Opening A/N
Alright, here is the next chapter of 'High School Escapades', entitled 'An Alternative Point Of View'. It actually begins several hours before the end of 'A New Life', commencing with Cartman's reaction to his suspension…
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter - don't forget to review, people!
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Cartman stomped down the stone steps of the main entrance and onto the yard, the grey slush splashing beneath his heavy feet. He was surrounded, everywhere he looked, by other students. In his state of mind, they all seemed to be mocking him. They were pointing at him, and laughing at him. He was a loser - and everybody knew it. Suddenly, Cartman's paranoia turned to anger.
"What the fucking Hell are you all looking at?!" He yelled, his arms outstretched and inviting some kind of retaliation. A few students turned around and actually looked at him, but most of them simply ignored him. "Argh! I hate you guys! I hate all you guys!" Almost every student in the yard, upon hearing this outburst, erupted into laughter. Cartman tugged at the messy brown hair beneath his hat in both frustration and embarrassment, and then scurried across the yard. He felt totally targeted, and tried to hide beneath himself.
Cartman trudged out of the school gates and onto the street. It was beginning to rain, if only a little. The rain, accompanied by sleet, added to the grey slush that drowned the sidewalks. Cartman felt like total shit, but he didn't know why. The day before, he'd have given just about anything for an excuse to get away from school. A little time off was sweet, but a suspension was not. Cartman was never going to be a nice guy, and he was never going to care about school; but something inside him was yelling out - 'dumb ass! How could you have been so stupid as to get suspended?! Now everyone knows that you're a loser!' Cartman shook his head furiously, plunging his hands into his pockets. He sighed heavily, his icy breath hanging in the air like a sombre spectre. It was the ghost of his self-respect.
He started off down the street, his hands in his pockets. The greyish-green trees jerked mechanically in the wind, as if they were doubling-over with laughter. They were, as was the case with just about every student in South Park High School, mocking Cartman. He looked around anxiously, and tried again to hide himself… this time from the trees. After a few seconds of this, he shook his head and ceased. What the Hell was he thinking?! Though just about every student in South Park High School was probably laughing at him right now, the trees most certainly were not. Somehow, that made Cartman feel a little better; but it failed to help or solve the situation.
Throwing aside his own self-esteem and reputation for the moment, Cartman began to think of another matter at hand. He had to explain to his mom about his suspension. She always knew that he was quite the mischief-maker, but she'd never have guessed that he'd be so stupid as to get suspended. When she found out, she was going to flip! Maybe Cartman could just lie about it, and claim that he'd felt ill? Being the idiot that he was, the thought had crossed his almost non-functional mind. At the end of the day, she was going to find out anyway. If Cartman lied about it, and then his mom found out, it would just make everything even worse.
As he trundled miserably down the vale, a series of cars sped towards him. They tore past him like a group of drunken street racers, whipping the rainwater and grey slush into a frenzy. Before he could react, Cartman had been drenched. He stood for a few seconds, totally motionless, before clenching his fists and lifting his head…
"Not again! Fucking weak!" He screamed, alarming a group of birds that had, somehow, settled in a nearby tree. With a startled flutter, they flew off into the icy air. Cartman, an angry look on his face, watched them as they passed overhead. He leaned over into the gutter, grabbing a large, jagged rock and hurling it at the flock. Obviously, they were far too fast for him, and easily evaded the projectile. The rocked crashed back to earth, landing heavily on the sidewalk with an empty crack. Cartman, now even more frustrated by his failure, screamed. Angrier than ever, he continued on down the road.
The main street, like a desolate, icy wasteland, loomed in the distance. Though it's multitude of colours were now visible, they had been dampened by the rain and sleet. Even from the vale, Cartman could see that nobody was out. They were probably all in their homes or shops, taking refuge from the shitty weather. He, too, wanted to take refuge. If not from the weather, then from the humiliation and sense of defeat that accompanied suspension.
The way Cartman was thinking about the suspension, you'd think that he was really, really upset about the whole thing. Whilst that was, to an extent, true; it wasn't exactly the case. He had a better reason to be pissed. The reason was this: he'd committed a mischievous act, tried to remain anonymous, and he'd been caught. By now, everybody knew it. By now, he was the laughing stock of the school. He was an idiot. Decent troublemakers wouldn't have been so stupid. Decent troublemakers were smarter than that. Decent troublemakers… like Craig, for instance. Cartman, homing in on the main street, laughed aloud.
Craig? A decent troublemaker? Yeah, right! Craig was a pussy. Whilst Cartman's childhood antics had involved verbally attacking gays and targeting minorities, Craig's had involved flipping people off behind their backs, and throwing paper airplanes. Suddenly, a small smile crossed Cartman's lips. So what if he'd been suspended - caught in the act? So what if people thought he was a dumb ass? Whilst he was a dumb ass, he was also a bad ass. When it came to troublemaking, and shit-stirring, Cartman had no boundaries. That was what set him apart from everyone else. Everyone else had a line, a point which they would not go beyond. Cartman had no such line.
