[Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any of its characters...unfortunately :) This story is purely for entertainment purposes.]

A/N: Whoa. It's been so long since I last wrote! But have no fear...a fresh update is here! :D This chapter has some nice clues going on, so pay careful attention, especially all of you who are so sure you know who wrote the letter.

Happy reading! (And remember to REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!)

You know those days when it's really, really cold outside, but the gods decide to send down rain instead of snow? So the water falls down as sleet, accumulating in great heaps of slush along the sidewalk?

Yep. Today is one of those days.

As I stand in front of my locker after school, picking out which folders I need for tonight's homework, I feel a tap on the shoulder. I close my locker door to see who tapped me and find Kyle standing at his locker directly on my right. "What's up?" I greet him, sliding the last folder into my bag and turning the dial on my locker until the door locks shut.

He smiles me one of those amazing Kyle smiles. Stan's make all the girls want to jump his bones, but when Kyle flashes his pearly whites, you feel like you're a million bucks, like he genuinely cares about whatever you have to say. "Not much," he replies cheerfully. "I was just wondering how you're getting along with the love letter investigation."

"I have some leads," I reveal cryptically.

"Like what?"

"I'm not going to tell you, Mr. Let's-Make-This-a-Contest! Why, do you have any leads?"

He shakes his head, his curls flopping all over the place. "Nope. All I know is that it can't be Timmy."

"Why not?"

"Didn't you see him today in Art, cutting out his self-portrait with scissors? He cut straight through his face! He couldn't possible have cut out those tiny words from a magazine."

"Plus," I add with a chuckle, "knowing Timmy, a love letter from him would be addressed to 'Timmy'."

"And I don't think there are that many appearances of the word 'Timmy' in mainstream magazines."

I laugh as Kyle stuffs a textbook into his bag and closes his locker. "So besides that, you don't have any evidence pointing to a particular person?"

"Well…" He leans back against the lockers contemplatively. "Unless it's Mark."

"Cottswolds?" I say in disbelief.

"Yeah, who else would I be talking about?"

"I don't know, but Mark Cottswolds has never liked a girl. Ever."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that—"

"Why do you think he wrote the letter?"

"Wendy, he stares at you all the time. Remember when you got a hundred perfect on the super-hard Calc midterm, and it was announced over PA system the next morning?"

"Of course I do." Duh. I was the first student in six years to score a hundred on that test. I wouldn't forget that.

"Well, when that was announced, he started touching his…private area."

"No," I hiss, aghast.

"You better believe it," he responds seriously. "He was fondling himself in the back for a full ten seconds."

"I knew that kid had issues!"

Kyle rolls his eyes. "His whole family has issues. You would be crazy, too, if you had a sexually-depraved sister and a dad secretly addicted to cocaine."

"That's just a rumor," I scoff.

"Come on, you've seen him at the School Committee meetings. He sniffs between every word!"

"Whatever. Bottom line, I have no interest in Mark Cottswolds."

Suddenly a buzzer rings out, signaling a PA system announcement: "Announcement to all those on the boys basketball team." Kyle raises his eyebrows. "Coach Kern's car broke down because of the storm, so basketball practice has been cancelled for today. That is all."

Kyle pumps his fist in the air. "Yes! I'm way too tired to run around a gym in short-shorts right now."

I wince. "Yeah, those shorts are a bit too short."

"You'd think our team captain would do something about that," he remarks sarcastically, his lips curled into a snide smile.

I'm not sure how to respond to that.

When both Stan and Kyle received an equal amount of votes from their teammates in the election for team captain in November, the coach told them to decide it for themselves. Kyle stepped aside to give Stan the position, and Stan let him. Everyone knows Kyle is a better player and loves basketball more than almost anything, so it has been a source of friction in their relationship; pretty much the only source of friction. Being the "super best friends" they are, they basically got over it within a few days, but it's still a sore spot for Kyle.

Luckily, a beep from Kyle's backpack distracts him from whatever awkward sludge might come out of my mouth. He unzips the bag and pulls out his cell. "Speaking of Stan…" he says slowly, squinting to read the message. "Hmm."

"What?"

