Opening A/N
Okay, here is the third chapter of 'High School Escapades', entitled 'Moving Out Party'. Please note, however, that this is not Stan's party. 'Moving Out Party' is supposed to be ironic, and the events of this chapter will, hopefully, illustrate this.
A quick note: some sections of the opening are looks into the characters' minds. These sections consist of thoughts - spontaneous feelings that flow into one another. As a result, this introduction may seem confused at times; but I can assure you that it is the intended effect (especially during Stan's thoughts).
Anyway, enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to review!
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Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny walked out of the gates of South Park High School, alongside countless other students. They spilled out into the streets like a drink from a mug; their chatter merging with the chirping of nearby hilltop birds, creating an insane background sound that was only really heard in these parts of the mountains. The snow was again falling heavily, blanketing the ground in a thick, white layer of pure cold. Ahead of the boys was a long vale, similar to that on which the bus stop stood. A tarmac road, cleared by the constant passing of vehicles, stretched from one end of the lane to the other. On either side of it were snow-laden sidewalks, bordered by trees; heavy with the same product of the icy mountain air and rain. The boys started down the lane, keeping to the same left-hand sidewalk from which the school could be accessed.
After Kenny's somewhat rebellious statement, very few words were exchanged between the four students for quite a while. They all lived within twenty minutes of the school, and only really took the bus in the morning because they couldn't be bothered walking. Being in different classes for most of the afternoon, the four usually used the walk home to catch up on each other's activities. This time, however, they kept their own thoughts to themselves.
Stan was, of course, thinking about the party he was throwing at the weekend. As was always the case with him, Wendy was at the focal point of his thoughts. He had always planned on asking her to come to the party; but he hadn't planned on asking her to stay overnight. The thought excited him, but also unnerved him. He knew that his parents wouldn't approve - they'd think unnecessarily funny things. That was to be expected, though; Stan asking Wendy to stay overnight was quite suggestive. He hadn't meant for it to be, mind you. Walking alongside his friends, Stan smiled a little. No wonder Kyle had made that comment in the cafeteria. Not like he had the right to - Stan and Wendy were just taking things slowly… well, that was their excuse, at least. The fact of the matter was that they often found it very difficult to talk about, let alone engage in, anything sexual together. If there was any one flaw in the relationship that Stan and Wendy had, then that was it - not that it was a problem that couldn't be solved. Stan sighed, his gaze falling to his pacing feet. He knew that their moment would come, sooner or later… and, though he knew that it'd probably be the best moment of his life, he was nervous…
Kyle was walking alongside Stan, just to his left. Unlike his friend, he wasn't thinking about Wendy, sex, or anything of the sort. Stan's impending party dominated his thoughts, shoving aside everything else. Kyle saw the party as a break from school because, even though they'd have only been back for five days on the night of the party, he could tell that it was going to be a tough year. Besides, Kyle liked parties. Ever since the start of High School, it had been the big thing to throw a party when your parents were out-of-town. Craig and Clyde were the big guns - the main men. Every party they threw was a massive event and, when the two of them made a collaborative effort, all Hell broke loose. They were almost worshipped for this, but Kyle knew that Stan could outdo them. A lot of people would show up for Stan's party and, if Craig and Clyde were among them (which they most likely would be), it'd top the 'Cow Days'. An icy wind blew by and, as he shivered, Kyle sighed. He knew that he'd have a hard time actually getting to, and staying at, Stan's party. His parents were massively over-protective, and they'd probably rather die than see him go. Kyle figured that he'd just have to distort the truth a little. He'd say that 'Stan's having a few friends over', and he'd probably get away with it. He hated lying to his parents, but there was no way that he'd miss the party. Not for some dumb ass ethical issue, anyway.
The four boys continued down the road, their school disappearing into the foggy background; as if swallowed by Mother Nature herself. The treetops rustled, sprinkling the undergrowth with snow, as the fierce winter wind blew on. The boys were now nearing the end of the vale, turning, at the next fork, onto a new one. In the distance, they could see the snowy main street of South Park; the usually colourful buildings almost lifeless beneath a melancholy blanket. Just then, a car sped by, whipping ice into the boys' faces. Cartman, who got a cold mouthful of the muddied snow, groaned loudly.
"Ay! Fucking asshole," he spluttered, spitting the snow out onto the floor. "Watch what your fucking doing!" He yelled; raising his fist at the car, which was driving off into the distance. Cartman growled, kicking a pile of snow into the road in anger. He noticed that the others were walking ahead and, sighing, he hurried to catch them up.
Cartman's mind was all over the place at the moment; with all sorts of issues taking turns to dominate his thoughts. The main issue was, of course, Kenny's imminent arrival to the Cartman household. He knew that his mom wouldn't mind but, if she did, he'd whine his ass off until she submitted. Cartman grinned. That tactic had worked since his early childhood and, even as he entered his teenage years, it continued to succeed. His mom was so soft - always had been and, by the looks of things, always would be. Another thing on Cartman's mind was school. After returning to school, and spending another whole day there, Cartman felt that it sucked ass more than ever. Now he had to work even harder than usual and, to make matters worse, his new teachers were total assholes. The thought of another full year in school made Cartman shudder.
Unlike Cartman, Kenny wasn't feeling so much like shit. This was because, as he'd so memorably declared earlier on; after tonight, he'd be 'free'. Free of his family, and the unnecessary responsibilities they'd bestowed upon him. Kenny knew what kind of reaction to expect. His parents would be in complete shock and, more likely than not, that shock would spawn violent offspring. 'Violent offspring - like Stan's sister', he thought. Kenny chuckled a little, mildly amused by his own lame joke. His friends looked over a him, bemused. He shrugged, and went back to thinking. When he was a kid, Kenny had always been quite the comedian. But, as he and the others got older, his sex jokes became less and less amusing; until they sucked ass. Now, for instance, his sex jokes were sucking ass. As the boys neared the main street, Kenny's mind wandered back to matters of seriousness. To avoid a beating from his dad, he'd have to leave his house immediately after the announcement. He'd have to make sure that Cartman had made the necessary arrangements, too. Kenny guessed that he'd be leaving his house the following day. One more night of poverty, and then he would be 'free'…
The boys were now walking down the main street. It was, as the name implied, just a long street. It was the main street of South Park because it was the longest street in town, and most of the town's buildings were erected along it. The long tarmac road, bordered by walkways, houses and shops, had been cleared by the passing cars. The pavements had been swept, and snow was piling up in the gutters. As was the case in most backwater mountain towns, the main street of South Park was hardly bustling. The odd person or two could be seen, going about their daily business; and the occasional car passed by. The residents liked it that way. Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny all lived on the main street; down the far end, in the main residential area.
"Jesus Christ," Cartman began, finally breaking the silence. "We've been walking for fifteen fucking minutes, and none of you guys have said a Goddamn thing! What the Hell is up with you?!" Stan sighed, and looked over at him.
"I guess we've all been thinking," he said, bluntly. Cartman shrugged, and again focussed on the street ahead of them.
"What about?" He asked, looking over at Stan momentarily.
"None of your business," he replied. Cartman screwed up his face.
"I'm only trying to start a fucking conversation, you asshole!" He snarled. He was quiet for a few more seconds, before speaking again. "You were probably thinking about something gay… like your stupid girlfriend." Stan shot him an angry glance.
"For God's sake! Grow up, Cartman," he said, lowly. Cartman growled, as they approached his house. It was a small, two-story building with a smaller garage. Both structures were painted a light green colour, and their brown tiled roofs were covered with snow. Cartman turned onto his pathway, which had been cleared, and started up towards the door.
