Opening A/N
Here is Chapter 4 of 'High School Escapades', entitled 'A New Life'. At first, I was planning on taking a break from this particular fiction; but I can't - I'm totally hooked on this thing! Please note, however, that I probably won't have much free time on my hands over the next few months - so updates may be few and far between. 'May be', that is.
Anyway, I hope you all like this chapter. Don't forget to review!
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Tuesday morning. Since the return of the school year, greeted with giant discontent, a day had passed; and a second loomed on the horizon, the buzz of the weekend quickly growing faint. The sun's rays, piercing as they were, were unable to breach the thick combination of cloud and fog that masked the morning in blandness. The snow, cold and crisp as the mountain air, piled up; and a grey boredom stirred in the streets. The outlook for the day was grim, and the weather forecast reflected this. Even the birds, sitting silently in the trees, saw no bright side to a morning with 'shit' written all over it. It was around '7:00 AM', and everyone in South Park began to rise. There was very little shining to be done, though.
This was not the case, however, with Kenny McCormick. He was, despite the dire day that hung ahead of him, happier than he'd ever been in his life. The night before, he had left everything. His 'home', his 'family'… his past. He'd moved in with the Cartman family the previous night, and had slept on the floor of Eric Cartman's bedroom. He was the living epitome of a 'new leaf', freshly turned and ready for the dew of tomorrow. At that very moment in time; Kenny was encased in a sleeping bag, almost like a caterpillar in a cocoon - only awake. His weary eyes gazed up at the ceiling. No cracks, no leaks, no flickering light bulb… nothing but sanctuary - sanctuary from the Hell that had eaten up seventeen long years of his life. Lying on the floor, with very little padding, he was quite uncomfortable; but a warm sea of satisfaction washed over him.
Kenny looked around the room, one of many in the Cartman household; this was his new home. His gaze, seemingly unable to settle, continued to travel around the room. Eventually, it settled on Cartman. His hulking figure was slumped on the bed, breathing heavily and, occasionally, shifting positions. Eric Cartman and his mom, Ms Liane Cartman; they were his new family. Kenny sighed, smiling, pleasant thoughts of his future with the Cartman family flooding the plains of his mind; this was his new life. He rolled onto his side and, feeling almost blissful, began to drift back off to sleep.
"Eric, Hon!" The voice of Ms Cartman, calling up from the kitchen, startled Kenny. "Eric! You're going to be late for school!" Cartman began to writhe around on his bed, his flaying leg kicking the duvet off from on top of him. It slipped over the side of the bed and landed on Kenny, who immediately sprung upright. Cartman, too, as if given animation by a lightning bolt, shot up from his semi-slumber.
"No! Uncle Jesse! No!" Cartman screamed, an expression of both fear and shock slapped across his fat, sweating face. He looked around the room, and could feel the heat emanating from his reddening cheeks. He looked at Kenny, who was attempting to contain his laughter, and his expression darkened. "What the fuck are you looking at?!"
"It's okay, dude," Kenny began. "There's a history of sexual abuse in my family, too." Cartman raised an eyebrow, and then shot Kenny a confused glance. He opened his mouth, probably to make some smart ass comment, and then fell silent.
"Eric!" Ms Cartman again called up the staircase. "C'mon, Hon - you're going to be late for school again!" Cartman, looking pissed off, finally responded.
"Okay! Okay! I'm fucking coming! For God's sake!" Cartman yelled, jumping out of bed. The whole house shook, and the window panes seemed to rattle, as Cartman's feet hit the floor. Kenny laughed a little, stretching his arms and yawning.
Cartman rubbed his eyes and shook his head, as if trying to scatter the final remnants of last night's dream. Yawning and scratching his behind, Cartman trundled across the room and over to the wardrobe, passing Kenny on the way. He slid the wardrobe door open, rummaging through his clothes and fishing out his usual attire. Very slowly, Cartman slung his clothes over his shoulder and trudged out of the room.
Kenny, too, slipped out of his sleeping bag. Just as Cartman had, he hurried over to the wardrobe and took out his usual clothes; which he had thrown down there the previous night. He sped out of the room, seeing Cartman about to reach for the knob of the bathroom door. Kenny quickly skipped ahead of him and beat him to the inside. He slammed the door in his face, bolting it from the other side. Cartman groaned loudly, stomping his foot on the ground, ready to throw a tantrum.
"Goddamn it!" He growled, kicking the foot of the bathroom door. "You better hurry up in there, or I swear I'll send you back to the shack, asshole!" Cartman heard Kenny laugh it off.
"I haven't had a proper shower in years, so I'm not promising anything!" Kenny replied, undressing. He switched on the shower, which began to hum steadily. Hot water trickled from the head, like rainwater from broken guttering, as a choking steam filled the room. Kenny stepped into the shower cubicle, the warm water running through his dirtied blond hair; bringing out it's natural golden tone.
On the other side of the door, Cartman slouched down against the wall, his clothes on his lap. He yawned loudly, scratching his messy brown head. He pounded the foot of the door with his fist.
"Hurry up in there, Kenny!" Cartman grunted, his voice shaky from his lack of sleep. He groaned aloud, his face sinking into his hands. If he and Kenny were going to be living together from now on, Cartman figured that he'd have to make a few changes. First off, he'd have his mom wake Kenny up even earlier than usual. That way, he'd have finished in the shower before Cartman's usual wake-up time. Cartman hunched over, as if trying to lie down and rest on his own body. He was ready to go back to sleep…
Just then, the bathroom door opened and Kenny stepped out. His golden hair was wet and dripping onto his clothes, which he was carrying in his arms. His lower body was wrapped in a damp white towel, and a puddle of water was forming at his feet. Kenny grinned at Cartman, motioning over his shoulder and into the bathroom.
"I left the water running for you, fat boy!" He said, his grin widening. Cartman shot him an angry glance. He heaved himself to his feet, and passed Kenny on his way into the bathroom.
"Thanks, you poor piece of shit," he replied, slamming the door in Kenny's face. He locked it from the inside, hanging his clothes up on a nearby peg. He took off his boxers, struggling to heave his bulky figure into the shower cubicle. The water was still running, and the steam had formed into a mist, obscuring Cartman's vision like a thick fog. He closed the door of the cubicle over, it's entire frame rattling. Allowing the hot water to sooth him, he sighed loudly.
Back in Cartman's bedroom, Kenny had just finished drying off. He was standing in the middle of the room, dressed only in his thermo, boxers and socks; admiring his grinning reflection in the mirror, which was mounted on Cartman's wardrobe door. His hair was a beautiful golden blond, and his entire body was shining; he was without a spot of dirt. The life in Kenny's eyes said it all. The Kenny McCormick of old was dead. He was dead and rotting in his bedroom, murdered by his own father's drunken hands the night before… hypothetically speaking, of course.
He walked across the room to Cartman's bed, where he'd laid his clothes down earlier. He took up his trousers, stepping into them and pulling them up to his waist. He zipped and buttoned them up, and then picked up his trademark orange parka. He slipped it on, but without actually fastening it up. Kenny returned to the mirror, again admiring himself. Like his body and his mind, his clothes were perfectly clean - for they had been washed the previous night.
Just then, the bedroom door swung open and Cartman stumbled into the room. He was fully clothed, having obviously dressed in the bathroom, in his usual attire. His hair was still damp in places, and had dripped onto his shoulders, leaving wet patches. He was carrying a white towel, which he lifted to his head. He rubbed his scalp roughly, drying his hair, before throwing the towel dismissively to the floor. The towel hit the carpet with a damp thud, dirtied water immediately leaking onto it. Cartman shook his head furiously, shuddering, before grinning widely.
"C'mon, Kenny," he began, quite excitedly. "My mom has made breakfast." Cartman hurried out of the room, and his heavy footsteps shook the house as he descended the stairs. Kenny chuckled to himself. Living with Cartman was going to be, well, pretty funny. Sighing, he walked over to his sleeping bag, which was spread out on the floor. Leaning over, Kenny rolled the bag up into a soft cylinder and set it aside. Yawning, he scratched the back of his head and walked out of the dim bedroom, closing the door securely behind him.
Kenny immediately noticed an insane, but incredibly appetizing, aroma in the air. It drifted up from the kitchen and, drawn to the source, Kenny followed the scent and descended the stairs. He passed through the living room, ignoring the early morning television, and walked into the kitchen. Laying his gaze upon the table, Kenny gasped and his eyes widened.
The table, piled high with food, was on the verge of collapse. It's surface could barely be seen, as it was buried beneath a few dozen large plates, bowls and pitchers. Pancakes towered high up to the ceiling, drenched in butter and all kinds of sugars and syrups. Alongside the pancakes were similarly-sized towers of waffles and toasted bread, as well as mountains of other traditional breakfast foods. Amongst the plates and bowls also sat pitchers, filled with coffees, teas and fruit juices. It was a mouth-watering concoction, the likes of which Kenny had never seen before.
Cartman was already sitting at the table, a massive plate of a greasy pancakes and waffles in front of him. His chair almost collapsed beneath him, as Cartman stuffed his fat face quickly and incessantly. Ms Cartman also sat at the table, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. She was reading some kind of magazine. Cartman looked up at Kenny.
"What's the matter, asshole? Are you just gonna stand and stare, or are you gonna actually eat something?!" He asked, raising his voice a little. Kenny shook his head viciously, snapping himself out of his thoughts.
"Huh?" Kenny nodded, pulling out and taking a seat. He was absolutely amazed by the amount of food in front of him. It was a vast amount, and was probably the most food he'd ever seen on any one table. Cartman looked over at Kenny, noticing his trace-like state, and sighed. He took a plate of waffles, and slid it in under Kenny's nose. He recoiled, surprised.
"Here," Cartman began, pointing to the plate. "If you wanna start a new life, then you could do worse than gain a few pounds… and make up for seventeen years of malnutrition. Go on." He pushed the plate further towards Kenny, who chuckled a little.
For the next ten minutes or so, the two boys ate breakfast in silence. Cartman, unlike Kenny, ate as if there was no tomorrow. He must've downed about thirty pancakes and twenty waffles, before he decided to give his tired jaw a rest. Covered in crumbs and grease, Cartman leaned back in his chair. He sighed loudly, feeling pretty content. Ms Cartman had poured Kenny a cup of coffee, and decided to strike up a conversation with her guest.
"So, Kenny," she began, looking up from her magazine. "Why is it that you decided to leave home?" Kenny thought for a moment, then began to talk.
"My parents are total assholes," Kenny said, bluntly. Ms Cartman, a little surprised, nodded slightly. "They're both alcoholics, and neither of them work. They made me get a job, and my wages kept them going. My dad pushed me around a lot, too." Kenny took a sip of his coffee, and then continued. "I guess I just had enough."
"Oh," was all Ms Cartman could muster. She knew that Kenny's family was poor, but she had no idea that they pushed him about, too. A sympathetic smile crossed her face. "Well, you're welcome to live here with us, Kenny."
"Thanks a lot, Ms Cartman," Kenny said, smiling gratefully. Ms Cartman nodded, then went back to reading her magazine. Cartman glanced over at the clock, which read '8:27 AM', and groaned loudly.
"Aw, fuck!" He grabbed the table, using it's weight to drag himself to his feet. He brushed the crumbs from his jacket, and knocked on the table. "Hey, Kenny, it's time to go." Kenny, a little startled, look up.
"Alright, alright - give me a chance!" He groaned, gulping down the remainder of his coffee. He wiped his mouth off on his parka sleeve, and stood up. He zipped his parka up tightly, then reached into his pockets to pick out his gloves. Cartman trudged grumpily across the kitchen to the coat rack, which stood alongside the back door. He took his hat and gloves, slipping them on. Now wrapped up fully, looking like a large pig cloaked in a red blanket, Cartman opened the back door. Snow blew in from outside, sprinkling the kitchen floor with a cold white dust.
"I'm going, mom!" Cartman called, though Ms Cartman was sitting only a few strides away. She smiled and nodded.
"See you later, boys," she said, taking a further sip of her coffee, her eyes again falling to the magazine in her hands. Kenny followed Cartman towards the door, turning and waving.
"See you later, Liane," he said, smiling. Ms Cartman nodded and smiled back, though not looking up from the magazine. Cartman and Kenny stepped out into the back garden; closing the back door behind them, and so blocking out the weather which was invading the kitchen.
The back garden was basic, as were most in South Park, and was enclosed in a varnished wooden fence. A small stone patio, recently cleaned, sat and shone by the back door. It lead onto a long patch of grass, the green blades buried beneath by a quilt of cold, which was bordered on either side by snow-sprinkled shrubberies. Miscellaneous garden furniture, including a table and parasol with chairs, lay unused at the far end of the garden. Cartman and Kenny, following the straighten stone path, headed out of the back garden. They found themselves walking alongside the front lawn, then out onto the main street.
The main street was a sombre scene. The sky was a dismal tapestry of deep grey patches and ominously dark clouds. A foul grey slush, a combination of snow and rainwater, was slopped about the streets like a shallow Arctic lake. The occasional vehicle sped down the long road, spraying passers-by with unpleasant slime. Those few people that walked the streets did so without any enthusiasm. Like ghosts, with their gloved hands in their pockets, they passed through the early-morning mist; depressed frowns pasted grimly over a usually jovial smile. The birds, an icy wind whipping their treetop homes, did not sing on a day so dull.
Cartman and Kenny, ankle-deep in the grey slush, started down the main street. The shops were beginning to open, and their unenthusiastic keepers arrived to unlock. They slid up their shutters, which rolled onto their rails like heavy-metal blinds, their iron clatters ringing out into the damp mountain air like the macabre tolls of funeral bell. Such was air of depression that hung about South Park, they might as well have been.
Behind the orange parka, however, it was a different morning altogether. Gone was the chilling wind that rattled the rooftops. Gone was the sombre grey slush that splattered the sidewalks, caking the morning in gloom. These were, after all, only physical factors. Though they often directly affected a person's mental constitution, they could be ignored by those with a good enough state of mind. Kenny had, since the afternoon before, built a stronghold in his own mind. It was a stronghold of defiance and confidence, built upon a foundation of justice. After setting things right with his family, he had began to erect it. Now it was unbreakable; and Kenny, encased in the walls, was unreachable. No physicality could alter his mindset…
"Kenny! Kenny!" Cartman yelled, almost unable to reach him. Kenny shook his head vigorously, dragging himself painfully out of his imaginary fortress.
