[Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any of its characters...unfortunately :) This story is purely for entertainment purposes.]
A/N: You probably noticed in the last chapter that I didn't give many character descriptions. I did this for a reason; who wants to be bogged down by "Kyle Broflovski, Stan's best friend, is a red-headed Jew who..." and the like? I assume that if you're reading South Park fanfiction, you know/love the show's characters already and don't need unnecessary background info. Just wanted to put that out there.
Enjoy!
I've never been a girl who loves shopping.
Sure, I've been known to treat myself to some boots or a nice handbag every now and then with the substantial wad of babysitting money I've accumulated over the past few years, but I wouldn't call myself a shopaholic. There is usually only one true shopaholic in a group of friends. And in this case, that would be Bebe.
Bebe has been a shopping addict for God-knows-how-long. Back in fourth grade, she created an elaborate scheme to make Clyde Donovan the most popular boy in the class…so that all the girls could take turns being his girlfriend and get free shoes from his father's store. Ah, typical Bebe.
Seven years later, she's still insane about shopping, which is why we're spending our Monday afternoon poring over Vogue and the latest Hollister and Abercrombie catalogs.
"Why do you still order catalogs?" I question, internally gawking at the price of a bedazzled jacket. "All the inventory is online. You save paper that way."
She pulls out a fat red Sharpie to circle something in the magazine. "I like being able to dog-ear the pages and physically highlight the things I want," she replies, looking at me as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And what's with you and paper today? Planning on being an environmentalist now?"
"Nope. Just a hippie." Bebe grins and swipes at me with the mag.
I stopped trying to shake the "hippie" label years ago. It doesn't matter that it's not my fault that my long hair is so damn unruly and I care about the earth and how screwed-up the government is; the conservative parents of South Park have brainwashed their kids into shunning anyone who doesn't share their right-wing values.
Conformists.
"What are you wearing to Token's party?" Bebe asks, interrupting my thoughts before they turn into a raging rant of liberal ideologies.
"I have no idea."
"But it's on Saturday night."
"Exactly. I have almost a week. I'll figure it out Saturday afternoon."
She looks aghast. "You know it gonna be the biggest party of the year, right?" Which is somewhat true, but only because a) it's the day before Valentine's Day, so there will surely be even more hook-ups than usual, and b) Token Black's family is extremely wealthy. Like my-house-is-four-times-the-size-of-anyone-else's wealthy.
I close the catalog I'm reading once I get to a pair of jeans that are so ripped, there's less fabric than a pair of underwear. "What about junior prom?"
"That's not a party," she explains. "It's an event."
"Right…"
"Heidi's wearing that blue thing with the stripes. You know… The one she got when we went to the mall over Christmas break?"
I struggled to remember the specifics of our mall trip. "Define 'blue thing.'"
"The blue thing! The thing that looked like a jumper or whatever, but also kinda like a dress-thingy…"
"Oh, right. That detailed description totally helped me know what you're talking about."
She looks up and lets out a sigh of exasperation. "Wendy…"
"I'm sorry, okay? I just don't really care what people are wearing to the party, or what I'm wearing… It's not like I have to attract anyone's attention."
"What, just because you already have a boyfriend, you can't look good?" Bebe jumps off my bed and continues without letting me answer. "Listen, you should make an effort! You're a beautiful woman, Wendy Testaburger! Show off what God gave you!"
I look down at myself. What did God give me? Two barely B-cup breasts, a square-ish frame, pasty white legs that are—thank God—virtually hairless, a round and perky butt… (Before Kyle announced his sexuality, everyone thought that one day it would come out that our pre-exam study sessions were actually a front for our "covert relationship," and Bebe used to remark often that if Kyle and I had kids, they would have "the most perfect asses in all of mankind.")
I shrug. "I'm not insecure about my appearance. I just don't see the point in piling on tons of mascara and wearing some low-cut dress with my boobs pushed up to my chin."