"I'll see you assholes later," he called, taking out his set of keys. He thumbed through them, picked out his front door key. Jamming it into the lock, Cartman turned it anti-clockwise until the bolt, clicking loudly, unlocked. Groaning, he pushed the brown wooden door open, removed his key, and stepped inside; disappearing from view. Stan, Kyle and Kenny continued down the road.
Cartman slammed the door shut, the loud bang shaking the very foundation of the house. He took off his hat and rucksack, throwing them both to the floor like old rubbish.
"I'm home, mom!" Cartman yelled up the stairs, passing them on his way to the living room. The architecture was identical to that of all other houses in South Park. The living room was a large room, leading immediately on to the kitchen. In the Cartman residence, the walls were painted yellow and a green carpet covered the floorboards like a patch of grass; littered with empty potato chip packets and candy bar wrappers. A tan brown sofa, covered in stains and worn with age, was positioned against the wall; opposite the old television set which sat on a small TV tray. Framed photos of Cartman and his mom, Liane, hung up all around the room. There were images of the two at all sorts of locations; from the Grand Canyon, to Mount Rushmore. Liane was short and thin; with brown, but greying, hair tied in a bun, and light brown eyes. In all of the photos, she wore the same clothes: a light blue sweater (with frilly white trimmings) and bright red trousers.
Cartman trudged across the living room and straight on into the kitchen. Like all kitchens in the town, it was quite large; with a back door, leading out onto the garden, and a single window above the sink. It had green flooring and pink wallpaper, and a large wooden dining table stood in the centre of the room; which was bordered by grey worktops and cupboards. Cartman approached the refrigerator, grabbing the hefty silver door and opening it. His faced bathed in a sickly yellow light, Cartman peered inside. He rummaged around for a bit but, finding nothing but health foods and vegetables, he slammed the door shut. Groaning, he stepped aside and opened one of the cupboards, which was hanging from the wall. He grabbed a few packets of 'Cheesy Poofs' and one or two chocolate biscuits, then headed back into the living room.
Cartman grabbed the TV remote from a small table, which sat next to the sofa, and slouched down onto the sofa itself. He slid off his shoes and put his feet up, switching on the television. Finding nothing of interest, he settled for some afternoon children's TV. Cartman yawned, bursting a bag of 'Cheesy Poofs' in his hands. He reached into the bag, grabbing a handful and shoving it into his gaping mouth. Cartman laughed aloud, mildly amused by the antics of the animated protagonists. Just then, Liane Cartman entered from the hallway. She looked just as she did in the photos. She was carrying plastic bags, and had probably just returned from the shop. No wonder she hadn't answered Cartman earlier. She saw him on the sofa, and smiled.
"Oh, hi Hon," she said, passing him on the way to the kitchen. Cartman glanced over at her, eying the shopping bags, and smiled.
"Hi, mom," he said, hauling himself up from the sofa. He followed Liane into the kitchen, shadowing her movements until she put the bags down on the table. Cartman shot over to them, and began rummaging through. His eyes lit up. "You bought 'Beefy Logs'!" He exclaimed, overjoyed. Liane, not turning from the kitchen sink, smiled.
"Yeah. I forgot to buy them last time I was out," she replied, the dishes clinking and clattering as she cleaned them.
"You're the best, mom!" Cartman said, grinning widely. However, he didn't feel like eating any 'Beefy Logs' at the moment, and instead headed back to the sofa. Again, he slumped down onto it and continued watching TV. He yawned, looking out of his window at 'Lapland'. At that moment, he remembered about Kenny. Cartman glanced over at his mom, who was still cleaning dishes. He cleared his throat, and prepared his best 'whining voice'. "Mom…" He began, trying to sound as convincing as possible.
"What is it, Hon?" Liane asked, speaking over the clanking of the dishes.
"My friend Kenny is… moving out. Can he stay with us?" Cartman asked, batting his eyebrows as his mom turned to face him.
"Sure, Hon," she said, after a few seconds of silence. She dried off her hands, and began unpacking her shopping. Cartman grinned widely. His mom was so soft. He sighed loudly, putting his feet up. He grabbed another bag of 'Cheesy Poofs', and burst them open. So far, so good.
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Back in the street; Stan, Kyle and Kenny were still walking to their respective homes. Since Cartman had left, none of them had said a word. They were still deep in thought and, besides, they had nothing really to talk about. The silence was awkward, though, and Kyle decided to break it.
"So," he began, without looking up from the ground, "do you guys have anything planned for tonight?" He asked, now looking over at Stan and Kenny. Kenny shrugged.
"I guess I'll be packing for tomorrow," Kenny said. "I have to be ready to leave right away - I can't give my dad a chance to kick my ass!" Both he and Kyle looked over at Stan.
"I don't really have anything planned," he said, sighing; his gaze falling to his feet. The three boys were fast approaching Kyle's house, which loomed in the distance. It was quite a large building, a little bigger than most others in South Park. It, like Cartman's house, had a garage separate. Both buildings were painted a pale green. A minute or so later, and Kyle was cutting onto his garden path.
"See you guys later!" He called, waving to his friends. He knocked on the door and, after a few seconds, Ike opened it. He was wearing a sky blue shirt, and matching shorts. "Hey Ike," Kyle said, stepping into the house and out of view. "Why the Hell are you wearing shorts?" Ike shrugged, closing the door.
Stan and Kenny were continuing on down the street. Stan lived at the far end of the main street, near to the railroad. The old railroad, which had been derelict for a long time, separated the 'generally well-off' and 'totally poor' districts of South Park. Kenny, naturally, lived on the other side from Stan. At that moment, neither Stan nor Kenny were deep in thought; but they remained silent nonetheless. After a short while, Stan decided to break the silence.
"So," Stan began, looking straight ahead of him. "I'm throwing a party at the weekend, will you be coming along?" He asked, now looking over at Kenny.
"Finally - the first piece of good news I've heard in weeks! Damn right I'll come along!" Kenny replied, grinning widely. He looked up, noticed that they were now approaching Stan's house. "Well, here's your place, Stan," he said.
The house was similar to that of Kyle or Cartman, except that the garage was built onto the house. The building was painted a dark forest green and was laden, like everywhere else in town, with snow.
"Alright. See you later, dude," Stan said, cutting onto his garden path. Kenny nodded. Stan fished his front door key out of his pocket, and slid it into the lock. He opened the door and stepped inside, disappearing from Kenny's view. Kenny, sighing, continued on past Stan's house. In the distance, he could see the railroad. As the snow fell heavier, Kenny hurried on.
Eventually, he came to the railroad. As it was derelict, it was virtually in ruins. The tracks were worn and rusted, and the old fence was rotting and splintering with age. On either side of the crossing, the railroad was bordered with overgrown shrubs and general vegetation. Kenny ducked swiftly under the barrier, quickly crossing the track and entering the crappy area of town. Seeing as they were separated by the railroad, there was no slow transition from 'well-off' to 'poor'. The change in atmosphere was instantly noticeable; 'it hit you like the fist of your raging father, drunken and angry after an alcohol binge', Kenny thought. His dad had made excuses - it was 'tough love'. Yeah, right… there was a better chance of the guy actually making something of himself. The fact of the matter was that Stuart McCormick was a total asshole - a human parasite, living off governmental benefits.