"Huh?!" He looked around the main street, realising that he had fallen behind Cartman. Cartman was a good few strides ahead, looking back at Kenny with a bemused and aggravated expression on his fat face.
"What the Hell's up with you, you poor piece of crap?!" Cartman asked, sounding quite annoyed. "Hurry up, or that fat bitch will leave without us!" He began to wade on through the slush, heading for the vale at the end of the main street.
"You're right," Kenny said, running to catch up. "But you're gonna have to stop calling me a 'poor piece of crap' sooner or later!" Cartman looked over his shoulder, as a small smile crept across his face.
"Kenny, you'll always be a 'poor piece of crap' in my eyes," he said, grinning. Kenny shot him an angry glance, and then smiled himself.
"Yeah? Well you'll always be a 'fucking fat ass' in mine!" He said, also grinning. Cartman shot Kenny an angry glance of his own, but then shrugged it off. The two continued down the main street, passing just about every house, shop and service imaginable along the way. The rainbow colours of these buildings, unlike the morning before, were now visible; if not dampened by the slush.
After a short while of walking, Cartman and Kenny reached a fork in the road. The road to the left led out of South Park, on to Denver; and the road to the right was the vale. Unlike the morning before, it was no longer laden with beautiful, crisp white snow. Instead, it was soggy with the grey slush. The tall ferns, dank in their miserable, monotonous lines; shook in the violent wind. At the far end of the vale, the bus-stop stood in it's never-changing position. Cartman and Kenny could make out Stan and Kyle, standing and talking at the bus-stop. The two picked up a little speed, hurrying to meet their friends.
"Hey, Kenny," Stan and Kyle said, simultaneously, as Kenny arrived alongside them. Cartman, after a few seconds, followed. He plopped to the ground, breathing heavily; his face red from the short jog. "Hey, fat ass."
"Hey, guys," Kenny replied, smiling. Cartman, looking like a beached whale in the slush, shot the two an angry glance. He acknowledged their presence with a simple nod, as he was far too tired to talk.
"You're a little late," Kyle said, looking over at his friends. "You weren't out with Wendy as well, were you?" He asked. Stan appeared unimpressed at Kyle's remark, but let it pass.
"N-no…" Cartman began, heaving himself to his feet. His jacket was greying and damp from the slush, and his face was still red. "T-that… poor p-piece of… crap took too long… in the shower…" He said, motioning towards Kenny, whilst trying to wipe the slush from his jacket.
"Huh? But I thought Kenny wasn't moving in until tonight?" Stan said, both he and Kyle looking a little bemused. Kenny was quick to clear up.
"Yeah, well, things didn't go exactly according to plan," he began, looking a little uncomfortable. "My dad found out, and we had a fight."
"A verbal fight, or a actual physical fight?" Kyle asked, looking quizzically over at Kenny. Kenny shrugged.
"Both, I suppose. He was shouting for a bit, and then he hit me; so I hit him back… with my suitcase." He said, grinning a little. Stan and Kyle both looked amused. "Then I made my big exit, and showed up at Cartman's place."
"Let me get this straight," Kyle began, smiling unsurely. "Your dad was bitching, so you hit him with a suitcase?!" Kenny nodded. "Man… I bet that shut him up!" Kenny nodded again, and Kyle laughed a little.
Just then, the school bus appeared at the end of the vale. It shot, like a sickly yellow rocket on wheels, down towards the bus-stop. It screeched to a halt, the thick black tires whipping some slush up from the road. The slush was sprayed up onto the sidewalk, soaking the four boys, as the bus doors hissed and slid open.
"Aw, fucking weak!" Cartman groaned, spitting some slush out from his mouth. His clothes, and those of the three others, were dripping with the icy matter. He thrashed his arms about, attempting to dispose of as much of the stuff as he could. Ms Crabtree looked on, unimpressed, from the driver's seat.
"C'mon, we're running late!" She growled, once again bearing her mouth of very few rotting yellow teeth. Stan rolled his eyes. Everyday, for the past nine years, that was all he and his friends ever heard.
"Give us a chance, you fat bitch…" Stan said, half-muttering. Ms Crabtree's eyes widened and, as she jerked violent in her seat, the bird in her hair fluttered about.
"WHAT did you say?!" Crabtree yelled, the foul smell of her breath hanging in the air like the thick fog that had swallowed South Park. Stan again rolled his eyes, and then cleared his throat.
"I said… 'give us a chance, you fat bitch'," he repeated himself, this time much louder and more clearly. Ms Crabtree growled and the four boys, totally dismissing her, climbed onto the bus and the aisle. The doors, hissing, slammed over; almost catching Kenny's foot. The bus began to pick up speed, travelling down the icy road of the vale. The boys headed for the back of the bus, the slush dripping from their soaking clothes; leaving a dirty, murky trail of water along the aisle.
Stan and Kyle, dripping, slouched down on the empty back seat; their soggy clothes squelching as they did. The back seat, the largest of the lot, stretched from one side of the bus to the other. It could comfortably hold four or five people but, seeing as Cartman and Kenny had sat elsewhere, was far from full capacity. The two had sat just ahead of Kyle and Stan, on a regular seat. Stan lay back, yawning, and titled his head. He looked wearily out of the window at the ferns, which seemed to fly by, as the bus sped along. Kyle, not sitting directly next to Stan, yawned. He closed his eyes, trying to rest. This was difficult, however, as the bus swerved on the twisting mountain roads.
The journey passed without event for quite a while, picking up Craig and his friends. The bus ground to the third halt of the journey, stopping to collect Wendy and Bebe. Bebe was not around, so Wendy headed immediately for the back of the bus. She sat in the large space that existed between Stan and Kyle, smiling widely.
"Hey, Stan," she said. Stan a little surprised, jumped up in his seat and spun around; drawn quite gently from his daydream world. He turned to face Wendy, smiling.
"Hey, Wendy," he returned her greeting, his smile widening. He leaned over and give her a quick kiss; before returning to, and leaning back in, his seat. "How has your morning been?"
"Pretty crappy," she began, sighing. "I overslept, the shower broke, my cereal was stale, I lost my beret, and then I forgot my physics project - I had to go back home for it." She tilted her head, looking out of the back window. "When I got up and saw the weather, I couldn't help but feel like this was gonna be a bad day…"
"Me too," Stan said, nodding. "Or, I did feel like this was gonna be a bad day, at least. When I saw you, I felt a whole lot better." Wendy smiled.
"Oh, that's so sweet, Stan," she said, very sincerely. She leaned in towards him, and the two kissed again. Only a small kiss, of course - they didn't want to make a show. Stan grinned.
"And to think… I thought that today was gonna be a bad day!" He said, smiling. He lay back in his seat, sighing loudly. It was a pleasant sigh, rather than a sigh of aggravation or annoyance.
After picking up Tweek, the bus continued it's journey through the murky streets of South Park. It finally came to the tall iron gates of South Park High School which, in the low-lying morning mist, made it look somewhat like a prison. Slowing down, the bus turned into the parking lot, eventually coming to a complete stop. The doors hissed, unfolding and opening. Ms Crabtree, in her usual manner, yelled and screamed for the students to get off the bus. Along with the others, Stan and Wendy got to their feet. Stan looked over at Kyle, who had fallen asleep beside him.
"Kyle! Wake up, dude!" Stan said, shaking his friend. Kyle's eyes fluttered open and he looked around the bus, somewhat disorientated. He groaned, realising where he was.
"Thanks," Kyle said, bluntly. He hauled himself to his feet and adjusted his hat, which had fallen lopsidedly to the side of his head; revealing a little of burning auburn hair. His red mop looked somewhat mild in the dankness of the morning. He, Stan and Wendy walked along the aisle, climbing down out of the bus and into the sea of students which had gathered outside. Literally milliseconds later; the doors of the bus closed quickly, as if the mechanism that operated them had decided to slam them shut. Kyle stretched and yawned.
"Oh, man…" he said, speaking through a loud yawn. "I can't believe I fell asleep on the bus - the weekend must really be catching up with me…" He stumbled, quite groggily, over to where Stan and Wendy were standing. He swiftly slipped in between them, putting an arm around each. He looked at Stan, and then at Wendy. "Did I miss anything interesting, you guys?" He asked, grinning. Stan shrugged.
"Nah, not really," he said, shaking his head. "Just us sharing a conversation about how crappy our mornings have been, and the odd kiss or two." Just then, an electronic bell rung out into the bleakness of the morning, signalling the commencing of the school day. With that, just about every student in the yard began to make their way towards the main entrance. Kyle, Stan and Wendy were amongst them; though they might as well have been lost in the thousand-strong ocean of bodies. They flowed, like the liquid they resembled, into the building. Like a vast army of ants, the students made their way through the cramped corridors and to their respective homerooms. Kyle, Stan and Wendy, shortly followed by Cartman and Kenny, arrived at room twenty-eight. Kyle turned the doorknob, pushing the door ajar. The room, because of the weather outside, was not very well lit by the sun. The electronic lamps were switched on inside, their artificial light shimmering on the frosted glass pane of the door.
Kyle, Stan, Wendy, Cartman and Kenny stepped inside. The room was empty and, as was always the case, unchanged from the previous day. The five students sat in their usual positions; alongside each other, on the back row. Within a few seconds, the door burst open and the rest of the students spilled into the room; talking amongst themselves. They all took their respective seats, continuing their conversations whilst sat down. Tweek tip-toed cautiously through the door, looking incredibly insecure. His eyes darted around the room, as if he were expecting to see his doom everywhere that he looked. He continued to his seat, which was at the front of the room, and sat down slowly.
"Oh, man…" Tweek spoke quietly, as if trying to hide himself from something. "Oh, man…" He continued to repeat himself, now beginning to rock back and forth in his seat. A few kids were taking notice of this, small smiles creeping across their faces. "Too much pressure… too much pressure, man! Argh!" Tweek shot up from his seat, looking traumatised. Butters, looking over from across Jordan and Pip, looked a little concerned.
"Uh, are you o-okay, Tweek?" He asked, leaning forward from his desk. Tweek looked back, now shaking furiously. "M-maybe you should have a drink of coffee, o-or something?" Butters suggested. Tweek nodded, taking a sip of coffee from his flask. Almost immediately, he seemed to calm down. He took a deep breath, and then sighed; returning to his seat. Cartman looked on from the back of the class, an expression of both bemusement and confusion on his face.
"What the fuck's wrong with him?!" He asked, though not really speaking to anyone in particular. Kenny, sitting between Cartman and Stan, shrugged. "He's acting gayer than usual." Stan, overhearing this, also shrugged.
"It must be all the talk of exams… and pressure. You know how Tweek is with pressure." He said, looking over at the jittery teenager. He was again looked about the room, his anxiety already returning. Suddenly, Mr Garrison burst into the room, causing Tweek to jolt violently in his seat.
Garrison, as was the case the previous day, was wearing a light green jacket and a pair of dark brown trousers. His thin, squared spectacles bobbled on his nose, as he strolled casually across the front of the class. He dumped a stack of papers on the desk, and then took up a reddish-brown booklet. He cleared his throat.
"Okay, students," he began, opening the booklet, flicking through the pages and adjusting his spectacles. "I'm just going to take a quick register…" Garrison's scanned the room, taking a note of any absences in his register. After a minute or so, he slammed the booklet shut, placing it on the desk with the other papers. He walked to the front of the class, taking a piece of chalk and beginning to write on the blackboard. After a few seconds, he moved aside, revealing the words "Class Presidency". This conjured up a little restlessness amongst the students.
"Okay, students," Garrison again began, now turning to face the class. "As you all know, yesterday was the first day of your final year at South Park High. Just like any other year; you'll all be running, and voting for, class president." Butters raised his hand. "Yes, Butters?"
"D-do we have to, sir?" He asked. His question confused Garrison, who took a moment or two to think about it.
"What do you mean, 'do we have to', Butters?" He asked, eventually decided to counter with a question of his own. Butters cleared his throat, twiddling his thumbs absentmindedly.
"It's just that, well, the same p-people get presidency every y-year. Couldn't you just, um, go a-ahead give it to the m-most sensible person?" Garrison sighed.
"Of course not, Butters," he began, speaking sternly. "The idea is that everyone gets to run for class presidency; even if that person has no chance in Hell of getting it - like Eric Cartman, for instance."
"Ay!" Cartman barked, looking up from his desk to shoot Garrison an angry glance. Garrison shrugged.
"It's the truth, Eric," he began. "You've just as much chance of becoming the class president as you do the American President." There was a brief silence, as Garrison reviewed his statement in his head, before he spoke again. "In fact, you probably have a better chance of becoming the American President; as nobody in this class would vote for you."
"Fucking queer…" Cartman growled, speaking beneath his breath. His angry gaze fell to the desk, and his clenched fists which rested on it. Garrison took a pile of small blue papers from his own desk, clearing his throat.
"Okay, students," he began, beginning to distribute the papers. "Here are the 'class presidency forms'. I want you all to fill them in, and then hand them to me on your way out." Cartman, still pissed off, looked down at his form. It was small and blue, with a few lines of black text at the head. He read it in his head…
'Please write down the name of the classmate you have… n-no… n-nom…' Cartman struggled to read the word. 'Nominate… n-nominated, and state why you think they would make the ideal president. Your vote will remain a-anon… a-anonym'… "Argh, screw it!" He groaned, and began to scrunch up the form. He stopped, however, when an idea hit him…
"So," Stan began, turning to face Kyle. "Who'd you nominate, dude?" He asked. Kyle shrugged, taking next to no time to answer.
"The usual - Wendy, dude," he began. "She's really, really responsible… and besides; she's been the class president for the past few years, and she always does a good job." Stan nodded.
"Same here," he began. "And for the same reasons…" Stan trailed off, and then grinned. "As well as the fact that's she's my girlfriend - she'd probably kick my ass if I didn't vote for her!" Kyle laughed a little. "That's something I could do without!" Just then, the bell rang. Mr Garrison looked up at the bell, which was rattling above the door.
