Chapter 4
"When you said 'anywhere else,' I didn't think that included here, of all places," Kenny asked, when he and Stan, who'd been wandering aimlessly around town, found themselves at the football game, where the Cows appeared to be kicking the Bulls' asses. "Are you an emotional masochist?"
"I just wanted to see how they're doing." Stan led the way up the bleachers, which he and Kenny had only ever stood under.
"Well, I may not care much for sports, but I don't mind watching the cheerleaders," Kenny said, as they took their seats, where he continued to ogle the girls who were bouncing around with their pompoms.
"Hey," Bill nudged Fosse with his elbow, then pointed at Stan, "look who it is."
"Hey, Stan," Fosse greeted, "how's it feel to be watching the game from the sidelines."
Stan flipped off the bullies, as they broke into a fit of laughter.
After they'd eaten, Kyle, Cartman, Wendy, and Butters, who were full on slices of pizza and cups of fountain soda, aimlessly roamed the hallways of the mall, until they grew bored. The facility was practically empty, since so many of their peers were currently at the game.
"Let's hit up the arcade," Kyle suggested, checking his wallet, just to make sure he had enough money to throw away on games.
"I'm gonna kick your ass, this time, at Quickdraw," Cartman confidently informed Kyle, as the quartet entered the loud, dimly lit arcade.
"You're on, fatass," Kyle challenged, as they all made their way toward the token machine, where they each bought themselves five dollars-worth of tokens.
"Hey, guys," Kevin Stoley greeted, from behind the counter, where the prizes were kept, "look!" He pointed out a particularly large plushy of Yoda. "New prizes, we have!"
"Goddamn it, Kevin." Cartman pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're such a dweeb."
"C'mon, I wanna play Quickdraw." Kyle dragged Cartman away from the counter, toward the back of the spacious room, where they waited less than a minute for two other guys to finish playing, before Cartman impatiently decided to kick them off.
"Do they seem extra close, lately?" Wendy asked Butters, once Kyle and Cartman were out of earshot.
"Well, Eric mighta told me a secret about them," Butters said playfully, "but I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone."
Wendy's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. "Oh, my God, are they a couple?"
"Um," Butters averted his eyes, and nervously tapped his knuckles together, "if they were, I wouldn't be able to tell you."
"I'll take that as a 'yes.'"
"Oh, look," he pointed into the distance, in attempt to distract Wendy from their current topic of conversation, "DDR!"
Surprisingly, his plan seemed to work.
"Dude, I kick ass at DDR. At least, if that ass belongs to Red or Bebe."
"Bet you can't kick mine!"
"You're on!"
Without further ado, Wendy and Butters proceeded to play a few rounds of DDR, most of which Butters happened to win.
"Woo!" Butters did a victory dance, to celebrate his superior dance skills, and rub them in Wendy's face.
"Ha! Ha!" Cartman did a victory dance of his own, when he finally beat Kyle at their game. "Charade, you are, Kahl!"
"Dude," Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose; a habit he'd picked up from Stan, "you beat me once, after losing seven times."
"Don't be such a sore loser, Kahl," Cartman antagonized, walking away from the game, which he was now apparently done with. "Hey, Terrance and Phillip dolls!" He quickly positioned himself in front of the Claw Machine, and started it up.
"Win me one of Terrance," Kyle requested, as he leaned against the machine, and produced the cell phone from his pocket.
"No way! I'm winning myself one of Phillip."
"Terrance is way funnier. You just like Phillip more, 'cause he's Aryan."
"Speaking of Terrance and Phillip," Wendy interrupted, as she and Butters approached, "we'd better hurry up, if we want to be at Bijou in time to find good seats."
After the game, which the Cows had won by a landslide, Stan and Kenny ran into Clyde, in the parking lot.
"Congrats, dude." Stan struggled to keep any resentment out of his voice.
"Thanks, bro," Clyde said awkwardly. "Would've been easier, with your help. You were, like, the best quarterback."
"I heard that, Clyde!" Mark Cotswolds shouted, as he walked by.
"No, you didn't!" Clyde called back, before returning his attention to Stan and Kenny. "So, everyone's heading over to my house, for an afterparty." Suddenly, Bebe Stevens was at Clyde's side, and his arm was draped possessively over her shoulder. "You guys wanna come?"
"Oh, you should!" The cheerleader insisted. "We're gonna have a keg!"
"I'm sure he'll like that," Bill half-whispered under his breath, causing Fosse to snicker.
Kenny narrowed his eyes at the pair, then turned back toward Stan, whose face instantly turned red.
"Ignore those douchebags," Clyde dismissively advised, as though Stan weren't already trying to ignore the situation, which Clyde had just called attention to. "You guys comin', or what?"
As always, on Friday nights, the goths found themselves in the cemetery. There, they would sit around, with their backs to the tombstones, and listen to music on their boombox, or read poorly-written poetry; provided that it was dark and nihilistic, but not too sappy or emo.
"Who's next?" Michael asked, once he'd finished reading his poem.