"He's checking to see if I want to hang out." He quickly types a response before glancing up at me. "Interested in tagging along?"

"Just you and Stan?"

"No, the usual."

Great. The usual. That means Kenny and the fatass. I can't decide which one I'm looking forward to seeing more. At least Cartman doesn't feel the need to steal my underwear and use it to blackmail me into helping his friend.

It's not like I have anything better to do on a Tuesday afternoon than hang out with my boyfriend and his gang.

"I'll come," I say with a sigh. "I assume they're still here."

"Yeah, they're waiting outside in the car." I know "the car" must be Stan's; besides Token and Clyde, nobody else in our class has a driver's license, let alone their own car. Stan's parents bought it last fall to congratulate him when the SP High football team won the state championships for the first time. Ever.

Ah, the perks of dating the quarterback.

Kyle and I gather our stuff, put on our huge coats (necessary for surviving Colorado winters), and make our way to the school lobby. Through the wide glass doors, we can see the harsh sleet bearing down on our poor little town.

"Any chance you brought an umbrella?" Kyle asks hopefully.

"Nope. But it's not like it would help, anyway." It looks like the wind is blowing at about a thousand miles an hour.

Kyle looks down and shuffles his feet. "Maybe we should wait for the weather to settle down."

"It's not going to settle down."

"Yeah, but… My hair's going to get all wet."

I stare at him. Really? Really? His hair is going to get wet? "Kyle, I don't know if you've noticed, but Stan's car is right outside. Do you see it? Right out there. We'll be out in the sleet for all of four seconds."

He sighs. "But I finally got the right shampoo to conditioner ratio this morning. My hair has never looked so good."

It's true. His curls do look incredible. Let me tell you, it's pretty hard to make a Jewfro look good, but he is certainly pulling it off.

Nevertheless, I'm starving, and I would like to get a move on.

"Just because you're gay, it doesn't mean you have to act so damn gay all the time," I scold. "Now suck it up, and let's go."

He fluffs up some curls, takes a deep breath, and pushes open the doors. We dash out to the car as fast as we can. Out of habit, I open the front passenger seat door, only to find Cartman sitting inside. "Dude, get out," Stan barks. Cartman grumbles and complies. I'm about to get inside when Kyle ducks in before me. I'm so wet and cold at this point that I don't bother arguing about it, so I get in back next to Cartman, shutting the door before the seat gets covered with snow—at least, the slim part of the seat that isn't covered by Cartman's fat ass.

"Kyle," Stan exclaims. "I didn't kick Cartman out of that seat for you."

Kyle's face colors. He turns around to face me. "Oh. Sorry, Wendy. Force of habit."

Force of habit. I'm not sure why, but the fact that it's a "force of habit" for Kyle to sit shotgun in Stan's car—just like it is for me—bothers me a little. They're best friends, I remind myself. Of course Kyle would have a familiar seat in Stan's car. But it still bothers me.

Stan sighs. "Whatever. Can we please just decide where we're going before my tires get frozen to the pavement?"

"That wouldn't happen in such a short amount of time," Kyle reasons.

"Shut the fuck up," Cartman groans. "Nobody gives a fuck."

Stan frowns. "Cool it, Cartman. He was just—"

"—trying to show what a smart fucking cunt he is," Cartman finishes.

"Dude!" Stan cries. "Wendy's right there!" He knows how much I hate that word.

Cartman cross his arms. "Speaking of cunts, who invited the stupid ho anyway?"

Stan hits the wheel hard. "Jesus Christ! That's my girlfriend!"

"You better shut up right now, Cartman," Kyle warns him.

"Or what?" Cartman counters, faking fear. "You'll do a little gay dance? Give me a mani-pedi?"

"Do you even know what a mani-pedi is?" Kenny asks with a smirk.

"Of course I do. Gosh, Kinny, what do you think I am, an idiot?"

"ENOUGH!" I explode. Everyone stops talking. "Good. Okay, look: I'm really, really hungry, and I'd like us to make a decision now so I don't have spend the next hour sitting here squished between the window and Cartman's rolls of fat."

"Ay!"

"Wendy's right," Kyle says. "Where are we going?"