"Who said that's what dressing up is all about?" Bebe grabs my shoulders and swivels me around to face my full-length mirror. "Now, let's see here… Some blush to show off those cheekbones, a little bit of lip-gloss… Ooh, wait right here!" She runs to closet and fishes out a green dress that I bought for Ike Broflovski's Bar Mitzvah and never wore again. As soon as she holds it up against me, I remember why I liked it in the first place—the torso is a stiff green corset, and underneath the wide black belt is a cascade of rippling emerald velvet. It's stunning.
"Okay," I say with a sigh, defeated. "I guess I'll wear this to the party." Bebe squeals with excitement. "But no make-up, okay? I'm not interested in looking like a slut."
"You're such a party poop," she whines. "Literally."
"I think you mean 'figuratively.'"
"I think I mean, 'shut the hell up, Wendy Testaburger." She throws a pillow at me before making her way to my bedroom door. "I gotta get home before I miss my dad's stupid curfew."
I nod sympathetically. "Still six o'clock?"
"On school nights, yeah. Ugh, it fucking sucks. What am I, twelve fucking years old?"
I follow her down the stairs and open the front door for her. Just as I'm about to hug her and say goodbye, I notice Kenny walking through my front yard. He waves. "Hey, Wendy," he greets me with a smile.
Bebe's face lights up. "Hi, Kenny," she says coyly, slinking down the steps until they are standing face-to-face. "What are you doing in this neck of the woods?"
"Just wanted to give Wendy something she forgot at school." He winks at her and keeps walking to the door. Bebe looks like she's having heart palpitations as she waves goodbye and jogs off.
I fold my arms. "So, you need to give me something?"
"Yeah." He pulls a big book out of his backpack. "You left your physics textbook in the science lab this morning and I forgot to give it to you at lunch."
Wow. That's…nice. "I appreciate it a lot, but…you trekked across town just to bring me my textbook?"
"What can I say?" he remarks, grinning. "I'm such a kind individual. Speaking of acts of kindness, would you mind letting me use your bathroom while I'm here?"
"Yeah, of course. It's right upstairs."
"Thanks."
Once he's upstairs, I start thinking: Why would he bother coming all the way here for my stupid textbook? He's never shown much interest in me before. Wait a second. All of a sudden he cares about me, perhaps even—dare I say it—loves me?
Did he write the letter?
Oh my God.
I never considered him as a suspect, but jeez, maybe that's his angle. Touché, Kenny McCormick, touché.
He returns a minute or so later. "Nice towels," he mentions. "I really like the giant T's. I assume they stand for Testaburger."
"You would be correct in your assumption." I keep waiting for him to say something, maybe ask me out or something…?
For Pete's sake, Wendy! Even if he is the letter writer, if he asks you out, it's not like you can do anything about it. No matter how amazingly blue his eyes are.
Shut up, brain. You don't know anything. You love Stan. Get that into your thick skull.
"So, Wendy," Kenny starts, "now that I've done you a favor, maybe you can do one for me."
"Sure, anything." Go out with you?
Brain, what did I tell you?
"Can you come to Craig's house with me?"
Huh?
"Um, why, exactly?"
His voice lowers. "You know how I've been getting my, like, stuff from Craig?" I nod. Everybody gets their "stuff" from Craig Tucker. His parents care so little about their son's life that they've failed to notice the weed-dealing operation that's been up-and-running in Craig's bedroom for almost two years.
"Yeah, so?"
"Well, he said he won't give me my stuff this time unless I bring you with me."
"And why can't he just say whatever he needs to say to me on his own time? We see each other all day long in school."
"Have you seriously already forgotten the whole Seven Minutes in Heaven thing at Bebe's sweet sixteen? If Craig even comes near you, Stan'll murder him."
"It's not Craig's fault he got stuck with me!"
"True. But it's totally his fault that he tried to stick his finger up your hooch."