"Alright, students," he began. "Hand me your 'class presidency forms' on your way out. I'll tally your votes, and give you the results in a little while." As the students filed out of the room, they passed by Garrison's desk to hand him their forms. As soon as the final student has closed the classroom door, Garrison shuffled the pile of forms into a neat stack. He began thumbing through them, reading the votes aloud…
"Wendy Testaburger… Wendy Testaburger… Wendy Testaburger… Wendy…" Garrison continued to flick through the forms, his words trailing off into thoughts. Most of the students in the class had nominated Wendy for president, and it came as no surprise. Garrison yawned, building up a tally of votes. He stopped in his tracks, however, when he came across a rather odd form. He lifted it to his face, adjusting his spectacles, and began to read it in his head…
'To my good friend, Mr Garrison… You've taught me all of my life, and just about everything I know. Next time someone makes fun of me because I'm stupid, I'll know who to blame. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I hate you. I really, really hate you. There's only one person I hate more than you, and that's… Cartman - yeah, that's right! You're a fucking queer, and… I hate you. From… Kyle.'
Garrison, having finished reading the form, rolled his eyes and sighed. He crunched it up into a small paper ball, throwing it over his shoulder like the trash it was. "Note to self," he began, "give Eric Cartman a verbal ass-kicking". He grinned, and then continued to flick through the rest of the forms.
----------
Meanwhile, Butters and Tweek were squeezing their way through the labyrinth of corridors; which were tightly-packed with students. They were looking for room sixteen, in which they should be learning Mathematics. Thanks to the general hustle-and-bustle of the school, however, they were having no luck finding it.
"I-it's gotta be a-around here, someplace…" Butters mumbled, looking at a plan of the building; which was printed on the reverse of his schedule.
"Maybe we missed it, argh?!" Tweek squealed, looking around anxiously. Butters, after thinking for a moment or two, shook his head.
"N-nope, I don't think so," he began, trailing off. After a few seconds, Butter chuckled to himself. Tweek looked over at him, bemused.
"What's so funny, man?! We mightn't ever find the room… and then people would think we were truanting! And - and then we'd get suspended! Oh, sweet Jesus, no!" He twitched violently, tugging at his disorganised blonde hair.
"I w-wasn't laughing at that," Butters began, looking behind at Tweek. "I-it's just that, well, we've been here for y-years; and we still don't k-know our way around the building!" He smiled again, mildly amused by the scenario.
"Yeah," Tweek agreed, a small smile also finding it's way onto his face; before being erased by a vicious twitch. He titled his head to the side, scanning the corridor for any sign of room sixteen. As if by magic, or divine intervention, it stood just to his left. "Hey," Tweek began, pointing at the door. "Isn't that room sixteen?" His question was rhetorical, as it clearly was room sixteen, but Butters answered anyway.
"W-why yes, it is!" He said, smiling widely. "C'mon, Tweek, we're late e-enough as it is!" He motioned for Tweek to follow him, as he headed quickly for the door.
"Late?! Oh, Jesus!" Tweek exclaimed, shadowing Butters until they reached the door. Butters, one hand on the doorknob, knocked on the frosted glass panel politely. After hearing a faint 'come in', Butters opened the door, and both he and Tweek stepped inside.
The interior of the room was virtually the same as any other in the school. On the far wall was a series of windows, hanging and looking out onto the yard like framed photographs of the outside world. A large quantity of small desks, mostly occupied, were scattered across the room; and a larger desk, at which the teacher sat, stood at the head of the room. The room was bordered with drab-looking posters, promoting the 'joys of math'. They were highly off-putting, and totally false. As Butters and Tweek walked cautiously into the room, the teacher looked up from his desk.
"Sit down, boys," he said, motioning towards two desks near the window. The two students walked to the seats, and took them obediently. The teacher was of average stature; with short, smartly-combed grey hair and beady brown eyes. He was wearing a white shirt under a brown jacket, as well as brown trousers and a black bowtie. He looked like a antique - excavated from the late forties or early fifties. He rose to his feet.
"I'm your tutor, Mr Wellington, and I'll be teaching you mathematics for the duration of your final year here." He began, speaking rather monotonously. He walked, in a mechanical fashion, across the front of the class; his wrinkled hands patting the pockets of his trousers, which had browned with age. "Now, I want to talk to everyone… about mathematics…"
Tweek, hearing the opening of what was to be another drab speech on mathematics, almost immediately shut off. 'How could anybody be so passionate about something so… boring?' He thought to himself, reaching into his pocket. He fished out a small set of earphones, discretely slipping them on. Tweek flicked the 'play' switch on his walkman, and a heavy rock tune began pumping into his head. He reclined in his chair, his eyes sliding shut…
Butters was sitting just behind Tweek. Unlike his friend, Butters always tried to behave and pay attention in class. However, he too felt like drifting off to sleep. Mathematics was not his favourite subject, to say the least. All the numbers, symbols and equations… as open-minded as Butters was, he just couldn't see any use for them. Despite this, he sat and listened intently. Even though he hated it, he seemed to have a way with numbers - if there was any one use for mathematics, then it was to up your grade average!
"Alright," Wellington said, having just concluded his speech. "As a warm-up for the lesson, we're going to solve a few mathematical problems," Wellington strode to his desk, picking up a dusty piece of chalk. He turned to the board, and then began scraping away; the dusty white chalk, grinding against the board, screeched like an aggrieved banshee. Mathematics was, after all, ghoulishly boring.
For the next hour or so, Wellington posed problem after problem. Each one was greeted with a 'contemplative' silence, and only Butters ever bothered to put any effort in. Somehow, he never failed to give the correct answer - no matter how difficult the problem was. After a while Wellington, completely astounded by Butters' mathematical ability, began to speak.
"Well, Butters," he began, reaching for some erasers. "That was very impressive," Wellington turned to the board, and then began wiping the now huge collection of equations and figures. "It appears to me that you belong in the higher class… I'll have to look into it." A small smile crept across Butters' face, as Wellington clapped the two erasers together. As a white cloud of chalk choked the room, Wellington cleared his throat. "If this is the case, I'll have you transferred by next week."
At the back of the room, Tweek was slouched at his desk. He was, of course, asleep; and had been so since the beginning of the lesson. It was strange how he had so much trouble sleeping at home, but dozed-off with such ease during math class - especially through a thick stew of guitar and drum. The walkman, still pumping music into his head, drowned out Mr Wellington's droning voice. Sometime during his slumber, Tweek had began reclining further in his chair. Even now, he was still reclining; his chair now balancing on two legs. He reclined further still - one leg… Crash!
Tweek's chair tumbled backwards, taking him with it. It smashed into a cupboard, knocking it open, and spilled a literal tonne of books and equipment onto the floor. Tweek, sent crashing by his chair, landed in a heap atop the pile of paper, pens and pencils. The entire class, startled, turned around to face Tweek.
"Argh! Sweet Jesus!" Tweek exclaimed, hauling himself upright. He looked around and saw that all eyes, including those of Wellington, were on him. "Too much pressure, man!" He shook his head furiously.
"Tweek!" Wellington roared, his face quickly reddening. "You'd better have a good explanation for this, or…" He trailed off, as the intercom buzzed into action.
"Would Eric Cartman please report to the councillor's office," came the voice of the still school councillor, Mr Mackey. "I repeat: would Eric Cartman please report to the councillor's office." The intercom clicked, and Mackey's voice faded. All eyes again fell on Tweek.
"Oh, sweet Jesus! See me through this!" He squealed, his head jerking to the side as a violent twitch shook his body. Wellington cleared his throat, and Tweek did the same.
----------
Cartman stepped out of room forty-four, slamming the door behind him. The frosted glass panel rattled in it's frame; and it's 'forty-four' label, formerly held in place with a few small tacks, fell and drifted to the floor. As he started off down the corridor, Cartman could hear the angry yells of his teacher from inside the room. Something about 'not slamming doors'. Cartman, not caring, shrugged it off dismissively.
Trudging angrily down the corridor, he headed for the councillor's office. It wasn't far off, but Cartman was in no hurry. Discipline had never bothered him - if he had to take a slap on the wrist to have a little fun, then so be it. Cartman laughed to himself. That note to Garrison was pretty funny and, if he had a dollar to spare, he'd bet that was why he was wanted by the councillor. He continued to weave his way through the corridors, eventually coming to the councillor's office. The door, like most others in the building, was a made from a varnished wood. It had a frosted glass panel, and a sign reading 'Councillor's Office'. Cartman knocked and pushed the door ajar, stepping inside.
The room was, on the inside, much smaller than most others in the school. Directly opposite the door was a large desk, with a chair both behind and in front of it. The walls, painted and light shade of green, was plastered with 'feel-good' posters and bordered with bookshelves and filing cabinets. A neat brown carpet lay on the floor, like a meadow of sun-glazed grass. The school councillor, Mr Mackey, sat at the desk; with Mr Garrison by his side.
Mr Mackey seemed a little younger than Garrison, but still bordering on middle-aged. He looked quite thin and fragile. He was very little stringy, greying hair; and dark, beady eyes. A pair of squared spectacles rested on his long, crooked nose. He was wearing a light green shirt, dark blue pants and a dark green tie. Mr Mackey motioned for Cartman to take a seat, and he did just that.
"Alright now, Eric," Mr Mackey began, his voice sounding tired and worn. He flicked through a few papers on his desk, "there are a few things we need to talk about, m'kay…" He adjusted his spectacles, fishing out a certain sheet from the stack of papers.
"What kinds of things?" Cartman asked, feigning innocence and naivety. Mr Garrison, standing over Mackey's right shoulder, narrowed his eyes. He pointed an accusing finger at Cartman.
"Eric Cartman!" He began, his voice filled with anger. "You know exactly 'what kinds of things' we need to talk about! Just sit there and shut your face!"
"Now, Mr Garrison," Mackey said, looking over his shoulder at his colleague. "I understand that you're upset, but you should try to deal with Eric calmly, m'kay." Garrison, his gaze meeting with Cartman's own, pretended to slit his throat. "Alright, Eric," Mackey continued, his eyes scanning the paper in his hands. "Apparently, you wrote this offensive message…" He lifted the paper, showing it to Cartman. It was, as a matter of fact, Cartman's class presidency nomination form.
"Nope," Cartman said, shaking his head, "I didn't write that." He pointed to the end of the message, "I think Kyle Brovlofski wrote it…" Mr Mackey sighed.
"Give it up, Eric," he began. "We know that you wrote it, and we've already decided your punishment." Cartman rolled his eyes, groaning.
"Alright, alright! I'm sorry I wrote that note to Mr Garrison! I've learned my lesson, and it won't happen again! Can I go now?!" He began to haul himself up from his seat, but Mackey shook his head.
"No, not this time, Eric," he said. Cartman, upon hearing 'not this time', froze. "Whilst all of your petty offensives have been dealt with leniency, this kind of behaviour will not be tolerated, m'kay." Cartman, still frozen, prepared for the worst. "You've gone too far this time, and so you'll be punished accordingly. Eric Cartman, from this moment on, you are suspended… indefinitely!"
"What?!" Cartman exclaimed, overcome with shock. "But, you can't suspend me! I - I've learnt my lesson! I've - " Mackey cut him off.
"I'm sorry, Eric," he began, "but there's no two ways about it. You've been indefinitely suspended. We'll be contacting your mother in a short while, so that we can discuss your future." Cartman opened his mouth to protest, but Mackey again cut him off. "You're dismissed, Eric - go home… m'kay."
Cartman hauled himself up from his chair; and threw Mackey one last, pitiful glance. Sighing, he pointed to the door. Cartman, like an obedient family pet, headed for it. He grabbed and twisted the doorknob, stepping out into the corridor. As recess had just started, the corridors were overflowing with students. Cartman stepped into the crowds and, as just another body of sediment in the river, drifted towards the main entrance…
----------
The yard was, just like everywhere else on this miserable morning, another sombre sight. The grey slush that had drowned the main street had not turned a blind eye to the dark tarmac of South Park High School, and had collected there in every greater quantities than in the main street. There was enough fill a good few thousand bathtubs - not like anyone would want to bathe in it, though. Unlike the slush, the wind has died down a little; and now barely shook the tiled rooftops of the school. Several clusters of students had gathered here and there, talking and making the most of an otherwise doomed recess. Kyle, Stan and Wendy descended the stone steps of the main building, heading out into the centre of the yard.
"Did you guys hear the message for Cartman on the intercom?" Kyle asked, wading through the slush alongside his friends. Stan and Wendy, walking hand-in-hand, both nodded.
"Yeah…" Stan began "it sounded to me like he was in a lot of shit." A small smile found it's way onto his face, "I wonder what that stupid fat ass has done this time?" Kyle shrugged.
"Who knows," he began, looking around the yard. "He's just so fucking unpredictable." Stan laughed and nodded.
"Yeah…" he agreed, his own eyes now scanning the yard. Nothing but depressed faces, bathed in greyness. "I wonder where he is…"
"He's probably in the cafeteria, having an early lunch!" Kyle joked, adding a little life the an otherwise dead or dying occasion. Stan and Wendy both laughed. Just then, Kenny emerged from the barrage of students emptying out into the yard. Noticing Kyle, Stan and Wendy, he headed towards them.
"Hey, guys," he said, a large grin on his face. Kyle, Stan and Wendy, all spotting Kenny, turned and greeted him.
"Hey, Kenny," they said, simultaneously.
"Did you hear about what happened to Cartman?" Kenny asked, his grin widening. His friends shook their heads. "He got suspended!"
"What?" Stan exclaimed, recoiling in shock. "Suspended?! What did that stupid fat ass do to get suspended?!" He asked.
"After what Mr Garrison said to him, Cartman wrote some shit about him on a class presidency form; and then handed it in with the rest of them," Kenny explained, "I saw him write it - he was pretty proud of himself." Kyle, Stan and Wendy all laughed. "He even wrote, 'from Kyle', at the end!"
"Jesus Christ!" Kyle laughed, almost doubling over. "I knew he was stupid… but, Goddamn!" Kenny nodded.
"Yeah," he continued, "anyway, Garrison reported him; and then the school decided to suspend him."
"How long has he been suspended for?" Wendy asked, still smiling. Kenny thought for a moment or two, and then shrugged.
"I'm not too sure…" he replied, trailing off into thought. "I think he's been suspended indefinitely…" Kyle, Stan and Wendy laughed even more.
"Well, I guess we'll be seeing even less of Cartman for a little while!" Stan said, laughing a little more. The others nodded. Just then, the bell sounded; signalling the end of recess, and the beginning of the next lesson. With a unified but muffled groan, every student in the yard began trudging back towards the school. Stan reached into the pocket, taking out and unfolding his schedule. "I've got shop class next… what about you?"
"I think I've got home economics…" Wendy said, scanning her own schedule. She nodded, putting it back in her pocket. "Yeah… God, I hate that subject!" Stan laughed a little.
