Sometimes, Stan really admired her smarts.
Despite being top of the class in everything, she wasn't a bitch about it and used her knowledge to help others. This was exactly where Kyle and Cartman failed: Cartman loved to flaunt and Kyle hated to help.
She would smile at him and even if it didn't make his day better, it was still so intuitive that she knew how down in the dumps he was.
Sometimes, he really wanted to write her a poem.
He'd spend hours scribbling down lyrics from various songs and trying to get it to fit into the "roses are red" format. But they wouldn't make any sense at all, and though the gesture was nice, Stan didn't have a way with words.
After all, a love poem can't just consist of "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou."
Still, it's the thought that counts.
Sometimes, Stan would hate her.
She'd rage at the most inopportune moments, yelling at him for never understanding anything. He'd yell right back, hurling insult after insult in her face, shoving her, smacking her.
She'd shove right back, pushing and screaming and scratching and biting. The marks would sting, but the verbal cuts would scar.
Afterward, he wouldn't see her for days until she showed up in his bedroom, an absolute wreck. He'd take her into his arms, petting and soothing her while she cried for the both of them.
Though he'd never admit it, sometime Stan would cry as well.
Sometimes, he'd love to say her name.
He'd call out whenever, shouting it across a classroom, a cafeteria, a mall. The location didn't matter. He just loved to hear the way the two syllables sounded: rolling of his tongue. She would giggle whenever he kept saying it, blush a deep red, then call his name in the same fashion.
Stan didn't like his name; it was much too blunt. But hers... Hers... It sounded so beautiful.
So he'd keep on saying it.
Sometimes, Stan would love the little things.
That's a lie.
He didn't notice individual things about her no matter how much he tried. All that registered in his mind was Wendy.
And try he did, day after day.
But it was still Wendy.
And that was fine with him.
Sometimes, Stan had regret.
It was a nasty thing: burrowing deep into his very soul and making him feel as though there was no point.
But then he'd see her face.
Not literally, but he'd see how angry she would be if he gave up. How disappointed.
So he'd trudge on for another day, hoping that if he kept going for long enough, she'd come back.
Stan always loved Wendy Testaburger.