Right. I forgot about that. Must have blocked it out of my memory. Ew.
"So, what, I just come with you to Craig's house so that you can get your, um, stuff, and he'll tell me his spiel, and we'll be done?"
"Pretty much."
"Okay. But then you and me are squared away on the favors."
"Yep."
As we head off to Craig's, it dawns on me. "Wait a second, I didn't leave my textbook in class. I purposely left it in my locker because I'd finished the homework during study hall before lunch. In fact, I had it with me when Bebe found the letter." I narrow my eyes. "Did you break into my locker? Just so that I would owe you a favor?"
"No," he replies. But his denial is dripping with guilt. "Okay, yes. Well, no, I didn't break in. You didn't close your lock right when you left school so it was open, and I got the idea as I was walking by it on the way to the bus. I knew you wouldn't want to come to Craig's house since he's such an asshole, so I needed an entrance plan."
I'm not sure what to say. "Wow. Whatever Craig has to tell me better be really important."
"It is." His sky-blue eyes stare directly into my soul. At least, that's how it feels.
Settle down, I tell myself sternly. It's the last day of your period; your hormones are fluctuating rapidly. Whatever you are feeling right now isn't real. It's nothing like what you feel for Stan.
But then again, having little crushes on the side is normal, right? As long as I'm not thinking about that guy…
Dammit. Now I am.
At least he didn't write the letter. At least, I'm pretty sure he would never do anything like that. Rather, I hope he would never do anything like that.
Or is it that I hope he would?
…
Shortly before we arrive at Craig's, Kenny gets a text from Craig saying that he's going to quickly take a shower, and that we should let ourselves in if we get there before Craig is out. And that's exactly what we do.
"Aren't Craig's parents going to wonder why two random teenagers are breaking into their house?" I consider, noticing a car parked in the driveway.
"Nah, I do it all the time," Kenny replies. "Craig's parents don't give two shits about him, anyway." He turns the unlocked doorknob and pushes his way inside.
The first thing I think is, it's dark. The only light is the pulsating blue haze emanating from the TV, which is muted. I hear the faint sound of water running and…is that snoring? That's when I notice there's a man lying on the couch. "Is that Mr. Tucker?" I whisper.
Kenny shrugs. "Yeah. Don't worry about him. When my dad drinks, he yells. When Craig's dad drinks, he goes into a mini coma. He'll be out for hours."
"Is he always like this?"
"Pretty much."
"What about Craig's mom?"
"Probably out hittin' the bars for younger guys." He gives me a small smile. "For all the crap people say about my parents, at least they love the hell outta each other."
I follow Kenny out of the living room and into the kitchen. He immediately begins rooting around in the fridge. After a few moments, he pulls out a stalk of celery. "Really?" I balk. "Stealing vegetables?"
"Mrs. Tucker is going through some super health nut phase, so goodbye saltine crackers and hello celery sticks!" He jubilantly bites into the celery like it's a bar of chocolate, grinning a green and toothy grin.
I roll my eyes and sit down at the kitchen table. The tabletop is littered with magazines. I pick one up. Playboy. "Ew!" I drop it like a hot tamale.
Kenny chortles. "Don't be so uptight, Wendy. I'm sure Stan has a sock drawer full of stuff like this."
I give him a good hard glare and reach for the magazine again. Who knows? Maybe it's not completely degrading to women.
After flipping through the first few pages, I realize, yeah, it still is. Just like I thought.
But then I stumble upon an actual article. With words. It's titled "What the Fuck?: What It Means & How to Use It." I scroll through it. It's literally a piece about the F-word, and although I have no interest whatsoever in reading it, I have nothing better to do while I wait for stupid Craig Tucker.
When I get to the third paragraph (all about the etymology of fuck), I notice something peculiar; it looks like someone cut out one of the words in the article. I carefully dissect the sentence: But _ is much more than just an expletive. The missing word is obviously fuck.