Stan rolls his eyes. "Well, before you and Wendy got here, we were talking about maybe going to Harbucks—"

"No!" Cartman yells. "We're not going to fucking Harbucks! We're going to Tweek Bros!"

My ears perk up as I remember what Shelly told me yesterday. This would be a perfect investigation opportunity. "Yes. Let's go to Tweek Bros."

"You want to go to Tweek Bros?" Stan says in disbelief. "What about all that 'they don't treat their workers fairly' stuff?"

"Oh, and you think Harbucks treats their workers fairly?"

"Who cares about the stupid workers?" Cartman inputs impatiently. "I want a goddamn bear claw, and you can only get them at Tweek Bros, so let's go. Now."

"I agree," I say quietly.

"See! Even Windy wants to go!"

"No, Cartman!" Kyle cries. "You always get to decide where we go, and this time you're not going to get your way and you're going to have to deal with it."

"Dude, maybe we should go to Tweek Bros…" Stan says hesitantly.

Kyle narrows his eyes. "You're just saying that because your girlfriend wants to!"

"What's wrong with that?" I ask crossly.

Kenny just shakes his head. "You guys are such pussies. Let's stop by Harbucks so Kyle can get his gay little mocha-frappa-whatever, and then we can go to Tweek Bros. so Cartman can get his bear claw and Wendy can do whatever the fuck she needs to do. And Stan'll be happy 'cause his girlfriend's happy. Everybody wins."

And everyone nods because yes, that is actually a very good plan. So we head off to Tweek Bros. with a car full of happy people, the happiest being me, since I'm about to get one step closer to finding out who wrote the letter.

Well, I'm not entirely happy. I'm still jammed next to Cartman.

It's alright, though. He smells of lavender and sweat, a combination that, in this situation, isn't entirely unpleasant.

What?

No, I didn't just think that. Not a chance in hell.

…

Once we're at Tweek Bros., we have to put two tables together and pull up an extra chair. Cartman and Kyle are in the middle of a heated argument about Obama.

"He's a fucking Islamic terrorist," Cartman declares, pounding his fist against the table.

"He's not Muslim or a terrorist, r-tard!" Kyle shrieks.

"Oh, yeah? How the fuck do you know, Jew? Are you best friends with him or something?"

"Ugh! You're so ignorant, it's disgusting!"

"Really, Kahl? I'm the ignorant one here? No, I don't think so. I know all about Obama's secret alliance with Al-Qaeda. I know that he was the one responsible for 9/11. I'll bet you didn't know any of that, Jew!"

"You know absolutely nothing about 9/11, you fat fuck!"

"I'm not fat, you—"

"I'm going to go get the food," I interject, hoping for a five-minute break from all the chaos. "Whoever wants to put in an order should do that now."

Cartman focuses his attention on me. Of course… The only thing Cartman likes more than getting Kyle riled up is eating. "Bear claw!" he demands, sliding some bills across the table. "Plain, not cherry."

Kenny wrinkles his nose. "Don't you get tired of getting the same thing every single time you come here?"

"No. Why mess with perfection?"

"I'll just have some coffee," Stan requests with a grin. He passes me some money. "Whatever you want is on me."

"Thanks," I say, squeezing his hand. "Kyle? What about you?"

He holds up his fancy Harbucks drink. "I'm good, thanks."

"I'll have a coffee and a chocolate chip cookie," Kenny pipes up. I wait for him to give me some money for it, but he just looks at me expectedly. I know that the guys always pay for him, but I'm way too pissed at him right now to do anything charitable, even if his family is dirt poor. Kyle realizes that I'm not going to budge until Kenny pays me, so he pulls some money out of wallet and passes it to me, gesturing subtly that it's for Kenny's food. I sigh and take everyone's money to the register.

There are some other people ordering, and the guy at the register takes his time making the drinks, so I have to wait around. After a minute or so, I notice Craig Tucker, Clyde Donovan, Token Black, Tweek Tweak, and Jimmy Valmer enter the coffee shop. Oh, God. Of course, they all plonk themselves down next to Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny. Now I have to endure not only the fabulous foursome, but their five wonderful frenemies, too.

