played basketball in years!"

"Yeah, but he seems pretty happy talking to Wendy, so why disturb him?"

"Did you even ask him? What would make him happier than spending time with you?"

Stan stops and contemplates this for a minute. He scratches his head, saying, "Yeah... See, lately, Kyle's being a... brat..."

And this is the right moment for me to shut up, because I know exactly what he's talking about.

I don't know if Kyle's realized, but he's nicknamed "Princess" for a reason. He started out with his stupid rivalry with Cartman, and it all went downhill from there. When he and Stan became each other's property, the latter male, being a pussy, started catering to his every whim. Kyle's started whining whenever Stan hasn't been by his his side for an entire day, he's a jealous person, he gives people the business at the drop of a hat, he gets offended way too easily, and he'll trample basically anyone to please his boyfriend.

I think that the only reason I socialize with him is because of what we've been through in the past. That and the fact that I was the middle of a "Stan-Kenny-Kyle" sandwich. But again, I digress.

I finally speak up after a deafening awkward silence. "Maybe his competitive attitude will be just what you need." I suggest.

Stan raises an eyebrow. "For a lunchtime basketball game?"

I shrug. "He may go from giving you guys some hustle to encouraging you schoolboys to defend the barricade."

He chuckles, meaning that my Les Miserables reference is not lost on him.

"Alright, man, I'll ask my boo if he-"

I gag a bit.

"...You okay?"

"Sorry, you guys are just so gay, it's a little sickening."

Stan scowls and gives a slight nod, as though he's saying, "Oh that's real nice..."

I wave my hand in dismissal and lead the way to the "Princess".

You know, Kyle's ego isn't that undeserved, when you think about it. He works harder than anyone else when it comes to school, and he really keeps his figure in top condition for Stan, which ends up getting him frequent modeling jobs.

Let me tell you, Kyle really knows what he's doing. His skin is smooth and soft like a marshmallow. Puberty smiled upon him, because he got through with clear skin, perfect posture, and a scent of the fresh morning air. And then there's the icing on the cake, the crown jewel: that ass. A body part with a contained roundness that even the moon must worship. A behind that even "Bosom-Booty" Bebe envies.

And no, I don't digress.

We finally arrive at our destination where Kyle immediately embraces Stan.

"Stan! You came to hang out with us!" He squeals. It's evident that this is a rare occurrence during school hours, that they would actually hang out rather than be all "kissy-kissy" with each other. I would genuinely like someone to find an area on Kyle's body where Stan's lips haven't been.

You know, it's only when the two of them are together that you've realized how much they've changed physically. Seven years ago, Stan and Kyle were almost the same height and weight. Now, Stan is somewhere between lean and buff. He's got half a foot on his better half. He keeps most of his skin clear of hair, save for pubes and armpit hair. And by God, he's just about the fastest person in South Park. I've actually seen him beat out the bus by five minutes when the driver left him for not having exact change.

What's really changed is his eyes. They've become so sharp and focused. They're perfectly passionate and lovely when he's in a good mood, but piss him off, and he has a hawk-eye glare so sharp, you'll literally feel your soul being executed.

Kyle, on the other hand, has become a twig, basically. It's to be expected after half a decade of minimal physical education and keeping a healthy diet for Stan, though Stan probably doesn't care about his appearance. Kyle's Jew-fro hasn't changed, though. It's one of life's mysteries. That his, how the hat contains his hair so well.

Today, Stan wears a cool gray jacket with scarlet fur. Under it, he wears a white ribbed tee lined with blue. Below that is a pair of brown cargo pants and heavy, black boots.

Kyle is in his normal orange jacket, one that he's had resized since childhood. If he could part with the damn thing, he could save a lot of money and buy a new one. Beneath than ancient garment is a carrot orange tee with a brown thermal undershirt under it. He also wears skinny black jeans and brown fur boots.

Over Kyle's shoulder, Stan gives a sheepish wave to Wendy, who gives an obligated wave back. She wears a long lavender coat with a black turtleneck and tan pants tucked into black rain boots. I hear her new beret cost a fortune. Designer apparel or some shit.

I look over to Bebe, who gives a light wave and a wink, to which I reply to with a wink and a smirk. It's amazing we've kept such a good friendly relationship after our encounters in the bedroom. All forty-three of them. She's my regular right after Butters. Thankfully, she doesn't want a committed relationship from me.

Bebe, by the way, is wearing a red coat, pink pants, snow leopard-print earmuffs, and brown boots.

Red pouts at the loss of her crotch-pillow, though she quickly gets over it when she gets up and offers a smoke to Bebe and me. I shrug, holding back my enthusiasm, and I think that Bebe does the same.

Before our departure to find an unsupervised area, from what I can hear from their conversation, Kyle accepted Stan's offer. Wendy took it upon her self to accept it, and I'm sure that Stan's too much of a pussy to refuse.


Hi guys, this is my first fanfiction. I want the story to be deep and interesting, so any constructive criticism you have is appreciated.