"I'll go," Henrietta offered, before reciting her own piece, which also happened to be about death, but an expression of death that the guys disapproved of.
"Was that about suicide?" Pete questioned, too busy judging the subject matter, to consider what it truly implied about his friend's mental state. "That's so emo."
Unfortunately for Henrietta, who was secretly afflicted with clinical depression, and had a tendency to self-injure, the guys had developed a prejudice against mental illness, in their constant attempts to avoid their goth roots being conflated with the emo style and subculture.
"Know what's goth?" Firkle paused for dramatic effect, before saying, "Homicide," and proceeding to read his own poem, which the guys obviously preferred.
Three hours into Clyde's party, Stan was completely wasted, and abruptly threw up on the living room carpet. Despite being no stranger to alcohol, he was naturally somewhat of a lightweight, and generally had a weak stomach, so he was frequently unable to hold his booze, and had probably been expected to toss his cookies, at some point. Most people steered clear of the vicinity, but a small crowd had gathered around him, and a chorus of laughter echoed throughout the room.
"Aw, man," Clyde pouted, as he stared at the newly-made mess, "my parents are gonna kill me."
"Leave it to Stanley Marsh, to be the life of the party." Kenny looked over, and saw that Pete Melman had been recording the entire spectacle with his cell phone.
"Put that shit away, dude."
"Yeah, right," Melman scoffed, "this shit is golden!"
Beside him, Lola and Nelly were giggling hysterically, while taking pictures.
"C'mon, Stan," Kenny gently patted Stan's back, when the latter had finished emptying his stomach, "let's get the fuck outta here."
"Nah, I'm good," Stan slurred. "Imma have another beer."
"No, you're not." Kenny wrapped his arm around Stan's waist, and half-carried the drunken boy toward the door. "See ya, Clyde! Sorry 'bout the mess!"
On their way back from Bijou Cinema, Kyle and Wendy debated Cartman on the intricacies of the latest Terrance and Phillip movie, while Butters silently listened.
"Seriously, Kahl? How can you like this movie?" Cartman wondered. "I mean, not only are the Queef Sisters hella annoying—"
"Of course, that's your issue with it," Wendy interrupted, with a roll of her eyes. "The only reason that you don't like the Queef Sisters, is because you're too sexist to think that queef jokes are just as funny as fart jokes," she explained. "Which is to say, that they aren't funny, at all."
"Well, why'd you come with us, if you hate Terrance and Phillip, so much?" Cartman questioned.
"I just think it was funny," Kyle explained, without looking up from his phone, which Cartman complained that Kyle was addicted to. "I love the part, where Terrance tells Phillip to pull his finger, and you think he's going to fart, but—" The redhead paused, when he stumbled upon a more recently uploaded Facebook Live video. "Pete Melman just posted a video of Stan."
"So?" Cartman attempted to keep any frustration out of his tone, as to appear nonchalant.
"Well, Stan is puking his guts out, all over Clyde's living room carpet," Kyle elaborated, as he forced himself to endure all thirty-seconds of the video.
"I can't believe he's still partying, like that, when he knows that he has a problem," Wendy said in a tone of both worry and disapproval.
"Why should you care, so much?" Cartman raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you still in love with him, too?"
"Shut up!" Wendy and Kyle both shouted at Cartman.
"Stan's, like, my brother, dude," Kyle went on to explain. "That would just feel incestuous."
"Fine, I believe you." Cartman told Kyle, before returning his attention to Wendy. "But, not you. I know that you're still totally in love with Stan."
"So, what, if I am?" Wendy questioned, as her face turned red, and her eyes brimmed with tears.
"Shit, I didn't mean to..." Cartman held up his hands defensively, as he struggled to explain. "I mean, I was just..." He mentally facepalmed at his inability to form a proper sentence. "Fuck!" He felt Kyle's eyes burning holes into the side of his head. "Stop glaring at me, Jew!"
"Don't worry about it, guys," Wendy said, wiping at her eyes. "Yeah, I still have feelings for Stan, but I can't be in a relationship with him, anymore. I've tried... I've tried really hard, and he didn't try at all. There was just no effort, on his part, ya know?"
"We know," Kyle said empathetically.
"It's especially hard, with Valentine's Day coming up, and everyone talking about that stupid dance."
"There, there," Butters patted Wendy's back. "We can all go to the dance, together."
"Sorry, for being a dick," Cartman apologized rather uncharacteristically, taking Wendy by surprise.
"Thanks, guys." Wendy cracked a bittersweet smile, which quickly faltered, when she remembered the initial reason she'd been upset. "Still, I'm really worried about Stan."
"We all are." Kyle sighed. "Even Cartman, whether or not he wants to admit it." Cartman scoffed, but didn't deny the claim. "What are we supposed to do about, though?"
"Maybe we could give him an intervention," Butters suggested.
"Yeah, right." It was Kyle's turn to scoff. "He'd just tell us to fuck off."
"We could tell an authority figure."
"His parents already know that he has problem," Wendy reminded Butters. "Let's face it, he'll never seek help, because he doesn't care about himself, anymore than he cares about any of us."