The 'poor' side of town was a total wreck. Scrawny, unkempt family pets roamed the mistreated streets, excreting almost at will. The roads, rarely used, were riddled with potholes; looking as if they'd been peppered with shells from an artillery gun. The walkways were battered - their slabs cracked and unlevelled, with writhing weeds wriggling up to the surface from between them. The houses themselves were shacks; more like untrustworthy bomb shelters than homes. They were, generally, constructed of objects otherwise destined for the dump. Alone, they were mounds of rubbish; together, they were hypothetical shanty towns - ancient remnants of the dark twenties.
Kenny hurried through the streets; occasionally stumbling over a mound of rubble, or tripping in a pothole, as the snow fell even heavier. From a long distance, he could recognise his own home. It was one of the few buildings on the rough side that could actually be called a building - it was a construction of bricks and cement, rather than of miscellaneous bric-a-brac. It was a single-storey building; it's flaking paint was a light green shade. Old pieces of junk and furniture, including an aging and incapacitated tow-up truck, lay strewn about the lawn - the theoretical headstones of Kenny's past. As Kenny cut onto his crumbling garden path, a few mangy cats shot across ahead of him, crying out like the disgruntled tune of an inexperienced violinist. Kenny, temporarily losing his composure, jumped backwards. Regaining his calm, he slowly approached his front door and pushed it open. It wasn't locked. There was no need for locks in the 'poor' district, where everyone sung the same sad song.
Kenny stepped into his house, closing the door behind him. He was in the 'main living room' of his house - and, boy, did it deserve it's label. It was the only room in the house, beside the three bedrooms. The painted walls, flaking, were a light shade of green; and a tattered, shaggy brown carpet, worn with age, lay on the floor. Against one wall was an old sofa, which stunk of alcohol, and against the other was an ancient TV - a relic of Mr McCormick's childhood. On the far wall was the 'kitchen'. This consisted of a stove, which sat alongside a rusting freezer - neither worked very well, but they were better than nothing. Kenny, wading through the empty beer bottles and 'Playboy' magazines that covered the floor, headed for his room; which was just to the right of the front door. He didn't let anyone know that he was home - they wouldn't care, anyway…
Kenny arrived at his bedroom. The wooden door was old and splintering, it's thin panels cracked. The carpet, especially thick underneath, jammed it shut. Kenny kicked the foot of the door, dislodging it. He pushed it ajar, and stepped inside. His room wasn't too dissimilar to the living room. It had the same crappy carpeting, though it wasn't as worn. His walls were unpainted; riddled with cracks and peppered with cavities, beneath a thick layer of vulgar posters. Opposite the door, against the wall, was Kenny's bed. It was unmade, the tattering sheets and pillows yellowing with age. The bed sat alongside a large window, with worn orange curtains hanging from a battered rail. Beneath the window was a damaged black chest, in which all of Kenny's belongings, bar his clothes, were stored. His clothes were hanging up in a wardrobe, built into the left-hand wall.
Kenny walked across his room and threw himself onto his bed, it's rickety frame bending and creaking. He sighed, looking up at his ceiling. It was leaking slightly from a crack, which had formed near the flickering light bulb. He couldn't help but grin - it was only a matter of time before he said goodbye to poverty forever. He decided to start packing right away. He hauled himself up from his bed and kneeled at the side of it. He reached under and pulled out an old suitcase, which was caked in a thick layer of dust.
Kenny trudged across his room to his wardrobe. He slid the door open and reached inside, fishing out all of his trademark orange parkas and trousers, along with some pairs of socks and underwear. He walked back over to his bed, opened the suitcase he'd placed there, and stuffed the clothes inside. He reached under the mattress and fumbled around, eventually laying his hands on a collection of notes. He took them out, and stuffed his savings into his pocket. Kenny looked around, scratching his messy blond head. He didn't intend to take anything else.
Suddenly, his bedroom door burst open, and his dad stumbled in. He was a tall man; with brown, but greying, hair and brown eyes. He was wearing a white string vest beneath a tattered blue jacket, and dark brown trousers. He held a half-empty beer bottle in his hand and, judging by his disorientated movement, he was drunk. His name was Stuart McCormick, and he was the biggest loser in the world. He was an ambitionless drunk, never sober, who cared for no-one but himself. Even so, he was content to sit back and waste away; never working. Stuart looked around Kenny's room, and spotted the suitcase on his bed. He pointed at it, accusingly.
"What the Hell's… that?!" He asked, speaking loudly. Kenny looked at it nervously, then back at his dad.
"It - it's nothing," he replied, his voice trembling. This was the worst possible scenario and, though Kenny had thought about it, he wasn't sure what to do. Stuart shook his head, his voice shaky.
"N-no! It's not 'nothing'! It's a f-fucking suitcase!" He growled, leaning on the wall to keep his footing. "What the f-fuck do you… think you're doing?!" He stared at Kenny, the cold gaze of his drunken eyes unnerving him. Kenny knew what he wanted to say. Whilst the words danced impatiently on his tongue, wanting to be freed, he hadn't the strength to do so.
"N-nothing!" Kenny blurted, his eyes darting around the room in search of sanctuary. Nothing. He knew that, even in his drunken state, his dad would latch on.
"Do you t-think you're g-going somewhere, you little asshole?!" Stuart fumed, again pointing at Kenny. Kenny was boiling - so many different feelings bottled up inside him… he was ready to explode. "You're n-not going… anywhere! Put that suitcase away, or I'll f-fucking k-kill you!" Stuart raised his clenched fist and struck Kenny across his face. He stumbled backwards, falling onto his bed.
Snap.
Slowly, Kenny's hand gripped the handle of his suitcase, grasping it tightly. Within a few seconds, he had took the same handle with his other hand. The anger growing inside him, and his father still bitching, Kenny prepared to strike… In one swift motion, he swung the suitcase; allowing it's momentum to drag him along with it. With a hefty blow to the head, Kenny knocked Stuart to the ground. He leaned over him, breathing heavily.
"No! You're wrong, you fucking asshole," Kenny began, his entire body and mind gripped with rage that burned like wildfire, fuelled by hatred. His voice was different. It was no longer the voice of a coward, but of a man obsessed. "I'm leaving this fucking dump, and I have a valid reason!" Stuart, beaten and groggy, looked back in shock. "All my life, you've treated me like shit. You brought me into the world, knowing damn well that you wouldn't be able to cope!" Stuart's eyes widened, as Kenny words washed over him like a sea of hurt. "You know why?" Kenny asked, his voice filled with hate. "Because you're nothing but a loser - a drunken nobody who can't even hold a fucking job! You rely on ME to support you, but I've had enough - I'm letting you fall." Kenny was now snivelling, his eyes filling with sour tears. "If I could renounce my 'family' name, then I would. It's the fucking end."
Kenny stepped over his dad and stormed out of the room. He walked into the living room, knocking over the coffee table in his rage. He opened the front door and, his suitcase in hand, stepped out into the snow. He slammed the door violently behind him. The tears flowing freely down his face like rivers of saltwater, tasting like blood in his mouth, Kenny started off down the street. He passed the 'headstones' and, despite the pain, he smiled. He'd made a statement; he'd abandoned the past, and it was time to start afresh.
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Meanwhile, in the Marsh household; Randy Marsh, Stan's father, was watching TV. He was sitting on the forest green sofa, which was positioned opposite the television set. The living room was similar to that of the Cartman residence. The walls were painted a bright purple, and the neat, tidy carpet was a light shade of brown. Several family photos hung around the room, accompanied by seemingly random images of picturesque natural environments.