"How come?" He asked. Wendy shrugged.
"Y'know… they always teach you stupid things," she paused for a moment. "Like how you should marry someone rich and upper class - even if you don't love the guy! It's just stupid." She smiled lightly. "But I don't pay attention, 'cause I'm taken." Stan, too, smiled.
"That's a relief," he joked. He looked over his shoulder at the multitude of students, all making their way into the school. "Well, I'd better go. See you later, Wendy," Stan said, leaning over and kissing her. Wendy smiled.
"See you later, Stan," she said, turning and headed off in another direction. Stan began walking, alongside Kyle and Kenny, towards the school building.
"You two kiss way too much, Stan," Kenny commented, as the trio ascended the stone steps of the main entrance. Stan looked over at him.
"Shut your face, Kenny," he replied, shooting him a jokingly angry look. "If you had a girlfriend as awesome as Wendy, then you'd do the same thing." Kenny shrugged, and he and his friends disappeared into the school.
----------
Wendy walked quickly across the miserable grey yard, heading for one of the smaller school buildings; which stood on the other side of the gymnasium. It was a small, single-story building, and was just about big enough for five or six classrooms. As was the case with the main school building and the gym itself, this minor building was painted a light shade of green. A straight tarmac path led up to the main entrance, which existed in the form of a set of wooden double-doors. Wendy headed up the path, pushing the doors open. She stepped inside the small building which, as implied by it's small size, indeed held only a few classrooms. The entrance led straight onto a single corridor, similar to those in the main building, with three classroom doors on either side.
Wendy headed for the last door on the right. She looked up at it's frosted glass pane, and read the sign hanging there. 'Room six'. She knocked on the door and, a second or two later, turned the knob and pushed it open. The interior of the room was quite small. A dark green carpet lay on the floor, and the walls were painted a girly pink. Along with bookshelves and cupboards; cookers, fridges and freezers bordered the walls. One long desk spanned the breadth of the room, at which most of the girls in the school sat; and another, smaller desk was at the head of the room. Several windows were on the far wall, looking out onto the yard. The teacher was standing at the whiteboard, just behind her desk.
The teacher was a relatively young woman, around her mid-thirties. She was quite short and thin; with shoulder-length charcoal hair, and light blue eyes. She was wearing a long purple dress, unbuttoned at the collar. She was, of course, the same woman who'd taught Wendy home economics in Elementary School. She had married Mr Adler a few years back, and so was now Mrs Adler.
"Take a seat…" the teacher trailed off, obviously forgetting Wendy's name.
"I'm Wendy Testaburger, ma'am," Wendy said, quickly clearing up. "I think that you taught me home economics in Elementary School." The teacher paused, and then nodded.
"Oh, that's right! It's nice to see you again, Wendy," Mrs Adler said, smiling. "Take a seat; we were just about to begin." Wendy walked across the room, sitting down alongside Bebe; who was already seated at the far-left of the desk.
"Hey, Wendy," Bebe whispered, turning to face her friend.
"Hey, Bebe, Wendy replied, smiling. "I didn't see you on the bus this morning… I didn't think you'd be coming to school." Bebe shook her head.
"I overslept." She replied, bluntly. "Besides, I usually let you know if I'm not going to school." Wendy nodded. "Anyway, are you still coming to the mall this afternoon?" Wendy thought for a few moments, and then nodded again.
"Yeah, I guess so," she replied. "But I've got a few things that I wanna do first, is four o'clock okay with you?" Bebe nodded and prepared to speak, but Mrs Adler clapped her hands to grab the class's attention.
"Okay, class, I want to get started now," she said. The class immediately fell silent, and Mrs Adler smiled. "I know you've all learnt home economics before, but I want to go over the basics before we begin." She took a red marker, and then turned to write on the whiteboard. "Now, when you're a little older, you should all marry nice, rich men - a woman has to look out for herself. Home economics will teach you how to be the perfect housewife. As you all know…" Wendy groaned quietly.
"My God," she whispered, turning to face Bebe. "I hate this lesson." Bebe looked a little bemused.
"You hate it?" She asked, "then why did you opt for it?" Wendy sighed.
"I didn't," she began. "But, you know how it is; if you're a little attractive, then they send you here… and pump your head full of this Fascist shit." Bebe laughed a little.
"You could say that," she began, "or you could say that the purpose of home economics is to teach us valuable life lessons." Wendy rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, right," she scoffed. "I don't consider 'opt for the rich guy, rather than the guy you really love' a valuable life lesson." Bebe laughed quietly.
"We're going to learn a few phrases," Mrs Adler began, grabbing the attention of the two girls. "These might come in handy in the near future, so be sure to remember them." She cleared her throat. "Now, repeat after me; 'Honey, can I get a new wardrobe'?"
"Honey, can I get a new wardrobe," the entire class repeated, simultaneously; though a few girls we out of sync.
"Try this one; 'Lisa Smith's husband just bought her a new car'," Mrs Adler said, emphasising the 'her'.
"Lisa Smith's husband just bought her a new car," the class again repeated, some emphasising the same word. Mrs Adler nodded.
"Well done," she began. "Bebe, how about you try this one." She cleared her throat. "Repeat after me; 'I think a trip to Hawaii would really improve our sex life'." Bebe nodded.
"I think I trip to Hawaii would really improve our sex life," Bebe repeated, virtually perfectly.
"Outstanding. Now, Wendy, how about you try this very handy one; 'I'd love to take our relationship further, but not until you buy me a diamond ring'." Wendy nodded.
"I'd love to take our relationship further, but…" she stopped, her mind trailing off into her own thoughts. Mrs Adler looked bemused.
"What's the matter, Wendy?" She asked. Wendy shook her head furiously, hauling herself back to reality.
"N-nothing." She said, clearing her throat. "I'd l-love to take our relationship further, b-but…" she stopped again, seemingly struggling. "But n-not until you buy me a d-diamond ring." Mrs Adler looked a little less bemused, but bemused all the same.
"That was okay, Wendy, but there's still room for improvement," she began, turning to the board again. "Anyway, now we're going to learn how to distinguish between a 'zero' and a 'hero' - that's a 'lawyer' and a 'barrister'…" Wendy, sitting in her seat, looked increasingly uncomfortable.
----------
The rest of the lesson passed quickly. After a seemingly short amount of time, the bell rung and signalled the beginning of the lunch break. The students, Mrs Adler's included, poured out of their classes and into the corridors. Stan, Kyle and Kenny emptied out of one of the shop class workshops, heading immediately for the cafeteria.
"I can't believe Mr Adler is back," Stan said, shaking his head. Kyle and Kenny, walking alongside him, both nodded.
"Yeah," Kyle began, "but he seems a lot nicer than last time - he doesn't seem to accuse us of 'screwing around too much' anymore." Kenny nodded again.
"I know," he began, hurrying to keep up with his friends. "I heard that he married my old home economics teacher, y'know." Stan and Kyle looked over at him.
"He did?" Stan asked. "I always knew they were dating, or something… What was her name, anyway?" Kenny thought for a moment, and then shrugged.
"I'm not sure," he replied, as the trio neared the cafeteria. "I wasn't there long enough to find out. Besides, I never paid attention in that class."
The three had now come to the end of the corridor. Turning to the right, they continued on towards the double-doors of the cafeteria. Stan, walking a little ahead of the other two, pushed the doors open. Kyle and Kenny, trailing a little behind, followed suite. The three boys stepped into the cafeteria which, as was the case the previous day, was totally packed. As if every student in the school had reached the cafeteria before Stan, Kyle and Kenny; just about every seat available had been taken up. A long, long lunch line meandered, like the mighty Thames, along the walls. Sighing, the three boys joined the end of it.
"Why exactly did you take home economics, anyway, Kenny?" Stan asked; looking back at Kenny, who was standing ahead of Kyle. He shrugged.
"I'm not really sure, I guess I was just curious as to what it was like," he said. "But, as it turned out, it fucking sucked." Kyle shook his head, laughing.
"That isn't why you picked home economics, Kenny," he began. "You picked it so that you could be around all the girls!" Kenny thought for a moment, and then shrugged.
"Okay, so maybe I did pick home economic to be around the girls, so what?" Kenny said. "At least I showed some interest in girls, unlike some people…"
"Hey!" Kyle growled, shooting Kenny an angry glance. "I did and do show interest in girls! You're just a pervert!" Kenny shrugged. Stan, standing just ahead of the two, opened his mouth to speak, but Kyle cut him off. "You can't get involved, Stan!"
"Why not?" Stan asked, a little bemused. Kyle rolled his eyes.
"Because, dumb ass, you've held the same relationship for nine fucking years! That totally dwarfs anything we can achieve for at least a decade!" Kenny looked forward at Stan.
"How do you do it, dude?" He asked, "I mean, how do you hold the same relationship for nine years?! It's fucking crazy!" Stan thought for a few seconds, and then shrugged.
"There's no trick to it," he began. "Me and Wendy were made for each other; and, as was supposed to happen, we just clicked - it was fate." Kenny nodded.
"Alright, alright! I didn't ask for your life story!" He said, grinning. Stan threw him an angry glance, but let the desire to retaliate pass.
By now, the three boys had reached the front of the line. Their trays in their hands, they headed into the main kitchen. Chef, as usual, was there to greet them…
"Hello, children!" He exclaimed, in his usual jovial manner. Almost automatically, Stan, Kyle and Kenny smiled.
"Hey, Chef," they replied, simultaneously.
"How are my favourite crackers today?" Chef asked, grinning widely. He took a large spoonful of mashed potato (or just some gooey yellow stuff), and slopped it onto Stan's plate.
"Good," the boys replied. Chef continued to heap food onto the boys' plates, still talking as he did so.
"That's good," he said, as he finished supplying Kenny with his lunch. Kyle and Kenny both passed Stan, heading back out into the main dining area.
"Chef, I've got quite a big problem," Stan began, suddenly sounding a little depressed. "Can I talk to you, or something?" Chef looked around awkwardly.
"Sorry, Stan," he began, motioning towards the long line of hungry students, waiting to be served. "I've got to feed all these kids or, like I said, I'll lose my job." He paused for a moment. "You can tell me all about it at the party, and I'll see what I can do." Stan nodded.
"Alright. See you later, Chef." Stan said, heading out of the kitchen. "Jesus Christ," he began, talking to himself, "it seems like everything's gonna happen at my party!" He looked around, noticing Kyle and Kenny sitting at a nearby table. He walked over a joined them, sitting opposite the two. "Sorry about that, you guys."
"No problem," Kyle said, speaking through a mouthful of shitty mashed potato. Just then, Craig and Clyde approached the table from the kitchen. They were both dressed in their usual attire, except that Craig was no longer wearing his hat. His spiked black hair was exposed, shining under the lights of the cafeteria.
"Hey, assholes," Craig said, grinning widely. "I heard Chef say something about Stan, and a party. Can anyone fill me in, here?" Stan sighed.
"Yeah, I can," he began, taking a sip from his can of soda. "My parents are out-of-town at the weekend, and I'm throwing a party." He explained. Craig thought for a moment, and then spoke again.
"Well, I hope you don't mind if I show up? I can't miss a party, and you know that." He said, grinning. Stan nodded.
"Sure thing, dude; be my guest," he replied. Craig took a chocolate bar from his pocket, unwrapping and stuffing it into his mouth. Kyle looked over and grinned.
"Hey, Craig," he began, grabbing his attention. "You should lay off the sweets and shit, or you'll end up fat like Cartman - you're already well on your way!" Craig shot Kyle an angry.
"I'm not fat, you piece of shit!" He growled, raising his fist and flipping Kyle off. "And if you call me fat again, I'll bust your jaw!" Kyle laughed.
"Sure thing, Craig," he said, dismissing Craig's promise as a hollow one. His anger subsiding, Craig began to walk away, followed swiftly by Clyde.
"I'll see you assholes later!" He called, disappearing into a crowd of students. Stan, Kyle and Kenny shrugged, and continued eating their lunch.
----------
The rest of the lunch break, along with the rest of the school day, passed quite quickly and uneventfully. Eventually, the bell rung; and was met with cheers. Every student in the school, as if starved of oxygen for the past few hours, emptied out of the school like rivers of lightning. They poured out onto the yard and, from their, into the streets. Another school day was over, and only three more remained… in the week, that is.
Wendy was amongst those students. She descended the stone steps of the main building, walking onto the yard and waiting around for Stan. He hadn't been in her previous lesson, and so she'd not seen him since that morning. The two always met up before the end of school, and today was to be no exception. After a minute or so of waiting, Stan, Kyle and Kenny appeared at the main entrance. Just as Wendy had a few moments earlier, they walked down the steps and onto the yard. Stan noticed Wendy, and walked over to see her.
"Hey, babe," Stan said, smiling. Wendy smiled back.
"Hey, Stan," she replied. The two walked slowly alongside each other; and Kyle and Kenny followed, knowing that they'd separate at the school gate. "Stan," Wendy began, grabbing his attention. He looked over at her, an inquisitive look on his face. "I think that there are a few things we should talk about…"
"Huh?" Stan looked a little bemused. "What things?" Suddenly, his countenance dropped dramatically. "Wait, you're not dumping me are you?!" Wendy laughed, shaking her head.
"Jesus Christ, no!" She said, quickly clearing up. "I don't want to talk about ending our relationship - we're totally made for each other!" Stan, more relieved than he'd ever been in his life, nodded.
"Yeah, that's what I told Kenny," he said. Wendy smiled, and nodded.
"Like I said, I don't want to talk about ending our relationship; far from it," She said. Stan nodded.
"Right," he began, "so what do you want to talk about?" Wendy opened her mouth to speak, but paused. She thought for a few moments.
"Actually, now definitely isn't the best time…" She began, "Maybe we can talk some other time. At your party, or something." Stan nodded, as the two arrived at the school gate. "I guess I'll see you later, Stan," Wendy said, leaning over and kissing him.
"Alright. See you later, babe," Stan said, smiling. Wendy headed out of the gate, and Stan's gaze followed her dreamily until she disappeared from view. "If she's thinking what I'm thinking," he began, talking to himself again; "then it's gonna be one Hell of a night…"
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Closing A/N
Finally! That seemed to take ages, but 'A New Life' is complete! I do apologise for any sloppiness in this chapter, but I ran out of ideas at times. Rest assured, I have quite a fresh bucket for the next chapter! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading… until next time, farewell!
Oh, and don't forget to review!