When the drinks are finally done, I take the heavy tray to the little station with the cream and sugar. I know Stan's coffee preference well by now: two packets of artificial sweetener, a lot of milk, and just a pinch of cocoa powder. As I'm stirring Stan's coffee, I see the man who's fixing his coffee next to me lean over and pick something up from the recycling bin. It's a magazine. I almost spill the coffee in my effort to get to the recycling bin. It's empty. I don't know how many magazines there were before, but there's only one now, and it might be one I need. "Excuse me, sir," I say very politely. "Could I please see that magazine you're holding?"

He looks down at me. "Actually, I've been meaning to read this issue for a while. I just happened to see it in the bin now. Funny, huh?"

"Yeah, it's very funny… But you see, I really need to read that particular magazine…"

"Well, miss," he hisses, "you're just going to have to wait until I'm done, now, won't you?" And with that, he struts across the restaurant, stopping to recline in one of the plush couches with his coffee and the magazine. My magazine.

Well, if he wants me to wait, then hell, I'm going to wait.

I grab Stan's coffee and return to the table, putting down the tray and handing Stan his coffee with a small smile.

Clyde whistles. "Whoo, Marsh, you have her getting you coffee? Aw, man, livin' the good life, huh?" I ignore his blatantly sexist comment and sit down, digging into my food.

"You ordered granola and yogurt?" Cartman remarks disdainfully, eyeing my plate. "It's like you're trying to be a hippie."

"At least she's being health conscious," Jimmy points out. "That b-b-bear claw must have at least four hundred c-cal…at least four hundred ca…four hundred c-calories."

Cartman takes a huge bite of his bear claw, crumbs flying everywhere. "Jimmy, I would totally flip you off right now if I wasn't in bear claw bliss—"

"JESUS CHRIST!" Tweek yells suddenly. We all look to see what caused his outburst, and it seems to have been something in the newspaper he's reading.

"What?" Craig asks flatly.

"It's the government! Congress is divided about the budget again! The whole system is going to collapse! Aaahhh—"

"Calm down," Craig instructs, grabbing hold of Tweek's shaking arm. "Nothing is happening to the system. Everything will be fine."

"Actually," Kyle corrects him, "we are facing a potential government shutdown if the budget isn't balanced by midnight tonight."

Craig flips him off as Tweek begins to freak out even more, flapping the newspaper around until it inevitably knocks over his ever-present cup of coffee.

"Nice going, Broflovski," Token snorts.

Craig stares at Kyle without blinking. "You just had to show off."

Kyle rolls his eyes. I can tell the other guys are irritating him. Me too, Kyle. Me too.

Tweek is still twitching like crazy, his voice cracking all over the place. "Ah! It's all my fault! I never should have bought that newspaper!"

Kyle shakes his head. "I just don't get why you can't watch the news on TV or read it online like most people."

"I don't get why you have to read the news at all," Clyde grumbles.

"I like physical newspapers," Tweek says softly. "When I'm online, people can install cookies in my browser and steal my identity."

Stan pinches the bridge of his nose. "Tweek, you need to chill out."

"You should do what I do," Token suggests, "and get newspaper apps on the iPad. It's so much more portable and handy."

"Not everyone has an iPad, Token," Cartman reminds him harshly. "We're not all rich and black like you."

Token ignores him. "It's really good for magazines, too. The color is so clear and sharp, I don't even buy actual magazines anymore."

Kyle and I make eye contact. I know we're thinking the same thing: Token doesn't read magazines. Token didn't write that letter. Kyle's mouth widens into a smile. "So, Tweek," he starts casually. "Do you read magazines, too? Or just newspapers?"

"Just newspapers," Tweek answers. He's only half paying attention; whatever he's in the middle of reading is making him pull out his hair. Luckily, that's all the information I need. I cross Token and Tweek off my mental suspects list, certain that Kyle is doing the exact same thing.

"You know who does read magazines?" Clyde poses slyly. "Mark Cottswolds." He, Token, and Jimmy burst out laughing.

"What?" I ask, annoyed. I don't want to talk about stupid Mark Cottswolds. Not after I just found out that I'm the star of his sexual fantasies.

Token chuckles. "He sits with us sometimes during study hall, and of course, he finishes his homework in like ten minutes 'cause he's such a genius, so he spends the rest of his time reading Gray's Anatomy."