Randy was a man with a relatively average build, just a little larger than his son. He had jet-black hair which, unlike the hair of Stan, was not natural - it was dyed. He had a matching moustache, and dark brown eyes. He was wearing a light blue shirt and dark blue trousers. Randy Marsh was a geologist, with a degree in his chosen profession. Other than that, he was just your 'average Joe'; with an average family and an average income. He was watching a TV stand-up comedian, and was laughing at his antics and jokes. Just then, Stan came into the room, a look of concern on his face. Randy noticed him.
"Hey, son," he said, smiling. Stan smiled back, half-heartedly.
"Hey, dad," he replied. Randy's gaze returned to the TV, and he erupted in laughter again. Stan sighed, walking over to the sofa. He scratched his head, thinking, before speaking. "Dad, can we talk?" He asked. Randy looked over at him.
"I guess so," he said, taking the TV remote. He lowered the volume down, so that the comedian could barely be heard. "Come sit down," he said, patting his thigh. Stan raised an eyebrow.
"It - it's okay, dad - I'll sit here." Stan sat down alongside Randy, clearing his throat. He was about to speak, when his dad interrupted him.
"Now, Stanley, I know what you're gonna say," he spoke quietly, sounding a little concerned. Stan was a little bemused, but allowed his dad to continue. "We've had this conversation many times before… and the answer's 'no'."
"Huh?" Stan blurted, more confused than ever. "Wait, you don't even know what I'm - " Randy interrupted again.
"No! Now you listen to me, Stanley!" Randy began, speaking loudly and sternly. "I've told you time and time again - drugs are nothing but trouble! They're terrible for your health, and they screw you up both physically AND mentally! I'm not giving you MY money, so that you can blow it on drugs! The answer's 'no'!" Stan was confused, and desperate to put the record straight - this wasn't about drugs and, besides, he wasn't at all interested in them.
"No, this isn't about drugs," Stan blurted. Randy looked confused.
"It's not?" He asked. Stan shook his head furiously.
"No. I'm not at all interested in drugs; I never have been and I never will be," he said, still shaking his head. Randy looked back, a contemplative look on his face.
"Then…" He trailed off, then shrugged. "Aw, I must've been dreaming!" A smile again returned to his face. "What's this about, then, son?" Stan was silent for a few seconds, deep in thought, before clearing his throat.
"I want to… ask you a few things," he began. Randy nodded.
"Sure. Fire away," he said, grinning. Stan took a deep breath, a little nervous.
"How old were you and mom… when you first… had sex?" He could feel his face reddening already. He felt so embarrassed, asking his dad such a question. Randy thought for a moment.
"I don't know…" He began, trailing off into thought. "We were about your age, I guess." Stan's stomach tightened.
"Right. When - when was it?" He asked. Randy looked to be thinking. He clicked his fingers, as if trying to spark the memory as you would a campfire. He stopped suddenly and grinned.
"Oh, yeah! It was at one of my parties," he said. He laughed, reminiscing the night. "Yep, that's right. My parent's were out of town for the weekend, and I threw this HUGE party!" Suddenly, Stan felt under incredible pressure. "We'd been together for quite a while, two or three years, but I guess we were really afraid to talk about… sex, and stuff." Stan sighed, a little relieved.
"So… it's normal, then?" He asked. "It's normal for a couple to be… nervous, about stuff like that?" Randy nodded, smiling.
"Yeah, it sure is." He replied. He looked straight at Stan, observing his growing smile. "I asked your grandpa the exact same thing, and he told me to talk to your mom…" Randy trailed off.
"And?" Stan asked, listening intently.
"So, at the party, me and your mom went upstairs. We talked for a little while and…" He trailed off again, then smiled. "Well, you get the idea. After we spoke for a while, we realised that we were both comfortable with everything." By this time Stan, though he was completely unaware of it, was smiling widely.
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Cartman was sitting on his sofa, watching the TV. His cat, 'Mr Kitty', was curled up on his lap. She was now aging; her sight was failing and her fur was malting. 'Fat Abbot' reruns, from a long time ago, were showing on the television screen. Cartman, stuffing a handful of 'Cheesy Poofs' into his mouth, laughed heartily. Just then, there was a knock at the door. He groaned, moving 'Mr Kitty' to one side and hauling himself to his feet. He trudged over to the door and, as he opened it, recoiled in shock.
"Kenny?!" Cartman blurted, staring at his friend. Cartman moved aside, letting him into the house. Kenny pulled down the hood of his parka, revealing his face. It was lightly bruised from his dad's punch, and his eyes were red from his tears. "I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow?" Cartman said. Kenny nodded.
"Y-yeah, me too." He put his suitcase next to the door, his voice a little shaky. "I got back, me and my dad had a fight and, well, I kinda snapped." Cartman nodded. "Let's just say it was necessary… you don't mind, do you?" Cartman shook his head.
"No, 'course not, dude!" He said, turning to the staircase. "Mom! Kenny's here now!" He called. Hearing a faint 'okay, Hon', Cartman grinned. He motioned for Kenny to follow him, as he began ascending the stairs. Kenny picked up his suitcase and followed suite. "I can see that you forgot your sleeping bag," Cartman said, looking back at Kenny. He nodded. "It's no big deal - you can use mine." Cartman and Kenny walked along the landing, approaching Cartman's room. Cartman pushed the door open, and the two stepped inside.
Cartman's room was quite large; with a neat brown carpet and light purple wallpaper - a similar colour scheme to Stan's living room. Against the near wall was a large bed, and against the far wall was a desk and office chair. A large window, looking out onto the darkening snowy main street, was on the right-hand side of the room. A wardrobe, the same as all others, was built into the left-hand wall. Cartman pointed at it.
"My sleeping bag's in there." Kenny approached the wardrobe, sliding the door open. "Just put your clothes in there, too; but make sure not to touch any of mine - I don't want any Goddamn poor ass disease." Kenny looked back at him and chuckled, reaching into the wardrobe and pulling out Cartman's sleeping bag. He laid it out on the floor. Sighing, relaxed, Kenny lay down on it.
"By the way, are you going to Stan's party this weekend?" Kenny asked, looking over at Cartman. He looked a little bemused.
"Huh? I didn't know that hippy was having a party…" He said, speaking quietly. Kenny nodded and continued.
"Yeah - he told me before." He said. Cartman shrugged it off.
"I guess he'll tell me tomorrow," he began. "Who's going?" He asked. Kenny thought for a moment, then shrugged.
"I'm not too sure. I think that Kyle and Wendy are definitely going, 'cause they're staying overnight. I'm going, and I think they'll be a lot of others there, too - y'know, Craig, Clyde…" he trailed off. Cartman looked to be deep in thought.
"Wendy's staying over? Ooh, boy - that'll be interesting! I'll be there!" Cartman thought for a moment, then grinned. "And I'll find a way to stay over, too!" Kenny laughed, and Cartman pulled himself up from his bed, heading for the door. "I'm gonna go watch some more Fat Abbot, you coming?" He asked. Kenny nodded, rising to his feet.
"Sure!" He said, grinning. Cartman motioned for him to follow.
"Then come on, you poor piece of crap!" Kenny shot him an angry glance, and then followed him out of the room. Cartman slammed the door behind them.
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Closing A/N
Okay, that's the third chapter of 'High School Escapades' - complete! It's longer than chapter one, but falls just short of chapter two length. Also, I know some of you might think that I exaggerated the poverty of South Park's 'poor' district; but I had a picture to paint, and a point to make. Anyway, that's all from me… for now. Until next time, people!
Oh, I almost forgot: don't forget to review!