Suddenly, something flies through my head. I'm not just looking for a good fuck either. The line from the note! Of course! I flip through the rest of the magazine, sporadically finding pages with cut out words. Why else would someone cut out words from a magazine if not to put them in a secret love letter?
Everything is crystal clear now. It explains why the elusive, indifferent Craig Tucker would want to invite me over to his house. He is the one who wrote the letter. He is in love with me. Wow.
"You're not supposed to touch other people's stuff."
I'd know that nasal voice anywhere.
I whip around to see Craig standing right behind me. I expect him to look mad but he doesn't. Then again, the only expression I've ever seen on his face is a blank stare.
"O-oh, sorry," I mumble. Did I mention that the only thing he's wearing is a towel wrapped around his scrawny waist? He's not even wearing his goddamn chullo (after all these years, he's the only guy in class who still wears a hat every minute of the day). His floppy jet-black hair is pushed to one side, showing off his cobalt-blue eyes. It's a darker, richer shade of blue than the color of Kenny's. They're…intense, to say the least.
Shut up, Wendy.
"So, dude, I brought the girl," Kenny says cheerfully, placing a hand on Craig's shoulder. "Now can we get to business or what?"
Craig doesn't take his eyes off mine. "I guess. Let's go upstairs."
We follow him up the stairs and into his bedroom. It's the plainest, most boring bedroom I've ever seen. Kenny immediately makes himself at home, dumping his heavy bag onto the floor and lying down on Craig's bed. While Craig searches his closet for some clothes, I awkwardly take a seat on the edge of the bed, watching him stretch into a tight-fitting black t-shirt and put on dark jeans under his towel. "So…" I begin carefully, "would you mind telling me why I'm here?"
Craig stands barely a few feet away from me. Because I love you, Wendy.
"I like Bebe," he says abruptly.
"What?" I sputter, unable to contain my shock.
He repeats it calmly, like a mantra. "I like Bebe."
"As in, like, like?"
"Yes."
This is unbelievable. First he writes me an anonymous love note, and now he's trying to make me jealous by feigning interest in another girl? "You made Kenny bring me here for this?"
"Well…" He hesitates for the first time. "I need you to set me up on a date with her. I would be so happy."
Hah. That's funny. Bebe and Craig on a date. "She's kind of…seeing someone right now." I glance at Kenny, who's looking pretty damn innocent. As if.
"She has a boyfriend?" Craig asks flatly.
"No, more like a—"
"Friend with benefits?" Kenny offers up.
"Yes," I say steadily. "A friend with benefits."
Craig shifts slightly. "So?"
"So, she wouldn't be interested. And even if she was, I'm not going to play matchmaker, especially not between you and my best friend."
This leaves Craig silent for a while. He looks at Kenny, then at me. "If you don't get me a date with Bebe, I'll tell Stan that you and me fucked."
I can't help but laugh. "Oh, like he'll believe your word over mine."
"He will if I have these." He strides over to Kenny's backpack and pulls out a piece of material. Once he holds it up, I realize what it is: my panties.
"Where did you get that?" I hiss at Kenny.
He raises his eyebrows. "I was at your house, Wendy, remember? I was 'in the bathroom.'"
I can't believe this. Kenny, stealing underwear? That's low, especially for a nice guy like him. Then again, I don't really know Kenny at all…
"You were in on this, too?"
Kenny holds up his hands. "Hey, I just did what Craig told me to do. I need my grass, man."
I sigh a heavy sigh and turn to Craig. "So what, you're going to show Stan the underwear and somehow convince him that we had sex? It could be anyone's underwear!"
Kenny chortles. "Your towel isn't the only monogrammed piece of fabric in your house, Wendy." Craig stretches out the panties, showing off a big W sewn in the front. Whoops. Forgot about that.