Here is Chapter 4 of 'High School Escapades', entitled 'A New Life'. At first, I was planning on taking a break from this particular fiction; but I can't - I'm totally hooked on this thing! Please note, however, that I probably won't have much free time on my hands over the next few months - so updates may be few and far between. 'May be', that is.
Anyway, I hope you all like this chapter. Don't forget to review!
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Tuesday morning. Since the return of the school year, greeted with giant discontent, a day had passed; and a second loomed on the horizon, the buzz of the weekend quickly growing faint. The sun's rays, piercing as they were, were unable to breach the thick combination of cloud and fog that masked the morning in blandness. The snow, cold and crisp as the mountain air, piled up; and a grey boredom stirred in the streets. The outlook for the day was grim, and the weather forecast reflected this. Even the birds, sitting silently in the trees, saw no bright side to a morning with 'shit' written all over it. It was around '7:00 AM', and everyone in South Park began to rise. There was very little shining to be done, though.
This was not the case, however, with Kenny McCormick. He was, despite the dire day that hung ahead of him, happier than he'd ever been in his life. The night before, he had left everything. His 'home', his 'family'… his past. He'd moved in with the Cartman family the previous night, and had slept on the floor of Eric Cartman's bedroom. He was the living epitome of a 'new leaf', freshly turned and ready for the dew of tomorrow. At that very moment in time; Kenny was encased in a sleeping bag, almost like a caterpillar in a cocoon - only awake. His weary eyes gazed up at the ceiling. No cracks, no leaks, no flickering light bulb… nothing but sanctuary - sanctuary from the Hell that had eaten up seventeen long years of his life. Lying on the floor, with very little padding, he was quite uncomfortable; but a warm sea of satisfaction washed over him.
Kenny looked around the room, one of many in the Cartman household; this was his new home. His gaze, seemingly unable to settle, continued to travel around the room. Eventually, it settled on Cartman. His hulking figure was slumped on the bed, breathing heavily and, occasionally, shifting positions. Eric Cartman and his mom, Ms Liane Cartman; they were his new family. Kenny sighed, smiling, pleasant thoughts of his future with the Cartman family flooding the plains of his mind; this was his new life. He rolled onto his side and, feeling almost blissful, began to drift back off to sleep.
"Eric, Hon!" The voice of Ms Cartman, calling up from the kitchen, startled Kenny. "Eric! You're going to be late for school!" Cartman began to writhe around on his bed, his flaying leg kicking the duvet off from on top of him. It slipped over the side of the bed and landed on Kenny, who immediately sprung upright. Cartman, too, as if given animation by a lightning bolt, shot up from his semi-slumber.
"No! Uncle Jesse! No!" Cartman screamed, an expression of both fear and shock slapped across his fat, sweating face. He looked around the room, and could feel the heat emanating from his reddening cheeks. He looked at Kenny, who was attempting to contain his laughter, and his expression darkened. "What the fuck are you looking at?!"
"It's okay, dude," Kenny began. "There's a history of sexual abuse in my family, too." Cartman raised an eyebrow, and then shot Kenny a confused glance. He opened his mouth, probably to make some smart ass comment, and then fell silent.
"Eric!" Ms Cartman again called up the staircase. "C'mon, Hon - you're going to be late for school again!" Cartman, looking pissed off, finally responded.
"Okay! Okay! I'm fucking coming! For God's sake!" Cartman yelled, jumping out of bed. The whole house shook, and the window panes seemed to rattle, as Cartman's feet hit the floor. Kenny laughed a little, stretching his arms and yawning.
Cartman rubbed his eyes and shook his head, as if trying to scatter the final remnants of last night's dream. Yawning and scratching his behind, Cartman trundled across the room and over to the wardrobe, passing Kenny on the way. He slid the wardrobe door open, rummaging through his clothes and fishing out his usual attire. Very slowly, Cartman slung his clothes over his shoulder and trudged out of the room.
Kenny, too, slipped out of his sleeping bag. Just as Cartman had, he hurried over to the wardrobe and took out his usual clothes; which he had thrown down there the previous night. He sped out of the room, seeing Cartman about to reach for the knob of the bathroom door. Kenny quickly skipped ahead of him and beat him to the inside. He slammed the door in his face, bolting it from the other side. Cartman groaned loudly, stomping his foot on the ground, ready to throw a tantrum.
"Goddamn it!" He growled, kicking the foot of the bathroom door. "You better hurry up in there, or I swear I'll send you back to the shack, asshole!" Cartman heard Kenny laugh it off.
"I haven't had a proper shower in years, so I'm not promising anything!" Kenny replied, undressing. He switched on the shower, which began to hum steadily. Hot water trickled from the head, like rainwater from broken guttering, as a choking steam filled the room. Kenny stepped into the shower cubicle, the warm water running through his dirtied blond hair; bringing out it's natural golden tone.
On the other side of the door, Cartman slouched down against the wall, his clothes on his lap. He yawned loudly, scratching his messy brown head. He pounded the foot of the door with his fist.
"Hurry up in there, Kenny!" Cartman grunted, his voice shaky from his lack of sleep. He groaned aloud, his face sinking into his hands. If he and Kenny were going to be living together from now on, Cartman figured that he'd have to make a few changes. First off, he'd have his mom wake Kenny up even earlier than usual. That way, he'd have finished in the shower before Cartman's usual wake-up time. Cartman hunched over, as if trying to lie down and rest on his own body. He was ready to go back to sleep…
Just then, the bathroom door opened and Kenny stepped out. His golden hair was wet and dripping onto his clothes, which he was carrying in his arms. His lower body was wrapped in a damp white towel, and a puddle of water was forming at his feet. Kenny grinned at Cartman, motioning over his shoulder and into the bathroom.
"I left the water running for you, fat boy!" He said, his grin widening. Cartman shot him an angry glance. He heaved himself to his feet, and passed Kenny on his way into the bathroom.
"Thanks, you poor piece of shit," he replied, slamming the door in Kenny's face. He locked it from the inside, hanging his clothes up on a nearby peg. He took off his boxers, struggling to heave his bulky figure into the shower cubicle. The water was still running, and the steam had formed into a mist, obscuring Cartman's vision like a thick fog. He closed the door of the cubicle over, it's entire frame rattling. Allowing the hot water to sooth him, he sighed loudly.
Back in Cartman's bedroom, Kenny had just finished drying off. He was standing in the middle of the room, dressed only in his thermo, boxers and socks; admiring his grinning reflection in the mirror, which was mounted on Cartman's wardrobe door. His hair was a beautiful golden blond, and his entire body was shining; he was without a spot of dirt. The life in Kenny's eyes said it all. The Kenny McCormick of old was dead. He was dead and rotting in his bedroom, murdered by his own father's drunken hands the night before… hypothetically speaking, of course.
He walked across the room to Cartman's bed, where he'd laid his clothes down earlier. He took up his trousers, stepping into them and pulling them up to his waist. He zipped and buttoned them up, and then picked up his trademark orange parka. He slipped it on, but without actually fastening it up. Kenny returned to the mirror, again admiring himself. Like his body and his mind, his clothes were perfectly clean - for they had been washed the previous night.
Just then, the bedroom door swung open and Cartman stumbled into the room. He was fully clothed, having obviously dressed in the bathroom, in his usual attire. His hair was still damp in places, and had dripped onto his shoulders, leaving wet patches. He was carrying a white towel, which he lifted to his head. He rubbed his scalp roughly, drying his hair, before throwing the towel dismissively to the floor. The towel hit the carpet with a damp thud, dirtied water immediately leaking onto it. Cartman shook his head furiously, shuddering, before grinning widely.
"C'mon, Kenny," he began, quite excitedly. "My mom has made breakfast." Cartman hurried out of the room, and his heavy footsteps shook the house as he descended the stairs. Kenny chuckled to himself. Living with Cartman was going to be, well, pretty funny. Sighing, he walked over to his sleeping bag, which was spread out on the floor. Leaning over, Kenny rolled the bag up into a soft cylinder and set it aside. Yawning, he scratched the back of his head and walked out of the dim bedroom, closing the door securely behind him.
Kenny immediately noticed an insane, but incredibly appetizing, aroma in the air. It drifted up from the kitchen and, drawn to the source, Kenny followed the scent and descended the stairs. He passed through the living room, ignoring the early morning television, and walked into the kitchen. Laying his gaze upon the table, Kenny gasped and his eyes widened.
The table, piled high with food, was on the verge of collapse. It's surface could barely be seen, as it was buried beneath a few dozen large plates, bowls and pitchers. Pancakes towered high up to the ceiling, drenched in butter and all kinds of sugars and syrups. Alongside the pancakes were similarly-sized towers of waffles and toasted bread, as well as mountains of other traditional breakfast foods. Amongst the plates and bowls also sat pitchers, filled with coffees, teas and fruit juices. It was a mouth-watering concoction, the likes of which Kenny had never seen before.
Cartman was already sitting at the table, a massive plate of a greasy pancakes and waffles in front of him. His chair almost collapsed beneath him, as Cartman stuffed his fat face quickly and incessantly. Ms Cartman also sat at the table, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. She was reading some kind of magazine. Cartman looked up at Kenny.
"What's the matter, asshole? Are you just gonna stand and stare, or are you gonna actually eat something?!" He asked, raising his voice a little. Kenny shook his head viciously, snapping himself out of his thoughts.
"Huh?" Kenny nodded, pulling out and taking a seat. He was absolutely amazed by the amount of food in front of him. It was a vast amount, and was probably the most food he'd ever seen on any one table. Cartman looked over at Kenny, noticing his trace-like state, and sighed. He took a plate of waffles, and slid it in under Kenny's nose. He recoiled, surprised.
"Here," Cartman began, pointing to the plate. "If you wanna start a new life, then you could do worse than gain a few pounds… and make up for seventeen years of malnutrition. Go on." He pushed the plate further towards Kenny, who chuckled a little.
For the next ten minutes or so, the two boys ate breakfast in silence. Cartman, unlike Kenny, ate as if there was no tomorrow. He must've downed about thirty pancakes and twenty waffles, before he decided to give his tired jaw a rest. Covered in crumbs and grease, Cartman leaned back in his chair. He sighed loudly, feeling pretty content. Ms Cartman had poured Kenny a cup of coffee, and decided to strike up a conversation with her guest.
"So, Kenny," she began, looking up from her magazine. "Why is it that you decided to leave home?" Kenny thought for a moment, then began to talk.
"My parents are total assholes," Kenny said, bluntly. Ms Cartman, a little surprised, nodded slightly. "They're both alcoholics, and neither of them work. They made me get a job, and my wages kept them going. My dad pushed me around a lot, too." Kenny took a sip of his coffee, and then continued. "I guess I just had enough."
"Oh," was all Ms Cartman could muster. She knew that Kenny's family was poor, but she had no idea that they pushed him about, too. A sympathetic smile crossed her face. "Well, you're welcome to live here with us, Kenny."
"Thanks a lot, Ms Cartman," Kenny said, smiling gratefully. Ms Cartman nodded, then went back to reading her magazine. Cartman glanced over at the clock, which read '8:27 AM', and groaned loudly.
"Aw, fuck!" He grabbed the table, using it's weight to drag himself to his feet. He brushed the crumbs from his jacket, and knocked on the table. "Hey, Kenny, it's time to go." Kenny, a little startled, look up.
"Alright, alright - give me a chance!" He groaned, gulping down the remainder of his coffee. He wiped his mouth off on his parka sleeve, and stood up. He zipped his parka up tightly, then reached into his pockets to pick out his gloves. Cartman trudged grumpily across the kitchen to the coat rack, which stood alongside the back door. He took his hat and gloves, slipping them on. Now wrapped up fully, looking like a large pig cloaked in a red blanket, Cartman opened the back door. Snow blew in from outside, sprinkling the kitchen floor with a cold white dust.
"I'm going, mom!" Cartman called, though Ms Cartman was sitting only a few strides away. She smiled and nodded.
"See you later, boys," she said, taking a further sip of her coffee, her eyes again falling to the magazine in her hands. Kenny followed Cartman towards the door, turning and waving.
"See you later, Liane," he said, smiling. Ms Cartman nodded and smiled back, though not looking up from the magazine. Cartman and Kenny stepped out into the back garden; closing the back door behind them, and so blocking out the weather which was invading the kitchen.
The back garden was basic, as were most in South Park, and was enclosed in a varnished wooden fence. A small stone patio, recently cleaned, sat and shone by the back door. It lead onto a long patch of grass, the green blades buried beneath by a quilt of cold, which was bordered on either side by snow-sprinkled shrubberies. Miscellaneous garden furniture, including a table and parasol with chairs, lay unused at the far end of the garden. Cartman and Kenny, following the straighten stone path, headed out of the back garden. They found themselves walking alongside the front lawn, then out onto the main street.
The main street was a sombre scene. The sky was a dismal tapestry of deep grey patches and ominously dark clouds. A foul grey slush, a combination of snow and rainwater, was slopped about the streets like a shallow Arctic lake. The occasional vehicle sped down the long road, spraying passers-by with unpleasant slime. Those few people that walked the streets did so without any enthusiasm. Like ghosts, with their gloved hands in their pockets, they passed through the early-morning mist; depressed frowns pasted grimly over a usually jovial smile. The birds, an icy wind whipping their treetop homes, did not sing on a day so dull.
Cartman and Kenny, ankle-deep in the grey slush, started down the main street. The shops were beginning to open, and their unenthusiastic keepers arrived to unlock. They slid up their shutters, which rolled onto their rails like heavy-metal blinds, their iron clatters ringing out into the damp mountain air like the macabre tolls of funeral bell. Such was air of depression that hung about South Park, they might as well have been.
Behind the orange parka, however, it was a different morning altogether. Gone was the chilling wind that rattled the rooftops. Gone was the sombre grey slush that splattered the sidewalks, caking the morning in gloom. These were, after all, only physical factors. Though they often directly affected a person's mental constitution, they could be ignored by those with a good enough state of mind. Kenny had, since the afternoon before, built a stronghold in his own mind. It was a stronghold of defiance and confidence, built upon a foundation of justice. After setting things right with his family, he had began to erect it. Now it was unbreakable; and Kenny, encased in the walls, was unreachable. No physicality could alter his mindset…
"Kenny! Kenny!" Cartman yelled, almost unable to reach him. Kenny shook his head vigorously, dragging himself painfully out of his imaginary fortress.