Okay, here is the third chapter of 'High School Escapades', entitled 'Moving Out Party'. Please note, however, that this is not Stan's party. 'Moving Out Party' is supposed to be ironic, and the events of this chapter will, hopefully, illustrate this.
A quick note: some sections of the opening are looks into the characters' minds. These sections consist of thoughts - spontaneous feelings that flow into one another. As a result, this introduction may seem confused at times; but I can assure you that it is the intended effect (especially during Stan's thoughts).
Anyway, enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to review!
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Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny walked out of the gates of South Park High School, alongside countless other students. They spilled out into the streets like a drink from a mug; their chatter merging with the chirping of nearby hilltop birds, creating an insane background sound that was only really heard in these parts of the mountains. The snow was again falling heavily, blanketing the ground in a thick, white layer of pure cold. Ahead of the boys was a long vale, similar to that on which the bus stop stood. A tarmac road, cleared by the constant passing of vehicles, stretched from one end of the lane to the other. On either side of it were snow-laden sidewalks, bordered by trees; heavy with the same product of the icy mountain air and rain. The boys started down the lane, keeping to the same left-hand sidewalk from which the school could be accessed.
After Kenny's somewhat rebellious statement, very few words were exchanged between the four students for quite a while. They all lived within twenty minutes of the school, and only really took the bus in the morning because they couldn't be bothered walking. Being in different classes for most of the afternoon, the four usually used the walk home to catch up on each other's activities. This time, however, they kept their own thoughts to themselves.
Stan was, of course, thinking about the party he was throwing at the weekend. As was always the case with him, Wendy was at the focal point of his thoughts. He had always planned on asking her to come to the party; but he hadn't planned on asking her to stay overnight. The thought excited him, but also unnerved him. He knew that his parents wouldn't approve - they'd think unnecessarily funny things. That was to be expected, though; Stan asking Wendy to stay overnight was quite suggestive. He hadn't meant for it to be, mind you. Walking alongside his friends, Stan smiled a little. No wonder Kyle had made that comment in the cafeteria. Not like he had the right to - Stan and Wendy were just taking things slowly… well, that was their excuse, at least. The fact of the matter was that they often found it very difficult to talk about, let alone engage in, anything sexual together. If there was any one flaw in the relationship that Stan and Wendy had, then that was it - not that it was a problem that couldn't be solved. Stan sighed, his gaze falling to his pacing feet. He knew that their moment would come, sooner or later… and, though he knew that it'd probably be the best moment of his life, he was nervous…
Kyle was walking alongside Stan, just to his left. Unlike his friend, he wasn't thinking about Wendy, sex, or anything of the sort. Stan's impending party dominated his thoughts, shoving aside everything else. Kyle saw the party as a break from school because, even though they'd have only been back for five days on the night of the party, he could tell that it was going to be a tough year. Besides, Kyle liked parties. Ever since the start of High School, it had been the big thing to throw a party when your parents were out-of-town. Craig and Clyde were the big guns - the main men. Every party they threw was a massive event and, when the two of them made a collaborative effort, all Hell broke loose. They were almost worshipped for this, but Kyle knew that Stan could outdo them. A lot of people would show up for Stan's party and, if Craig and Clyde were among them (which they most likely would be), it'd top the 'Cow Days'. An icy wind blew by and, as he shivered, Kyle sighed. He knew that he'd have a hard time actually getting to, and staying at, Stan's party. His parents were massively over-protective, and they'd probably rather die than see him go. Kyle figured that he'd just have to distort the truth a little. He'd say that 'Stan's having a few friends over', and he'd probably get away with it. He hated lying to his parents, but there was no way that he'd miss the party. Not for some dumb ass ethical issue, anyway.
The four boys continued down the road, their school disappearing into the foggy background; as if swallowed by Mother Nature herself. The treetops rustled, sprinkling the undergrowth with snow, as the fierce winter wind blew on. The boys were now nearing the end of the vale, turning, at the next fork, onto a new one. In the distance, they could see the snowy main street of South Park; the usually colourful buildings almost lifeless beneath a melancholy blanket. Just then, a car sped by, whipping ice into the boys' faces. Cartman, who got a cold mouthful of the muddied snow, groaned loudly.
"Ay! Fucking asshole," he spluttered, spitting the snow out onto the floor. "Watch what your fucking doing!" He yelled; raising his fist at the car, which was driving off into the distance. Cartman growled, kicking a pile of snow into the road in anger. He noticed that the others were walking ahead and, sighing, he hurried to catch them up.
Cartman's mind was all over the place at the moment; with all sorts of issues taking turns to dominate his thoughts. The main issue was, of course, Kenny's imminent arrival to the Cartman household. He knew that his mom wouldn't mind but, if she did, he'd whine his ass off until she submitted. Cartman grinned. That tactic had worked since his early childhood and, even as he entered his teenage years, it continued to succeed. His mom was so soft - always had been and, by the looks of things, always would be. Another thing on Cartman's mind was school. After returning to school, and spending another whole day there, Cartman felt that it sucked ass more than ever. Now he had to work even harder than usual and, to make matters worse, his new teachers were total assholes. The thought of another full year in school made Cartman shudder.
Unlike Cartman, Kenny wasn't feeling so much like shit. This was because, as he'd so memorably declared earlier on; after tonight, he'd be 'free'. Free of his family, and the unnecessary responsibilities they'd bestowed upon him. Kenny knew what kind of reaction to expect. His parents would be in complete shock and, more likely than not, that shock would spawn violent offspring. 'Violent offspring - like Stan's sister', he thought. Kenny chuckled a little, mildly amused by his own lame joke. His friends looked over a him, bemused. He shrugged, and went back to thinking. When he was a kid, Kenny had always been quite the comedian. But, as he and the others got older, his sex jokes became less and less amusing; until they sucked ass. Now, for instance, his sex jokes were sucking ass. As the boys neared the main street, Kenny's mind wandered back to matters of seriousness. To avoid a beating from his dad, he'd have to leave his house immediately after the announcement. He'd have to make sure that Cartman had made the necessary arrangements, too. Kenny guessed that he'd be leaving his house the following day. One more night of poverty, and then he would be 'free'…
The boys were now walking down the main street. It was, as the name implied, just a long street. It was the main street of South Park because it was the longest street in town, and most of the town's buildings were erected along it. The long tarmac road, bordered by walkways, houses and shops, had been cleared by the passing cars. The pavements had been swept, and snow was piling up in the gutters. As was the case in most backwater mountain towns, the main street of South Park was hardly bustling. The odd person or two could be seen, going about their daily business; and the occasional car passed by. The residents liked it that way. Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny all lived on the main street; down the far end, in the main residential area.
"Jesus Christ," Cartman began, finally breaking the silence. "We've been walking for fifteen fucking minutes, and none of you guys have said a Goddamn thing! What the Hell is up with you?!" Stan sighed, and looked over at him.
"I guess we've all been thinking," he said, bluntly. Cartman shrugged, and again focussed on the street ahead of them.
"What about?" He asked, looking over at Stan momentarily.
"None of your business," he replied. Cartman screwed up his face.
"I'm only trying to start a fucking conversation, you asshole!" He snarled. He was quiet for a few more seconds, before speaking again. "You were probably thinking about something gay… like your stupid girlfriend." Stan shot him an angry glance.
"For God's sake! Grow up, Cartman," he said, lowly. Cartman growled, as they approached his house. It was a small, two-story building with a smaller garage. Both structures were painted a light green colour, and their brown tiled roofs were covered with snow. Cartman turned onto his pathway, which had been cleared, and started up towards the door.