"That huge medical textbook?" Kyle interrupts, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yeah. Except he hides nude magazines behind it. As if we can't see the photos of huge breasts hanging out the side of the book."

Oh no. This is bad. Not only does Mark like me, but he reads magazines, too. Regularly! And the letter I received does have the word fuck in it, and most magazines that have expletives are somewhat inappropriate…like nude magazines…

I shake the image of Mark gluing magazine cutout words onto a piece of paper from my mind and remind myself that this new piece of evidence doesn't necessarily mean that he's responsible for the letter. I still have plenty of suspects.

Just as I open my mouth to inquire about Clyde and Jimmy's magazine-reading habits, I notice that the obnoxious man who took my magazine has left, his drink gone, too. I can see the magazine splayed out on the table by the couches. Now is my chance! "I'll be right back," I inform Stan discreetly. He nods and immediately goes back to the conversation, which has now veered into Sportsland, a topic I—yes, very stereotypically—don't care about whatsoever. Besides, all I care about right now is procuring my magazine.

I walk towards the restroom doors, taking a quick detour by the couch area, making sure none of the guys see what I'm doing. I snatch the magazine off the table and hurry to the single-person restroom, locking the door behind me. After using my foot to flip down the dirty toilet lid and taking a seat, I begin leafing through the pages.

And what I find astounds me.

Every few pages has a word or two cut out, and based on the context, it seems that every single word from the letter has come from this particular magazine. Having had the smart idea of keeping the letter folded up in my pocket, I can hold it up against the magazine to see if the shapes of the cutouts match the shapes of the holes in the magazine pages. In an article about Valentine's Day, I find a rectangular hole in the middle of the page, and upon checking the "Valentine's Day" cutout glued onto the letter, I verify that it's a match. And all the other words have matches, too.

I couldn't have had better luck.

But now I have the daunting task of figuring out who the hell did all this. I close my eyes and envision the table full of boys. I know it can't be Token or Tweek, since I doubt that they would purchase a magazine solely with the intent to cut out a few sentences worth of words. It can't be Stan, and it's highly unlikely that it's Kyle. Kenny likes Bebe, and, as I know now, so does Craig, so they're out.

Crap. I forgot to convince Bebe to go out with Craig. I should do that.

Anyway, the only guys left are Jimmy, Clyde, and Cartman.

Of course, it could also be any other guy in my class. Like fucking Mark Cottswolds.

Just as I'm starting to lose hope, something on the magazine page catches my eye. I pull it closer to my face; it's a purple jelly stain. I flip through the magazine and notice that there are small grape jelly stains conveniently located on all the pages with words cut out.

Thank you, Magazine God.

My brain hatches a plan. I look at the date on the magazine and see that it was issued on Sunday. I received the letter on Monday morning. All I have to do is figure out who visited Tweek Bros. on Sunday and ordered a grape jelly-filled pastry. The question is, how can I do that?

I think hard. I think so damn hard that my head starts reeling.

I have to tell you, being intelligent rocks.

Within a minute, I know what I have to do: obtain access to the surveillance footage from the coffee shop. I've noticed a small camera hiding on the ceiling in the corner of the store, and that thing must record every single purchase made daily.

I just have to coerce Mr. Tweak into giving me access.

Or I could coerce his son…

A little sucking up to Tweek should get me what I want. And then I'll know who left those jelly stains!

As I fold up the letter and stuff it back into my pocket, I can't help but realize that Cartman couldn't have written he letter, either. Kenny mentioned how Cartman orders the same thing every time he comes here, and what did Cartman order? A plain bear claw. The only thing inside that is almond paste.

I don't know why, but my heart drops a little.

No.

No, it didn't drop.

What am I saying? I'm not disappointed that Cartman didn't write the letter. I'm psyched!

Aren't I?

Ooooooh. So...some stuff happened. Wendy is confused. (Hell, I'm a bit confused!) All she has to do now is win over Tweek. What should she do to win him over? Got any good suggestions?

Also, who wrote the letter? What do YOU think? Leave me a review with your predictions!

xoxo,
FonicsMonkey