"Huh?!" He looked around the main street, realising that he had fallen behind Cartman. Cartman was a good few strides ahead, looking back at Kenny with a bemused and aggravated expression on his fat face.
"What the Hell's up with you, you poor piece of crap?!" Cartman asked, sounding quite annoyed. "Hurry up, or that fat bitch will leave without us!" He began to wade on through the slush, heading for the vale at the end of the main street.
"You're right," Kenny said, running to catch up. "But you're gonna have to stop calling me a 'poor piece of crap' sooner or later!" Cartman looked over his shoulder, as a small smile crept across his face.
"Kenny, you'll always be a 'poor piece of crap' in my eyes," he said, grinning. Kenny shot him an angry glance, and then smiled himself.
"Yeah? Well you'll always be a 'fucking fat ass' in mine!" He said, also grinning. Cartman shot Kenny an angry glance of his own, but then shrugged it off. The two continued down the main street, passing just about every house, shop and service imaginable along the way. The rainbow colours of these buildings, unlike the morning before, were now visible; if not dampened by the slush.
After a short while of walking, Cartman and Kenny reached a fork in the road. The road to the left led out of South Park, on to Denver; and the road to the right was the vale. Unlike the morning before, it was no longer laden with beautiful, crisp white snow. Instead, it was soggy with the grey slush. The tall ferns, dank in their miserable, monotonous lines; shook in the violent wind. At the far end of the vale, the bus-stop stood in it's never-changing position. Cartman and Kenny could make out Stan and Kyle, standing and talking at the bus-stop. The two picked up a little speed, hurrying to meet their friends.
"Hey, Kenny," Stan and Kyle said, simultaneously, as Kenny arrived alongside them. Cartman, after a few seconds, followed. He plopped to the ground, breathing heavily; his face red from the short jog. "Hey, fat ass."
"Hey, guys," Kenny replied, smiling. Cartman, looking like a beached whale in the slush, shot the two an angry glance. He acknowledged their presence with a simple nod, as he was far too tired to talk.
"You're a little late," Kyle said, looking over at his friends. "You weren't out with Wendy as well, were you?" He asked. Stan appeared unimpressed at Kyle's remark, but let it pass.
"N-no…" Cartman began, heaving himself to his feet. His jacket was greying and damp from the slush, and his face was still red. "T-that… poor p-piece of… crap took too long… in the shower…" He said, motioning towards Kenny, whilst trying to wipe the slush from his jacket.
"Huh? But I thought Kenny wasn't moving in until tonight?" Stan said, both he and Kyle looking a little bemused. Kenny was quick to clear up.
"Yeah, well, things didn't go exactly according to plan," he began, looking a little uncomfortable. "My dad found out, and we had a fight."
"A verbal fight, or a actual physical fight?" Kyle asked, looking quizzically over at Kenny. Kenny shrugged.
"Both, I suppose. He was shouting for a bit, and then he hit me; so I hit him back… with my suitcase." He said, grinning a little. Stan and Kyle both looked amused. "Then I made my big exit, and showed up at Cartman's place."
"Let me get this straight," Kyle began, smiling unsurely. "Your dad was bitching, so you hit him with a suitcase?!" Kenny nodded. "Man… I bet that shut him up!" Kenny nodded again, and Kyle laughed a little.
Just then, the school bus appeared at the end of the vale. It shot, like a sickly yellow rocket on wheels, down towards the bus-stop. It screeched to a halt, the thick black tires whipping some slush up from the road. The slush was sprayed up onto the sidewalk, soaking the four boys, as the bus doors hissed and slid open.
"Aw, fucking weak!" Cartman groaned, spitting some slush out from his mouth. His clothes, and those of the three others, were dripping with the icy matter. He thrashed his arms about, attempting to dispose of as much of the stuff as he could. Ms Crabtree looked on, unimpressed, from the driver's seat.
"C'mon, we're running late!" She growled, once again bearing her mouth of very few rotting yellow teeth. Stan rolled his eyes. Everyday, for the past nine years, that was all he and his friends ever heard.
"Give us a chance, you fat bitch…" Stan said, half-muttering. Ms Crabtree's eyes widened and, as she jerked violent in her seat, the bird in her hair fluttered about.
"WHAT did you say?!" Crabtree yelled, the foul smell of her breath hanging in the air like the thick fog that had swallowed South Park. Stan again rolled his eyes, and then cleared his throat.
"I said… 'give us a chance, you fat bitch'," he repeated himself, this time much louder and more clearly. Ms Crabtree growled and the four boys, totally dismissing her, climbed onto the bus and the aisle. The doors, hissing, slammed over; almost catching Kenny's foot. The bus began to pick up speed, travelling down the icy road of the vale. The boys headed for the back of the bus, the slush dripping from their soaking clothes; leaving a dirty, murky trail of water along the aisle.
Stan and Kyle, dripping, slouched down on the empty back seat; their soggy clothes squelching as they did. The back seat, the largest of the lot, stretched from one side of the bus to the other. It could comfortably hold four or five people but, seeing as Cartman and Kenny had sat elsewhere, was far from full capacity. The two had sat just ahead of Kyle and Stan, on a regular seat. Stan lay back, yawning, and titled his head. He looked wearily out of the window at the ferns, which seemed to fly by, as the bus sped along. Kyle, not sitting directly next to Stan, yawned. He closed his eyes, trying to rest. This was difficult, however, as the bus swerved on the twisting mountain roads.
The journey passed without event for quite a while, picking up Craig and his friends. The bus ground to the third halt of the journey, stopping to collect Wendy and Bebe. Bebe was not around, so Wendy headed immediately for the back of the bus. She sat in the large space that existed between Stan and Kyle, smiling widely.
"Hey, Stan," she said. Stan a little surprised, jumped up in his seat and spun around; drawn quite gently from his daydream world. He turned to face Wendy, smiling.
"Hey, Wendy," he returned her greeting, his smile widening. He leaned over and give her a quick kiss; before returning to, and leaning back in, his seat. "How has your morning been?"
"Pretty crappy," she began, sighing. "I overslept, the shower broke, my cereal was stale, I lost my beret, and then I forgot my physics project - I had to go back home for it." She tilted her head, looking out of the back window. "When I got up and saw the weather, I couldn't help but feel like this was gonna be a bad day…"
"Me too," Stan said, nodding. "Or, I did feel like this was gonna be a bad day, at least. When I saw you, I felt a whole lot better." Wendy smiled.
"Oh, that's so sweet, Stan," she said, very sincerely. She leaned in towards him, and the two kissed again. Only a small kiss, of course - they didn't want to make a show. Stan grinned.
"And to think… I thought that today was gonna be a bad day!" He said, smiling. He lay back in his seat, sighing loudly. It was a pleasant sigh, rather than a sigh of aggravation or annoyance.
After picking up Tweek, the bus continued it's journey through the murky streets of South Park. It finally came to the tall iron gates of South Park High School which, in the low-lying morning mist, made it look somewhat like a prison. Slowing down, the bus turned into the parking lot, eventually coming to a complete stop. The doors hissed, unfolding and opening. Ms Crabtree, in her usual manner, yelled and screamed for the students to get off the bus. Along with the others, Stan and Wendy got to their feet. Stan looked over at Kyle, who had fallen asleep beside him.
"Kyle! Wake up, dude!" Stan said, shaking his friend. Kyle's eyes fluttered open and he looked around the bus, somewhat disorientated. He groaned, realising where he was.
"Thanks," Kyle said, bluntly. He hauled himself to his feet and adjusted his hat, which had fallen lopsidedly to the side of his head; revealing a little of burning auburn hair. His red mop looked somewhat mild in the dankness of the morning. He, Stan and Wendy walked along the aisle, climbing down out of the bus and into the sea of students which had gathered outside. Literally milliseconds later; the doors of the bus closed quickly, as if the mechanism that operated them had decided to slam them shut. Kyle stretched and yawned.
"Oh, man…" he said, speaking through a loud yawn. "I can't believe I fell asleep on the bus - the weekend must really be catching up with me…" He stumbled, quite groggily, over to where Stan and Wendy were standing. He swiftly slipped in between them, putting an arm around each. He looked at Stan, and then at Wendy. "Did I miss anything interesting, you guys?" He asked, grinning. Stan shrugged.
"Nah, not really," he said, shaking his head. "Just us sharing a conversation about how crappy our mornings have been, and the odd kiss or two." Just then, an electronic bell rung out into the bleakness of the morning, signalling the commencing of the school day. With that, just about every student in the yard began to make their way towards the main entrance. Kyle, Stan and Wendy were amongst them; though they might as well have been lost in the thousand-strong ocean of bodies. They flowed, like the liquid they resembled, into the building. Like a vast army of ants, the students made their way through the cramped corridors and to their respective homerooms. Kyle, Stan and Wendy, shortly followed by Cartman and Kenny, arrived at room twenty-eight. Kyle turned the doorknob, pushing the door ajar. The room, because of the weather outside, was not very well lit by the sun. The electronic lamps were switched on inside, their artificial light shimmering on the frosted glass pane of the door.
Kyle, Stan, Wendy, Cartman and Kenny stepped inside. The room was empty and, as was always the case, unchanged from the previous day. The five students sat in their usual positions; alongside each other, on the back row. Within a few seconds, the door burst open and the rest of the students spilled into the room; talking amongst themselves. They all took their respective seats, continuing their conversations whilst sat down. Tweek tip-toed cautiously through the door, looking incredibly insecure. His eyes darted around the room, as if he were expecting to see his doom everywhere that he looked. He continued to his seat, which was at the front of the room, and sat down slowly.
"Oh, man…" Tweek spoke quietly, as if trying to hide himself from something. "Oh, man…" He continued to repeat himself, now beginning to rock back and forth in his seat. A few kids were taking notice of this, small smiles creeping across their faces. "Too much pressure… too much pressure, man! Argh!" Tweek shot up from his seat, looking traumatised. Butters, looking over from across Jordan and Pip, looked a little concerned.
"Uh, are you o-okay, Tweek?" He asked, leaning forward from his desk. Tweek looked back, now shaking furiously. "M-maybe you should have a drink of coffee, o-or something?" Butters suggested. Tweek nodded, taking a sip of coffee from his flask. Almost immediately, he seemed to calm down. He took a deep breath, and then sighed; returning to his seat. Cartman looked on from the back of the class, an expression of both bemusement and confusion on his face.
"What the fuck's wrong with him?!" He asked, though not really speaking to anyone in particular. Kenny, sitting between Cartman and Stan, shrugged. "He's acting gayer than usual." Stan, overhearing this, also shrugged.
"It must be all the talk of exams… and pressure. You know how Tweek is with pressure." He said, looking over at the jittery teenager. He was again looked about the room, his anxiety already returning. Suddenly, Mr Garrison burst into the room, causing Tweek to jolt violently in his seat.
Garrison, as was the case the previous day, was wearing a light green jacket and a pair of dark brown trousers. His thin, squared spectacles bobbled on his nose, as he strolled casually across the front of the class. He dumped a stack of papers on the desk, and then took up a reddish-brown booklet. He cleared his throat.
"Okay, students," he began, opening the booklet, flicking through the pages and adjusting his spectacles. "I'm just going to take a quick register…" Garrison's scanned the room, taking a note of any absences in his register. After a minute or so, he slammed the booklet shut, placing it on the desk with the other papers. He walked to the front of the class, taking a piece of chalk and beginning to write on the blackboard. After a few seconds, he moved aside, revealing the words "Class Presidency". This conjured up a little restlessness amongst the students.
"Okay, students," Garrison again began, now turning to face the class. "As you all know, yesterday was the first day of your final year at South Park High. Just like any other year; you'll all be running, and voting for, class president." Butters raised his hand. "Yes, Butters?"
"D-do we have to, sir?" He asked. His question confused Garrison, who took a moment or two to think about it.
"What do you mean, 'do we have to', Butters?" He asked, eventually decided to counter with a question of his own. Butters cleared his throat, twiddling his thumbs absentmindedly.
"It's just that, well, the same p-people get presidency every y-year. Couldn't you just, um, go a-ahead give it to the m-most sensible person?" Garrison sighed.
"Of course not, Butters," he began, speaking sternly. "The idea is that everyone gets to run for class presidency; even if that person has no chance in Hell of getting it - like Eric Cartman, for instance."
"Ay!" Cartman barked, looking up from his desk to shoot Garrison an angry glance. Garrison shrugged.
"It's the truth, Eric," he began. "You've just as much chance of becoming the class president as you do the American President." There was a brief silence, as Garrison reviewed his statement in his head, before he spoke again. "In fact, you probably have a better chance of becoming the American President; as nobody in this class would vote for you."
"Fucking queer…" Cartman growled, speaking beneath his breath. His angry gaze fell to the desk, and his clenched fists which rested on it. Garrison took a pile of small blue papers from his own desk, clearing his throat.
"Okay, students," he began, beginning to distribute the papers. "Here are the 'class presidency forms'. I want you all to fill them in, and then hand them to me on your way out." Cartman, still pissed off, looked down at his form. It was small and blue, with a few lines of black text at the head. He read it in his head…
'Please write down the name of the classmate you have… n-no… n-nom…' Cartman struggled to read the word. 'Nominate… n-nominated, and state why you think they would make the ideal president. Your vote will remain a-anon… a-anonym'… "Argh, screw it!" He groaned, and began to scrunch up the form. He stopped, however, when an idea hit him…
"So," Stan began, turning to face Kyle. "Who'd you nominate, dude?" He asked. Kyle shrugged, taking next to no time to answer.
"The usual - Wendy, dude," he began. "She's really, really responsible… and besides; she's been the class president for the past few years, and she always does a good job." Stan nodded.
"Same here," he began. "And for the same reasons…" Stan trailed off, and then grinned. "As well as the fact that's she's my girlfriend - she'd probably kick my ass if I didn't vote for her!" Kyle laughed a little. "That's something I could do without!" Just then, the bell rang. Mr Garrison looked up at the bell, which was rattling above the door.