"I'll see you assholes later," he called, taking out his set of keys. He thumbed through them, picked out his front door key. Jamming it into the lock, Cartman turned it anti-clockwise until the bolt, clicking loudly, unlocked. Groaning, he pushed the brown wooden door open, removed his key, and stepped inside; disappearing from view. Stan, Kyle and Kenny continued down the road.
Cartman slammed the door shut, the loud bang shaking the very foundation of the house. He took off his hat and rucksack, throwing them both to the floor like old rubbish.
"I'm home, mom!" Cartman yelled up the stairs, passing them on his way to the living room. The architecture was identical to that of all other houses in South Park. The living room was a large room, leading immediately on to the kitchen. In the Cartman residence, the walls were painted yellow and a green carpet covered the floorboards like a patch of grass; littered with empty potato chip packets and candy bar wrappers. A tan brown sofa, covered in stains and worn with age, was positioned against the wall; opposite the old television set which sat on a small TV tray. Framed photos of Cartman and his mom, Liane, hung up all around the room. There were images of the two at all sorts of locations; from the Grand Canyon, to Mount Rushmore. Liane was short and thin; with brown, but greying, hair tied in a bun, and light brown eyes. In all of the photos, she wore the same clothes: a light blue sweater (with frilly white trimmings) and bright red trousers.
Cartman trudged across the living room and straight on into the kitchen. Like all kitchens in the town, it was quite large; with a back door, leading out onto the garden, and a single window above the sink. It had green flooring and pink wallpaper, and a large wooden dining table stood in the centre of the room; which was bordered by grey worktops and cupboards. Cartman approached the refrigerator, grabbing the hefty silver door and opening it. His faced bathed in a sickly yellow light, Cartman peered inside. He rummaged around for a bit but, finding nothing but health foods and vegetables, he slammed the door shut. Groaning, he stepped aside and opened one of the cupboards, which was hanging from the wall. He grabbed a few packets of 'Cheesy Poofs' and one or two chocolate biscuits, then headed back into the living room.
Cartman grabbed the TV remote from a small table, which sat next to the sofa, and slouched down onto the sofa itself. He slid off his shoes and put his feet up, switching on the television. Finding nothing of interest, he settled for some afternoon children's TV. Cartman yawned, bursting a bag of 'Cheesy Poofs' in his hands. He reached into the bag, grabbing a handful and shoving it into his gaping mouth. Cartman laughed aloud, mildly amused by the antics of the animated protagonists. Just then, Liane Cartman entered from the hallway. She looked just as she did in the photos. She was carrying plastic bags, and had probably just returned from the shop. No wonder she hadn't answered Cartman earlier. She saw him on the sofa, and smiled.
"Oh, hi Hon," she said, passing him on the way to the kitchen. Cartman glanced over at her, eying the shopping bags, and smiled.
"Hi, mom," he said, hauling himself up from the sofa. He followed Liane into the kitchen, shadowing her movements until she put the bags down on the table. Cartman shot over to them, and began rummaging through. His eyes lit up. "You bought 'Beefy Logs'!" He exclaimed, overjoyed. Liane, not turning from the kitchen sink, smiled.
"Yeah. I forgot to buy them last time I was out," she replied, the dishes clinking and clattering as she cleaned them.
"You're the best, mom!" Cartman said, grinning widely. However, he didn't feel like eating any 'Beefy Logs' at the moment, and instead headed back to the sofa. Again, he slumped down onto it and continued watching TV. He yawned, looking out of his window at 'Lapland'. At that moment, he remembered about Kenny. Cartman glanced over at his mom, who was still cleaning dishes. He cleared his throat, and prepared his best 'whining voice'. "Mom…" He began, trying to sound as convincing as possible.
"What is it, Hon?" Liane asked, speaking over the clanking of the dishes.
"My friend Kenny is… moving out. Can he stay with us?" Cartman asked, batting his eyebrows as his mom turned to face him.
"Sure, Hon," she said, after a few seconds of silence. She dried off her hands, and began unpacking her shopping. Cartman grinned widely. His mom was so soft. He sighed loudly, putting his feet up. He grabbed another bag of 'Cheesy Poofs', and burst them open. So far, so good.
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Back in the street; Stan, Kyle and Kenny were still walking to their respective homes. Since Cartman had left, none of them had said a word. They were still deep in thought and, besides, they had nothing really to talk about. The silence was awkward, though, and Kyle decided to break it.
"So," he began, without looking up from the ground, "do you guys have anything planned for tonight?" He asked, now looking over at Stan and Kenny. Kenny shrugged.
"I guess I'll be packing for tomorrow," Kenny said. "I have to be ready to leave right away - I can't give my dad a chance to kick my ass!" Both he and Kyle looked over at Stan.
"I don't really have anything planned," he said, sighing; his gaze falling to his feet. The three boys were fast approaching Kyle's house, which loomed in the distance. It was quite a large building, a little bigger than most others in South Park. It, like Cartman's house, had a garage separate. Both buildings were painted a pale green. A minute or so later, and Kyle was cutting onto his garden path.
"See you guys later!" He called, waving to his friends. He knocked on the door and, after a few seconds, Ike opened it. He was wearing a sky blue shirt, and matching shorts. "Hey Ike," Kyle said, stepping into the house and out of view. "Why the Hell are you wearing shorts?" Ike shrugged, closing the door.
Stan and Kenny were continuing on down the street. Stan lived at the far end of the main street, near to the railroad. The old railroad, which had been derelict for a long time, separated the 'generally well-off' and 'totally poor' districts of South Park. Kenny, naturally, lived on the other side from Stan. At that moment, neither Stan nor Kenny were deep in thought; but they remained silent nonetheless. After a short while, Stan decided to break the silence.
"So," Stan began, looking straight ahead of him. "I'm throwing a party at the weekend, will you be coming along?" He asked, now looking over at Kenny.
"Finally - the first piece of good news I've heard in weeks! Damn right I'll come along!" Kenny replied, grinning widely. He looked up, noticed that they were now approaching Stan's house. "Well, here's your place, Stan," he said.
The house was similar to that of Kyle or Cartman, except that the garage was built onto the house. The building was painted a dark forest green and was laden, like everywhere else in town, with snow.
"Alright. See you later, dude," Stan said, cutting onto his garden path. Kenny nodded. Stan fished his front door key out of his pocket, and slid it into the lock. He opened the door and stepped inside, disappearing from Kenny's view. Kenny, sighing, continued on past Stan's house. In the distance, he could see the railroad. As the snow fell heavier, Kenny hurried on.
Eventually, he came to the railroad. As it was derelict, it was virtually in ruins. The tracks were worn and rusted, and the old fence was rotting and splintering with age. On either side of the crossing, the railroad was bordered with overgrown shrubs and general vegetation. Kenny ducked swiftly under the barrier, quickly crossing the track and entering the crappy area of town. Seeing as they were separated by the railroad, there was no slow transition from 'well-off' to 'poor'. The change in atmosphere was instantly noticeable; 'it hit you like the fist of your raging father, drunken and angry after an alcohol binge', Kenny thought. His dad had made excuses - it was 'tough love'. Yeah, right… there was a better chance of the guy actually making something of himself. The fact of the matter was that Stuart McCormick was a total asshole - a human parasite, living off governmental benefits.