In the beginning of junior year, I started regularly going to the pool, and my mom decided to stitch my initials in my underwear so that they wouldn't get mixed up with someone else's in the locker room. The whole thing was so ridiculous that I had to put a stop to it, and I managed to catch her just as she was sewing the first W in one pair of panties. And these are said panties.
"How did you know I have monogrammed underwear?" I ask Kenny, my voice rising to a pitch I didn't know it could reach.
"Bebe told me," he answers coolly. Typical. She would tell Kenny secrets about her best friend.
Craig's mouth twitches at the edges, the closest he'll ever get to a smile. "These are yours, Wendy. I'm sure Stan has seen them before." Of course he has. He laughs every time he takes off my pants and sees me wearing them. "What do you want to do?"
I weigh my options. On one hand, I can set Bebe up with Craig, but that doesn't sound too appealing. On the other hand, I can tell Craig to fuck off, but that means risking my relationship with Stan. I guess I could always explain the whole situation to Stan and hope that he believes me, which he wouldn't; in what universe would Craig make Kenny steal my underwear so that he could blackmail me into hooking him up with Bebe?
In this universe, apparently.
But it still sounds ludicrous. Which is probably why Craig created such a convoluted plan to begin with.
Plus I'd have to admit to Stan that Craig doesn't really like Bebe, and that he's only doing this to make me jealous because really, he wrote that love letter.
Of course, if Stan decided to believe this, he would probably beat Craig to a pulp.
None of the possibilities look too bright right now.
But I know what I must do.
I manage to coax my dry lips into spouting a feeble "I'll do it" and yank my underwear out of Craig's hands.
He licks his lips. "Cool."
I look at Kenny in disgust. "I can't believe I'm doing this."
Just as I'm about to leave, I notice something colorful on Craig's wall. It's a giant bulletin board that was hidden behind the open door when we first came in. The vibrant words and pictures contrast sharply against the rest of the dull white and gray room. "That's Craig's 'feelings' board," Kenny snickers.
"It's not a feelings board," Craig retorts. "It's just a stupid thing my mom bought so I can tack up random crap I like."
I peer closely at the board. The majority of it is covered with cutouts of skateboarders (which makes sense, since Craig was the one to start the whole skateboarding trend in eighth grade amongst the boys in South Park) and—lo and behold—magazine clippings. Upon further investigation, I'm able to conclude that yes, the articles on the board are probably from Playboy. By the time my eyes reach an area of the board that is completely covered by the word fuck in different fonts, I realize that Craig regularly cuts things out of magazines, and that they have absolutely nothing to do with the letter I got.
And we're back to square one.
Well, square one-point-one; at least I know the writer is probably not Kenny or Craig.
Once I'm out of Craig's house, I'm about to trudge home in the snow when I get a text from Stan: Sisters in town. Moms making chicken quesadillas & oreo cake. U in? :)
I smile just as wide as the emoticon's smile.
When Stan's sister Shelly comes down from Denver to visit, Mrs. Marsh makes Shelly's favorite food, which is, coincidentally, my favorite food, too. Add to it Mrs. Marsh's amazing culinary skills, Mr. Marsh's eccentricity, and Shelly's wry wit, and you get one fun evening. Not to mention how adorable and newlywed-ish Stan's parents can be sometimes, having only remarried two years ago… Needless to say, I'd give anything to have Stan's family instead of my own.
So I reply to the text…
You bet.
…and head off for Stan's.
What'd ya think, audience? Since I won't be putting any Craig/Tweek in my story (sorry, Creek fans), I decided to at least give Craig a cameo. Plus, his role and Kenny's show how wishy-washy Wendy's emotions can be toward love. FYI...she's starting to bug me.
So, if anyone has any ideas for future chapters or would like to request a cameo appearance by their favorite character, please let me know in the review section. And LEAVE A REVIEW, PEOPLE! This is all written for you guys... I want to know what YOU like!
xoxo,
FonicsMonkey