"Alright, students," he began. "Hand me your 'class presidency forms' on your way out. I'll tally your votes, and give you the results in a little while." As the students filed out of the room, they passed by Garrison's desk to hand him their forms. As soon as the final student has closed the classroom door, Garrison shuffled the pile of forms into a neat stack. He began thumbing through them, reading the votes aloud…
"Wendy Testaburger… Wendy Testaburger… Wendy Testaburger… Wendy…" Garrison continued to flick through the forms, his words trailing off into thoughts. Most of the students in the class had nominated Wendy for president, and it came as no surprise. Garrison yawned, building up a tally of votes. He stopped in his tracks, however, when he came across a rather odd form. He lifted it to his face, adjusting his spectacles, and began to read it in his head…
'To my good friend, Mr Garrison… You've taught me all of my life, and just about everything I know. Next time someone makes fun of me because I'm stupid, I'll know who to blame. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I hate you. I really, really hate you. There's only one person I hate more than you, and that's… Cartman - yeah, that's right! You're a fucking queer, and… I hate you. From… Kyle.'
Garrison, having finished reading the form, rolled his eyes and sighed. He crunched it up into a small paper ball, throwing it over his shoulder like the trash it was. "Note to self," he began, "give Eric Cartman a verbal ass-kicking". He grinned, and then continued to flick through the rest of the forms.
----------
Meanwhile, Butters and Tweek were squeezing their way through the labyrinth of corridors; which were tightly-packed with students. They were looking for room sixteen, in which they should be learning Mathematics. Thanks to the general hustle-and-bustle of the school, however, they were having no luck finding it.
"I-it's gotta be a-around here, someplace…" Butters mumbled, looking at a plan of the building; which was printed on the reverse of his schedule.
"Maybe we missed it, argh?!" Tweek squealed, looking around anxiously. Butters, after thinking for a moment or two, shook his head.
"N-nope, I don't think so," he began, trailing off. After a few seconds, Butter chuckled to himself. Tweek looked over at him, bemused.
"What's so funny, man?! We mightn't ever find the room… and then people would think we were truanting! And - and then we'd get suspended! Oh, sweet Jesus, no!" He twitched violently, tugging at his disorganised blonde hair.
"I w-wasn't laughing at that," Butters began, looking behind at Tweek. "I-it's just that, well, we've been here for y-years; and we still don't k-know our way around the building!" He smiled again, mildly amused by the scenario.
"Yeah," Tweek agreed, a small smile also finding it's way onto his face; before being erased by a vicious twitch. He titled his head to the side, scanning the corridor for any sign of room sixteen. As if by magic, or divine intervention, it stood just to his left. "Hey," Tweek began, pointing at the door. "Isn't that room sixteen?" His question was rhetorical, as it clearly was room sixteen, but Butters answered anyway.
"W-why yes, it is!" He said, smiling widely. "C'mon, Tweek, we're late e-enough as it is!" He motioned for Tweek to follow him, as he headed quickly for the door.
"Late?! Oh, Jesus!" Tweek exclaimed, shadowing Butters until they reached the door. Butters, one hand on the doorknob, knocked on the frosted glass panel politely. After hearing a faint 'come in', Butters opened the door, and both he and Tweek stepped inside.
The interior of the room was virtually the same as any other in the school. On the far wall was a series of windows, hanging and looking out onto the yard like framed photographs of the outside world. A large quantity of small desks, mostly occupied, were scattered across the room; and a larger desk, at which the teacher sat, stood at the head of the room. The room was bordered with drab-looking posters, promoting the 'joys of math'. They were highly off-putting, and totally false. As Butters and Tweek walked cautiously into the room, the teacher looked up from his desk.
"Sit down, boys," he said, motioning towards two desks near the window. The two students walked to the seats, and took them obediently. The teacher was of average stature; with short, smartly-combed grey hair and beady brown eyes. He was wearing a white shirt under a brown jacket, as well as brown trousers and a black bowtie. He looked like a antique - excavated from the late forties or early fifties. He rose to his feet.
"I'm your tutor, Mr Wellington, and I'll be teaching you mathematics for the duration of your final year here." He began, speaking rather monotonously. He walked, in a mechanical fashion, across the front of the class; his wrinkled hands patting the pockets of his trousers, which had browned with age. "Now, I want to talk to everyone… about mathematics…"
Tweek, hearing the opening of what was to be another drab speech on mathematics, almost immediately shut off. 'How could anybody be so passionate about something so… boring?' He thought to himself, reaching into his pocket. He fished out a small set of earphones, discretely slipping them on. Tweek flicked the 'play' switch on his walkman, and a heavy rock tune began pumping into his head. He reclined in his chair, his eyes sliding shut…
Butters was sitting just behind Tweek. Unlike his friend, Butters always tried to behave and pay attention in class. However, he too felt like drifting off to sleep. Mathematics was not his favourite subject, to say the least. All the numbers, symbols and equations… as open-minded as Butters was, he just couldn't see any use for them. Despite this, he sat and listened intently. Even though he hated it, he seemed to have a way with numbers - if there was any one use for mathematics, then it was to up your grade average!
"Alright," Wellington said, having just concluded his speech. "As a warm-up for the lesson, we're going to solve a few mathematical problems," Wellington strode to his desk, picking up a dusty piece of chalk. He turned to the board, and then began scraping away; the dusty white chalk, grinding against the board, screeched like an aggrieved banshee. Mathematics was, after all, ghoulishly boring.
For the next hour or so, Wellington posed problem after problem. Each one was greeted with a 'contemplative' silence, and only Butters ever bothered to put any effort in. Somehow, he never failed to give the correct answer - no matter how difficult the problem was. After a while Wellington, completely astounded by Butters' mathematical ability, began to speak.
"Well, Butters," he began, reaching for some erasers. "That was very impressive," Wellington turned to the board, and then began wiping the now huge collection of equations and figures. "It appears to me that you belong in the higher class… I'll have to look into it." A small smile crept across Butters' face, as Wellington clapped the two erasers together. As a white cloud of chalk choked the room, Wellington cleared his throat. "If this is the case, I'll have you transferred by next week."
At the back of the room, Tweek was slouched at his desk. He was, of course, asleep; and had been so since the beginning of the lesson. It was strange how he had so much trouble sleeping at home, but dozed-off with such ease during math class - especially through a thick stew of guitar and drum. The walkman, still pumping music into his head, drowned out Mr Wellington's droning voice. Sometime during his slumber, Tweek had began reclining further in his chair. Even now, he was still reclining; his chair now balancing on two legs. He reclined further still - one leg… Crash!
Tweek's chair tumbled backwards, taking him with it. It smashed into a cupboard, knocking it open, and spilled a literal tonne of books and equipment onto the floor. Tweek, sent crashing by his chair, landed in a heap atop the pile of paper, pens and pencils. The entire class, startled, turned around to face Tweek.
"Argh! Sweet Jesus!" Tweek exclaimed, hauling himself upright. He looked around and saw that all eyes, including those of Wellington, were on him. "Too much pressure, man!" He shook his head furiously.
"Tweek!" Wellington roared, his face quickly reddening. "You'd better have a good explanation for this, or…" He trailed off, as the intercom buzzed into action.
"Would Eric Cartman please report to the councillor's office," came the voice of the still school councillor, Mr Mackey. "I repeat: would Eric Cartman please report to the councillor's office." The intercom clicked, and Mackey's voice faded. All eyes again fell on Tweek.
"Oh, sweet Jesus! See me through this!" He squealed, his head jerking to the side as a violent twitch shook his body. Wellington cleared his throat, and Tweek did the same.
----------
Cartman stepped out of room forty-four, slamming the door behind him. The frosted glass panel rattled in it's frame; and it's 'forty-four' label, formerly held in place with a few small tacks, fell and drifted to the floor. As he started off down the corridor, Cartman could hear the angry yells of his teacher from inside the room. Something about 'not slamming doors'. Cartman, not caring, shrugged it off dismissively.
Trudging angrily down the corridor, he headed for the councillor's office. It wasn't far off, but Cartman was in no hurry. Discipline had never bothered him - if he had to take a slap on the wrist to have a little fun, then so be it. Cartman laughed to himself. That note to Garrison was pretty funny and, if he had a dollar to spare, he'd bet that was why he was wanted by the councillor. He continued to weave his way through the corridors, eventually coming to the councillor's office. The door, like most others in the building, was a made from a varnished wood. It had a frosted glass panel, and a sign reading 'Councillor's Office'. Cartman knocked and pushed the door ajar, stepping inside.
The room was, on the inside, much smaller than most others in the school. Directly opposite the door was a large desk, with a chair both behind and in front of it. The walls, painted and light shade of green, was plastered with 'feel-good' posters and bordered with bookshelves and filing cabinets. A neat brown carpet lay on the floor, like a meadow of sun-glazed grass. The school councillor, Mr Mackey, sat at the desk; with Mr Garrison by his side.
Mr Mackey seemed a little younger than Garrison, but still bordering on middle-aged. He looked quite thin and fragile. He was very little stringy, greying hair; and dark, beady eyes. A pair of squared spectacles rested on his long, crooked nose. He was wearing a light green shirt, dark blue pants and a dark green tie. Mr Mackey motioned for Cartman to take a seat, and he did just that.
"Alright now, Eric," Mr Mackey began, his voice sounding tired and worn. He flicked through a few papers on his desk, "there are a few things we need to talk about, m'kay…" He adjusted his spectacles, fishing out a certain sheet from the stack of papers.
"What kinds of things?" Cartman asked, feigning innocence and naivety. Mr Garrison, standing over Mackey's right shoulder, narrowed his eyes. He pointed an accusing finger at Cartman.
"Eric Cartman!" He began, his voice filled with anger. "You know exactly 'what kinds of things' we need to talk about! Just sit there and shut your face!"
"Now, Mr Garrison," Mackey said, looking over his shoulder at his colleague. "I understand that you're upset, but you should try to deal with Eric calmly, m'kay." Garrison, his gaze meeting with Cartman's own, pretended to slit his throat. "Alright, Eric," Mackey continued, his eyes scanning the paper in his hands. "Apparently, you wrote this offensive message…" He lifted the paper, showing it to Cartman. It was, as a matter of fact, Cartman's class presidency nomination form.
"Nope," Cartman said, shaking his head, "I didn't write that." He pointed to the end of the message, "I think Kyle Brovlofski wrote it…" Mr Mackey sighed.
"Give it up, Eric," he began. "We know that you wrote it, and we've already decided your punishment." Cartman rolled his eyes, groaning.
"Alright, alright! I'm sorry I wrote that note to Mr Garrison! I've learned my lesson, and it won't happen again! Can I go now?!" He began to haul himself up from his seat, but Mackey shook his head.
"No, not this time, Eric," he said. Cartman, upon hearing 'not this time', froze. "Whilst all of your petty offensives have been dealt with leniency, this kind of behaviour will not be tolerated, m'kay." Cartman, still frozen, prepared for the worst. "You've gone too far this time, and so you'll be punished accordingly. Eric Cartman, from this moment on, you are suspended… indefinitely!"
"What?!" Cartman exclaimed, overcome with shock. "But, you can't suspend me! I - I've learnt my lesson! I've - " Mackey cut him off.
"I'm sorry, Eric," he began, "but there's no two ways about it. You've been indefinitely suspended. We'll be contacting your mother in a short while, so that we can discuss your future." Cartman opened his mouth to protest, but Mackey again cut him off. "You're dismissed, Eric - go home… m'kay."
Cartman hauled himself up from his chair; and threw Mackey one last, pitiful glance. Sighing, he pointed to the door. Cartman, like an obedient family pet, headed for it. He grabbed and twisted the doorknob, stepping out into the corridor. As recess had just started, the corridors were overflowing with students. Cartman stepped into the crowds and, as just another body of sediment in the river, drifted towards the main entrance…
----------
The yard was, just like everywhere else on this miserable morning, another sombre sight. The grey slush that had drowned the main street had not turned a blind eye to the dark tarmac of South Park High School, and had collected there in every greater quantities than in the main street. There was enough fill a good few thousand bathtubs - not like anyone would want to bathe in it, though. Unlike the slush, the wind has died down a little; and now barely shook the tiled rooftops of the school. Several clusters of students had gathered here and there, talking and making the most of an otherwise doomed recess. Kyle, Stan and Wendy descended the stone steps of the main building, heading out into the centre of the yard.
"Did you guys hear the message for Cartman on the intercom?" Kyle asked, wading through the slush alongside his friends. Stan and Wendy, walking hand-in-hand, both nodded.
"Yeah…" Stan began "it sounded to me like he was in a lot of shit." A small smile found it's way onto his face, "I wonder what that stupid fat ass has done this time?" Kyle shrugged.
"Who knows," he began, looking around the yard. "He's just so fucking unpredictable." Stan laughed and nodded.
"Yeah…" he agreed, his own eyes now scanning the yard. Nothing but depressed faces, bathed in greyness. "I wonder where he is…"
"He's probably in the cafeteria, having an early lunch!" Kyle joked, adding a little life the an otherwise dead or dying occasion. Stan and Wendy both laughed. Just then, Kenny emerged from the barrage of students emptying out into the yard. Noticing Kyle, Stan and Wendy, he headed towards them.
"Hey, guys," he said, a large grin on his face. Kyle, Stan and Wendy, all spotting Kenny, turned and greeted him.
"Hey, Kenny," they said, simultaneously.
"Did you hear about what happened to Cartman?" Kenny asked, his grin widening. His friends shook their heads. "He got suspended!"
"What?" Stan exclaimed, recoiling in shock. "Suspended?! What did that stupid fat ass do to get suspended?!" He asked.
"After what Mr Garrison said to him, Cartman wrote some shit about him on a class presidency form; and then handed it in with the rest of them," Kenny explained, "I saw him write it - he was pretty proud of himself." Kyle, Stan and Wendy all laughed. "He even wrote, 'from Kyle', at the end!"
"Jesus Christ!" Kyle laughed, almost doubling over. "I knew he was stupid… but, Goddamn!" Kenny nodded.
"Yeah," he continued, "anyway, Garrison reported him; and then the school decided to suspend him."
"How long has he been suspended for?" Wendy asked, still smiling. Kenny thought for a moment or two, and then shrugged.
"I'm not too sure…" he replied, trailing off into thought. "I think he's been suspended indefinitely…" Kyle, Stan and Wendy laughed even more.
"Well, I guess we'll be seeing even less of Cartman for a little while!" Stan said, laughing a little more. The others nodded. Just then, the bell sounded; signalling the end of recess, and the beginning of the next lesson. With a unified but muffled groan, every student in the yard began trudging back towards the school. Stan reached into the pocket, taking out and unfolding his schedule. "I've got shop class next… what about you?"
"I think I've got home economics…" Wendy said, scanning her own schedule. She nodded, putting it back in her pocket. "Yeah… God, I hate that subject!" Stan laughed a little.