The 'poor' side of town was a total wreck. Scrawny, unkempt family pets roamed the mistreated streets, excreting almost at will. The roads, rarely used, were riddled with potholes; looking as if they'd been peppered with shells from an artillery gun. The walkways were battered - their slabs cracked and unlevelled, with writhing weeds wriggling up to the surface from between them. The houses themselves were shacks; more like untrustworthy bomb shelters than homes. They were, generally, constructed of objects otherwise destined for the dump. Alone, they were mounds of rubbish; together, they were hypothetical shanty towns - ancient remnants of the dark twenties.
Kenny hurried through the streets; occasionally stumbling over a mound of rubble, or tripping in a pothole, as the snow fell even heavier. From a long distance, he could recognise his own home. It was one of the few buildings on the rough side that could actually be called a building - it was a construction of bricks and cement, rather than of miscellaneous bric-a-brac. It was a single-storey building; it's flaking paint was a light green shade. Old pieces of junk and furniture, including an aging and incapacitated tow-up truck, lay strewn about the lawn - the theoretical headstones of Kenny's past. As Kenny cut onto his crumbling garden path, a few mangy cats shot across ahead of him, crying out like the disgruntled tune of an inexperienced violinist. Kenny, temporarily losing his composure, jumped backwards. Regaining his calm, he slowly approached his front door and pushed it open. It wasn't locked. There was no need for locks in the 'poor' district, where everyone sung the same sad song.
Kenny stepped into his house, closing the door behind him. He was in the 'main living room' of his house - and, boy, did it deserve it's label. It was the only room in the house, beside the three bedrooms. The painted walls, flaking, were a light shade of green; and a tattered, shaggy brown carpet, worn with age, lay on the floor. Against one wall was an old sofa, which stunk of alcohol, and against the other was an ancient TV - a relic of Mr McCormick's childhood. On the far wall was the 'kitchen'. This consisted of a stove, which sat alongside a rusting freezer - neither worked very well, but they were better than nothing. Kenny, wading through the empty beer bottles and 'Playboy' magazines that covered the floor, headed for his room; which was just to the right of the front door. He didn't let anyone know that he was home - they wouldn't care, anyway…
Kenny arrived at his bedroom. The wooden door was old and splintering, it's thin panels cracked. The carpet, especially thick underneath, jammed it shut. Kenny kicked the foot of the door, dislodging it. He pushed it ajar, and stepped inside. His room wasn't too dissimilar to the living room. It had the same crappy carpeting, though it wasn't as worn. His walls were unpainted; riddled with cracks and peppered with cavities, beneath a thick layer of vulgar posters. Opposite the door, against the wall, was Kenny's bed. It was unmade, the tattering sheets and pillows yellowing with age. The bed sat alongside a large window, with worn orange curtains hanging from a battered rail. Beneath the window was a damaged black chest, in which all of Kenny's belongings, bar his clothes, were stored. His clothes were hanging up in a wardrobe, built into the left-hand wall.
Kenny walked across his room and threw himself onto his bed, it's rickety frame bending and creaking. He sighed, looking up at his ceiling. It was leaking slightly from a crack, which had formed near the flickering light bulb. He couldn't help but grin - it was only a matter of time before he said goodbye to poverty forever. He decided to start packing right away. He hauled himself up from his bed and kneeled at the side of it. He reached under and pulled out an old suitcase, which was caked in a thick layer of dust.
Kenny trudged across his room to his wardrobe. He slid the door open and reached inside, fishing out all of his trademark orange parkas and trousers, along with some pairs of socks and underwear. He walked back over to his bed, opened the suitcase he'd placed there, and stuffed the clothes inside. He reached under the mattress and fumbled around, eventually laying his hands on a collection of notes. He took them out, and stuffed his savings into his pocket. Kenny looked around, scratching his messy blond head. He didn't intend to take anything else.
Suddenly, his bedroom door burst open, and his dad stumbled in. He was a tall man; with brown, but greying, hair and brown eyes. He was wearing a white string vest beneath a tattered blue jacket, and dark brown trousers. He held a half-empty beer bottle in his hand and, judging by his disorientated movement, he was drunk. His name was Stuart McCormick, and he was the biggest loser in the world. He was an ambitionless drunk, never sober, who cared for no-one but himself. Even so, he was content to sit back and waste away; never working. Stuart looked around Kenny's room, and spotted the suitcase on his bed. He pointed at it, accusingly.
"What the Hell's… that?!" He asked, speaking loudly. Kenny looked at it nervously, then back at his dad.
"It - it's nothing," he replied, his voice trembling. This was the worst possible scenario and, though Kenny had thought about it, he wasn't sure what to do. Stuart shook his head, his voice shaky.
"N-no! It's not 'nothing'! It's a f-fucking suitcase!" He growled, leaning on the wall to keep his footing. "What the f-fuck do you… think you're doing?!" He stared at Kenny, the cold gaze of his drunken eyes unnerving him. Kenny knew what he wanted to say. Whilst the words danced impatiently on his tongue, wanting to be freed, he hadn't the strength to do so.
"N-nothing!" Kenny blurted, his eyes darting around the room in search of sanctuary. Nothing. He knew that, even in his drunken state, his dad would latch on.
"Do you t-think you're g-going somewhere, you little asshole?!" Stuart fumed, again pointing at Kenny. Kenny was boiling - so many different feelings bottled up inside him… he was ready to explode. "You're n-not going… anywhere! Put that suitcase away, or I'll f-fucking k-kill you!" Stuart raised his clenched fist and struck Kenny across his face. He stumbled backwards, falling onto his bed.
Snap.
Slowly, Kenny's hand gripped the handle of his suitcase, grasping it tightly. Within a few seconds, he had took the same handle with his other hand. The anger growing inside him, and his father still bitching, Kenny prepared to strike… In one swift motion, he swung the suitcase; allowing it's momentum to drag him along with it. With a hefty blow to the head, Kenny knocked Stuart to the ground. He leaned over him, breathing heavily.
"No! You're wrong, you fucking asshole," Kenny began, his entire body and mind gripped with rage that burned like wildfire, fuelled by hatred. His voice was different. It was no longer the voice of a coward, but of a man obsessed. "I'm leaving this fucking dump, and I have a valid reason!" Stuart, beaten and groggy, looked back in shock. "All my life, you've treated me like shit. You brought me into the world, knowing damn well that you wouldn't be able to cope!" Stuart's eyes widened, as Kenny words washed over him like a sea of hurt. "You know why?" Kenny asked, his voice filled with hate. "Because you're nothing but a loser - a drunken nobody who can't even hold a fucking job! You rely on ME to support you, but I've had enough - I'm letting you fall." Kenny was now snivelling, his eyes filling with sour tears. "If I could renounce my 'family' name, then I would. It's the fucking end."
Kenny stepped over his dad and stormed out of the room. He walked into the living room, knocking over the coffee table in his rage. He opened the front door and, his suitcase in hand, stepped out into the snow. He slammed the door violently behind him. The tears flowing freely down his face like rivers of saltwater, tasting like blood in his mouth, Kenny started off down the street. He passed the 'headstones' and, despite the pain, he smiled. He'd made a statement; he'd abandoned the past, and it was time to start afresh.
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Meanwhile, in the Marsh household; Randy Marsh, Stan's father, was watching TV. He was sitting on the forest green sofa, which was positioned opposite the television set. The living room was similar to that of the Cartman residence. The walls were painted a bright purple, and the neat, tidy carpet was a light shade of brown. Several family photos hung around the room, accompanied by seemingly random images of picturesque natural environments.