"How come?" He asked. Wendy shrugged.
"Y'know… they always teach you stupid things," she paused for a moment. "Like how you should marry someone rich and upper class - even if you don't love the guy! It's just stupid." She smiled lightly. "But I don't pay attention, 'cause I'm taken." Stan, too, smiled.
"That's a relief," he joked. He looked over his shoulder at the multitude of students, all making their way into the school. "Well, I'd better go. See you later, Wendy," Stan said, leaning over and kissing her. Wendy smiled.
"See you later, Stan," she said, turning and headed off in another direction. Stan began walking, alongside Kyle and Kenny, towards the school building.
"You two kiss way too much, Stan," Kenny commented, as the trio ascended the stone steps of the main entrance. Stan looked over at him.
"Shut your face, Kenny," he replied, shooting him a jokingly angry look. "If you had a girlfriend as awesome as Wendy, then you'd do the same thing." Kenny shrugged, and he and his friends disappeared into the school.
----------
Wendy walked quickly across the miserable grey yard, heading for one of the smaller school buildings; which stood on the other side of the gymnasium. It was a small, single-story building, and was just about big enough for five or six classrooms. As was the case with the main school building and the gym itself, this minor building was painted a light shade of green. A straight tarmac path led up to the main entrance, which existed in the form of a set of wooden double-doors. Wendy headed up the path, pushing the doors open. She stepped inside the small building which, as implied by it's small size, indeed held only a few classrooms. The entrance led straight onto a single corridor, similar to those in the main building, with three classroom doors on either side.
Wendy headed for the last door on the right. She looked up at it's frosted glass pane, and read the sign hanging there. 'Room six'. She knocked on the door and, a second or two later, turned the knob and pushed it open. The interior of the room was quite small. A dark green carpet lay on the floor, and the walls were painted a girly pink. Along with bookshelves and cupboards; cookers, fridges and freezers bordered the walls. One long desk spanned the breadth of the room, at which most of the girls in the school sat; and another, smaller desk was at the head of the room. Several windows were on the far wall, looking out onto the yard. The teacher was standing at the whiteboard, just behind her desk.
The teacher was a relatively young woman, around her mid-thirties. She was quite short and thin; with shoulder-length charcoal hair, and light blue eyes. She was wearing a long purple dress, unbuttoned at the collar. She was, of course, the same woman who'd taught Wendy home economics in Elementary School. She had married Mr Adler a few years back, and so was now Mrs Adler.
"Take a seat…" the teacher trailed off, obviously forgetting Wendy's name.
"I'm Wendy Testaburger, ma'am," Wendy said, quickly clearing up. "I think that you taught me home economics in Elementary School." The teacher paused, and then nodded.
"Oh, that's right! It's nice to see you again, Wendy," Mrs Adler said, smiling. "Take a seat; we were just about to begin." Wendy walked across the room, sitting down alongside Bebe; who was already seated at the far-left of the desk.
"Hey, Wendy," Bebe whispered, turning to face her friend.
"Hey, Bebe, Wendy replied, smiling. "I didn't see you on the bus this morning… I didn't think you'd be coming to school." Bebe shook her head.
"I overslept." She replied, bluntly. "Besides, I usually let you know if I'm not going to school." Wendy nodded. "Anyway, are you still coming to the mall this afternoon?" Wendy thought for a few moments, and then nodded again.
"Yeah, I guess so," she replied. "But I've got a few things that I wanna do first, is four o'clock okay with you?" Bebe nodded and prepared to speak, but Mrs Adler clapped her hands to grab the class's attention.
"Okay, class, I want to get started now," she said. The class immediately fell silent, and Mrs Adler smiled. "I know you've all learnt home economics before, but I want to go over the basics before we begin." She took a red marker, and then turned to write on the whiteboard. "Now, when you're a little older, you should all marry nice, rich men - a woman has to look out for herself. Home economics will teach you how to be the perfect housewife. As you all know…" Wendy groaned quietly.
"My God," she whispered, turning to face Bebe. "I hate this lesson." Bebe looked a little bemused.
"You hate it?" She asked, "then why did you opt for it?" Wendy sighed.
"I didn't," she began. "But, you know how it is; if you're a little attractive, then they send you here… and pump your head full of this Fascist shit." Bebe laughed a little.
"You could say that," she began, "or you could say that the purpose of home economics is to teach us valuable life lessons." Wendy rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, right," she scoffed. "I don't consider 'opt for the rich guy, rather than the guy you really love' a valuable life lesson." Bebe laughed quietly.
"We're going to learn a few phrases," Mrs Adler began, grabbing the attention of the two girls. "These might come in handy in the near future, so be sure to remember them." She cleared her throat. "Now, repeat after me; 'Honey, can I get a new wardrobe'?"
"Honey, can I get a new wardrobe," the entire class repeated, simultaneously; though a few girls we out of sync.
"Try this one; 'Lisa Smith's husband just bought her a new car'," Mrs Adler said, emphasising the 'her'.
"Lisa Smith's husband just bought her a new car," the class again repeated, some emphasising the same word. Mrs Adler nodded.
"Well done," she began. "Bebe, how about you try this one." She cleared her throat. "Repeat after me; 'I think a trip to Hawaii would really improve our sex life'." Bebe nodded.
"I think I trip to Hawaii would really improve our sex life," Bebe repeated, virtually perfectly.
"Outstanding. Now, Wendy, how about you try this very handy one; 'I'd love to take our relationship further, but not until you buy me a diamond ring'." Wendy nodded.
"I'd love to take our relationship further, but…" she stopped, her mind trailing off into her own thoughts. Mrs Adler looked bemused.
"What's the matter, Wendy?" She asked. Wendy shook her head furiously, hauling herself back to reality.
"N-nothing." She said, clearing her throat. "I'd l-love to take our relationship further, b-but…" she stopped again, seemingly struggling. "But n-not until you buy me a d-diamond ring." Mrs Adler looked a little less bemused, but bemused all the same.
"That was okay, Wendy, but there's still room for improvement," she began, turning to the board again. "Anyway, now we're going to learn how to distinguish between a 'zero' and a 'hero' - that's a 'lawyer' and a 'barrister'…" Wendy, sitting in her seat, looked increasingly uncomfortable.
----------
The rest of the lesson passed quickly. After a seemingly short amount of time, the bell rung and signalled the beginning of the lunch break. The students, Mrs Adler's included, poured out of their classes and into the corridors. Stan, Kyle and Kenny emptied out of one of the shop class workshops, heading immediately for the cafeteria.
"I can't believe Mr Adler is back," Stan said, shaking his head. Kyle and Kenny, walking alongside him, both nodded.
"Yeah," Kyle began, "but he seems a lot nicer than last time - he doesn't seem to accuse us of 'screwing around too much' anymore." Kenny nodded again.
"I know," he began, hurrying to keep up with his friends. "I heard that he married my old home economics teacher, y'know." Stan and Kyle looked over at him.
"He did?" Stan asked. "I always knew they were dating, or something… What was her name, anyway?" Kenny thought for a moment, and then shrugged.
"I'm not sure," he replied, as the trio neared the cafeteria. "I wasn't there long enough to find out. Besides, I never paid attention in that class."
The three had now come to the end of the corridor. Turning to the right, they continued on towards the double-doors of the cafeteria. Stan, walking a little ahead of the other two, pushed the doors open. Kyle and Kenny, trailing a little behind, followed suite. The three boys stepped into the cafeteria which, as was the case the previous day, was totally packed. As if every student in the school had reached the cafeteria before Stan, Kyle and Kenny; just about every seat available had been taken up. A long, long lunch line meandered, like the mighty Thames, along the walls. Sighing, the three boys joined the end of it.
"Why exactly did you take home economics, anyway, Kenny?" Stan asked; looking back at Kenny, who was standing ahead of Kyle. He shrugged.
"I'm not really sure, I guess I was just curious as to what it was like," he said. "But, as it turned out, it fucking sucked." Kyle shook his head, laughing.
"That isn't why you picked home economics, Kenny," he began. "You picked it so that you could be around all the girls!" Kenny thought for a moment, and then shrugged.
"Okay, so maybe I did pick home economic to be around the girls, so what?" Kenny said. "At least I showed some interest in girls, unlike some people…"
"Hey!" Kyle growled, shooting Kenny an angry glance. "I did and do show interest in girls! You're just a pervert!" Kenny shrugged. Stan, standing just ahead of the two, opened his mouth to speak, but Kyle cut him off. "You can't get involved, Stan!"
"Why not?" Stan asked, a little bemused. Kyle rolled his eyes.
"Because, dumb ass, you've held the same relationship for nine fucking years! That totally dwarfs anything we can achieve for at least a decade!" Kenny looked forward at Stan.
"How do you do it, dude?" He asked, "I mean, how do you hold the same relationship for nine years?! It's fucking crazy!" Stan thought for a few seconds, and then shrugged.
"There's no trick to it," he began. "Me and Wendy were made for each other; and, as was supposed to happen, we just clicked - it was fate." Kenny nodded.
"Alright, alright! I didn't ask for your life story!" He said, grinning. Stan threw him an angry glance, but let the desire to retaliate pass.
By now, the three boys had reached the front of the line. Their trays in their hands, they headed into the main kitchen. Chef, as usual, was there to greet them…
"Hello, children!" He exclaimed, in his usual jovial manner. Almost automatically, Stan, Kyle and Kenny smiled.
"Hey, Chef," they replied, simultaneously.
"How are my favourite crackers today?" Chef asked, grinning widely. He took a large spoonful of mashed potato (or just some gooey yellow stuff), and slopped it onto Stan's plate.
"Good," the boys replied. Chef continued to heap food onto the boys' plates, still talking as he did so.
"That's good," he said, as he finished supplying Kenny with his lunch. Kyle and Kenny both passed Stan, heading back out into the main dining area.
"Chef, I've got quite a big problem," Stan began, suddenly sounding a little depressed. "Can I talk to you, or something?" Chef looked around awkwardly.
"Sorry, Stan," he began, motioning towards the long line of hungry students, waiting to be served. "I've got to feed all these kids or, like I said, I'll lose my job." He paused for a moment. "You can tell me all about it at the party, and I'll see what I can do." Stan nodded.
"Alright. See you later, Chef." Stan said, heading out of the kitchen. "Jesus Christ," he began, talking to himself, "it seems like everything's gonna happen at my party!" He looked around, noticing Kyle and Kenny sitting at a nearby table. He walked over a joined them, sitting opposite the two. "Sorry about that, you guys."
"No problem," Kyle said, speaking through a mouthful of shitty mashed potato. Just then, Craig and Clyde approached the table from the kitchen. They were both dressed in their usual attire, except that Craig was no longer wearing his hat. His spiked black hair was exposed, shining under the lights of the cafeteria.
"Hey, assholes," Craig said, grinning widely. "I heard Chef say something about Stan, and a party. Can anyone fill me in, here?" Stan sighed.
"Yeah, I can," he began, taking a sip from his can of soda. "My parents are out-of-town at the weekend, and I'm throwing a party." He explained. Craig thought for a moment, and then spoke again.
"Well, I hope you don't mind if I show up? I can't miss a party, and you know that." He said, grinning. Stan nodded.
"Sure thing, dude; be my guest," he replied. Craig took a chocolate bar from his pocket, unwrapping and stuffing it into his mouth. Kyle looked over and grinned.
"Hey, Craig," he began, grabbing his attention. "You should lay off the sweets and shit, or you'll end up fat like Cartman - you're already well on your way!" Craig shot Kyle an angry.
"I'm not fat, you piece of shit!" He growled, raising his fist and flipping Kyle off. "And if you call me fat again, I'll bust your jaw!" Kyle laughed.
"Sure thing, Craig," he said, dismissing Craig's promise as a hollow one. His anger subsiding, Craig began to walk away, followed swiftly by Clyde.
"I'll see you assholes later!" He called, disappearing into a crowd of students. Stan, Kyle and Kenny shrugged, and continued eating their lunch.
----------
The rest of the lunch break, along with the rest of the school day, passed quite quickly and uneventfully. Eventually, the bell rung; and was met with cheers. Every student in the school, as if starved of oxygen for the past few hours, emptied out of the school like rivers of lightning. They poured out onto the yard and, from their, into the streets. Another school day was over, and only three more remained… in the week, that is.
Wendy was amongst those students. She descended the stone steps of the main building, walking onto the yard and waiting around for Stan. He hadn't been in her previous lesson, and so she'd not seen him since that morning. The two always met up before the end of school, and today was to be no exception. After a minute or so of waiting, Stan, Kyle and Kenny appeared at the main entrance. Just as Wendy had a few moments earlier, they walked down the steps and onto the yard. Stan noticed Wendy, and walked over to see her.
"Hey, babe," Stan said, smiling. Wendy smiled back.
"Hey, Stan," she replied. The two walked slowly alongside each other; and Kyle and Kenny followed, knowing that they'd separate at the school gate. "Stan," Wendy began, grabbing his attention. He looked over at her, an inquisitive look on his face. "I think that there are a few things we should talk about…"
"Huh?" Stan looked a little bemused. "What things?" Suddenly, his countenance dropped dramatically. "Wait, you're not dumping me are you?!" Wendy laughed, shaking her head.
"Jesus Christ, no!" She said, quickly clearing up. "I don't want to talk about ending our relationship - we're totally made for each other!" Stan, more relieved than he'd ever been in his life, nodded.
"Yeah, that's what I told Kenny," he said. Wendy smiled, and nodded.
"Like I said, I don't want to talk about ending our relationship; far from it," She said. Stan nodded.
"Right," he began, "so what do you want to talk about?" Wendy opened her mouth to speak, but paused. She thought for a few moments.
"Actually, now definitely isn't the best time…" She began, "Maybe we can talk some other time. At your party, or something." Stan nodded, as the two arrived at the school gate. "I guess I'll see you later, Stan," Wendy said, leaning over and kissing him.
"Alright. See you later, babe," Stan said, smiling. Wendy headed out of the gate, and Stan's gaze followed her dreamily until she disappeared from view. "If she's thinking what I'm thinking," he began, talking to himself again; "then it's gonna be one Hell of a night…"
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Closing A/N
Finally! That seemed to take ages, but 'A New Life' is complete! I do apologise for any sloppiness in this chapter, but I ran out of ideas at times. Rest assured, I have quite a fresh bucket for the next chapter! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading… until next time, farewell!
Oh, and don't forget to review!