Randy was a man with a relatively average build, just a little larger than his son. He had jet-black hair which, unlike the hair of Stan, was not natural - it was dyed. He had a matching moustache, and dark brown eyes. He was wearing a light blue shirt and dark blue trousers. Randy Marsh was a geologist, with a degree in his chosen profession. Other than that, he was just your 'average Joe'; with an average family and an average income. He was watching a TV stand-up comedian, and was laughing at his antics and jokes. Just then, Stan came into the room, a look of concern on his face. Randy noticed him.
"Hey, son," he said, smiling. Stan smiled back, half-heartedly.
"Hey, dad," he replied. Randy's gaze returned to the TV, and he erupted in laughter again. Stan sighed, walking over to the sofa. He scratched his head, thinking, before speaking. "Dad, can we talk?" He asked. Randy looked over at him.
"I guess so," he said, taking the TV remote. He lowered the volume down, so that the comedian could barely be heard. "Come sit down," he said, patting his thigh. Stan raised an eyebrow.
"It - it's okay, dad - I'll sit here." Stan sat down alongside Randy, clearing his throat. He was about to speak, when his dad interrupted him.
"Now, Stanley, I know what you're gonna say," he spoke quietly, sounding a little concerned. Stan was a little bemused, but allowed his dad to continue. "We've had this conversation many times before… and the answer's 'no'."
"Huh?" Stan blurted, more confused than ever. "Wait, you don't even know what I'm - " Randy interrupted again.
"No! Now you listen to me, Stanley!" Randy began, speaking loudly and sternly. "I've told you time and time again - drugs are nothing but trouble! They're terrible for your health, and they screw you up both physically AND mentally! I'm not giving you MY money, so that you can blow it on drugs! The answer's 'no'!" Stan was confused, and desperate to put the record straight - this wasn't about drugs and, besides, he wasn't at all interested in them.
"No, this isn't about drugs," Stan blurted. Randy looked confused.
"It's not?" He asked. Stan shook his head furiously.
"No. I'm not at all interested in drugs; I never have been and I never will be," he said, still shaking his head. Randy looked back, a contemplative look on his face.
"Then…" He trailed off, then shrugged. "Aw, I must've been dreaming!" A smile again returned to his face. "What's this about, then, son?" Stan was silent for a few seconds, deep in thought, before clearing his throat.
"I want to… ask you a few things," he began. Randy nodded.
"Sure. Fire away," he said, grinning. Stan took a deep breath, a little nervous.
"How old were you and mom… when you first… had sex?" He could feel his face reddening already. He felt so embarrassed, asking his dad such a question. Randy thought for a moment.
"I don't know…" He began, trailing off into thought. "We were about your age, I guess." Stan's stomach tightened.
"Right. When - when was it?" He asked. Randy looked to be thinking. He clicked his fingers, as if trying to spark the memory as you would a campfire. He stopped suddenly and grinned.
"Oh, yeah! It was at one of my parties," he said. He laughed, reminiscing the night. "Yep, that's right. My parent's were out of town for the weekend, and I threw this HUGE party!" Suddenly, Stan felt under incredible pressure. "We'd been together for quite a while, two or three years, but I guess we were really afraid to talk about… sex, and stuff." Stan sighed, a little relieved.
"So… it's normal, then?" He asked. "It's normal for a couple to be… nervous, about stuff like that?" Randy nodded, smiling.
"Yeah, it sure is." He replied. He looked straight at Stan, observing his growing smile. "I asked your grandpa the exact same thing, and he told me to talk to your mom…" Randy trailed off.
"And?" Stan asked, listening intently.
"So, at the party, me and your mom went upstairs. We talked for a little while and…" He trailed off again, then smiled. "Well, you get the idea. After we spoke for a while, we realised that we were both comfortable with everything." By this time Stan, though he was completely unaware of it, was smiling widely.
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Cartman was sitting on his sofa, watching the TV. His cat, 'Mr Kitty', was curled up on his lap. She was now aging; her sight was failing and her fur was malting. 'Fat Abbot' reruns, from a long time ago, were showing on the television screen. Cartman, stuffing a handful of 'Cheesy Poofs' into his mouth, laughed heartily. Just then, there was a knock at the door. He groaned, moving 'Mr Kitty' to one side and hauling himself to his feet. He trudged over to the door and, as he opened it, recoiled in shock.
"Kenny?!" Cartman blurted, staring at his friend. Cartman moved aside, letting him into the house. Kenny pulled down the hood of his parka, revealing his face. It was lightly bruised from his dad's punch, and his eyes were red from his tears. "I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow?" Cartman said. Kenny nodded.
"Y-yeah, me too." He put his suitcase next to the door, his voice a little shaky. "I got back, me and my dad had a fight and, well, I kinda snapped." Cartman nodded. "Let's just say it was necessary… you don't mind, do you?" Cartman shook his head.
"No, 'course not, dude!" He said, turning to the staircase. "Mom! Kenny's here now!" He called. Hearing a faint 'okay, Hon', Cartman grinned. He motioned for Kenny to follow him, as he began ascending the stairs. Kenny picked up his suitcase and followed suite. "I can see that you forgot your sleeping bag," Cartman said, looking back at Kenny. He nodded. "It's no big deal - you can use mine." Cartman and Kenny walked along the landing, approaching Cartman's room. Cartman pushed the door open, and the two stepped inside.
Cartman's room was quite large; with a neat brown carpet and light purple wallpaper - a similar colour scheme to Stan's living room. Against the near wall was a large bed, and against the far wall was a desk and office chair. A large window, looking out onto the darkening snowy main street, was on the right-hand side of the room. A wardrobe, the same as all others, was built into the left-hand wall. Cartman pointed at it.
"My sleeping bag's in there." Kenny approached the wardrobe, sliding the door open. "Just put your clothes in there, too; but make sure not to touch any of mine - I don't want any Goddamn poor ass disease." Kenny looked back at him and chuckled, reaching into the wardrobe and pulling out Cartman's sleeping bag. He laid it out on the floor. Sighing, relaxed, Kenny lay down on it.
"By the way, are you going to Stan's party this weekend?" Kenny asked, looking over at Cartman. He looked a little bemused.
"Huh? I didn't know that hippy was having a party…" He said, speaking quietly. Kenny nodded and continued.
"Yeah - he told me before." He said. Cartman shrugged it off.
"I guess he'll tell me tomorrow," he began. "Who's going?" He asked. Kenny thought for a moment, then shrugged.
"I'm not too sure. I think that Kyle and Wendy are definitely going, 'cause they're staying overnight. I'm going, and I think they'll be a lot of others there, too - y'know, Craig, Clyde…" he trailed off. Cartman looked to be deep in thought.
"Wendy's staying over? Ooh, boy - that'll be interesting! I'll be there!" Cartman thought for a moment, then grinned. "And I'll find a way to stay over, too!" Kenny laughed, and Cartman pulled himself up from his bed, heading for the door. "I'm gonna go watch some more Fat Abbot, you coming?" He asked. Kenny nodded, rising to his feet.
"Sure!" He said, grinning. Cartman motioned for him to follow.
"Then come on, you poor piece of crap!" Kenny shot him an angry glance, and then followed him out of the room. Cartman slammed the door behind them.
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Closing A/N
Okay, that's the third chapter of 'High School Escapades' - complete! It's longer than chapter one, but falls just short of chapter two length. Also, I know some of you might think that I exaggerated the poverty of South Park's 'poor' district; but I had a picture to paint, and a point to make. Anyway, that's all from me… for now. Until next time, people!
Oh, I almost forgot: don't forget to review!