All of a sudden, things were starting to look up. Sure, he'd been suspended. Sure, he'd get a little disciplining from his mom. But, when it was all said and done, he would be the biggest menace in South Park High… and he'd have some time off school to boot! Cartman grinned widely - things weren't going to be so bad after all. As he closed in on the first shop of the main street, his miserable trundle broke into a more jovial stroll. It was so strange how, with one thought, he'd come to see things entirely differently.
Cartman continued on down the main street. Whilst a thick mist hung about him, freezing-cold sleet continued to drench him, and grey slush still bathed his feet in ice; he couldn't care less. Since his certain realisation, Cartman had come to feel that his suspension was nothing but a little time off school. And when did a little time off school give you, or anybody else, reason for dismay? Never. It was fair to say that, whilst Cartman wasn't feeling as fantastic as Kenny probably was twelve hours or so earlier, he was feeling pretty good about himself.
Nobody was about. Not a single person walked the main street, aside from Cartman himself. They were all indoors, sheltering from the weather. Whilst they didn't exactly conjure up a thunder storm; the rain, sleet and slush made for general unpleasantness. Walking down the main street, Cartman passed shop after shop, and home after home. Every time, due to his nosey demeanour, he looked in through the window. He saw shop keeper, customer and everyday person alike, fussing about in the warmth of the indoors. Seeing this, Cartman shuddered violently. He was, of course, on the outside - and it was a Hell of a lot colder from where he was standing. He smiled a little. He was thinking about how he'd spend his first hour or so off school. First off, he'd have to tell his mom about his suspension. After a little disciplining, he'd grab a few packs of Cheesy Poofs, put his feet up on the sofa and watch television… in the warmth. Cartman sighed agreeably, continuing on down the main street.
Screech… splash!
Cartman turned his head, catching a glimpse of a small car, speeding off towards the vale. He looked down at his drenched, icy body, dripping onto the already soaked sidewalk. His arms were outstretched and, from the neck down, he was completely motionless.
"WEEEEAAK!" He tore his waterlogged hat from his head, throwing it to the floor. It hit the cold pavement with a soggy thud, splashing more grey matter about the place. In his anger, Cartman stomped continuously on his hat, muddying it, before booting it into the gutter. He ran and jumped from the sidewalk, his heavy boots landing hard on the hat. He began jumping up and down on it, whining and screaming.
A few shopkeepers, curious as to what was going on, stepped out of their shops to take a look. Most of them, seeing that it was Eric Cartman, simply shrugged and slammed their doors over. Some, however, hung around to watch him throw a temper-tantrum, amused smiles spread over their faces. Cartman continued to jump up and down on his hat, sleet, slush and a little snow splashing about around him. In his final act, he kicked the hat along the gutter and down into a drain. He listened intently, as the hat plunged into the sewage water below with a heavy plop. A half-content smile crossing his face, Cartman stepped back onto the sidewalk. That was when he noticed the shopkeepers, staring at him.
"What the fuck are you all looking at?! Go away - I'm fucking seriously!" The shopkeepers, laughing and shrugging at the same time, stepped back into their shops. Cartman, now feeling a little better, started off towards the main residential district. Suddenly, he looked really, really pissed. Now his mom was gonna bitch at him for losing his hat, too! "This fucking sucks!" Once again, in the blink of an eye, Cartman's mood had swung completely. He had always been like that. One minute, he'd be in the best of moods. The next, he'd be throwing a total temper-tantrum. Being in a situation like his didn't help, though. Taking a deep breath, he tried to think positive thoughts. After a few seconds, he continued on down the road.
After a short while, Cartman entered the main residential district of South Park. This consisted of a few small blocks of houses, stemming out from the main street itself like the branches of a tree. Within a short amount of time, Cartman had reached his own house. Probably because of the weather, it looked a little more miserable than usual. The bright paint looked very dull behind a curtain of fog, and the lawn dead beneath the grey slush. Cartman started up his garden path, stopping at the door. He reached into his pocket, fumbling about for, and fishing out, his key. He slid it into the lock, but hesitated to turn it. For some reason or another, he was dreading telling his mom of his suspension. He didn't know why - after all, it wasn't like Eric Theodore Cartman to be worried by anything. He shook his head viciously and, shoving aside the ominous feeling, turned the key. Hearing the lock click, he pushed the door open.
Cartman stepped into the hallway. He slammed the door behind himself with such ferocity that the house itself seemed to shake. He shrugged, unbuttoning and removing his coat. He hung it up on a wooden coat rack which, like the one in the kitchen, hung alongside the door. He unfastened and slipped off his shoes, as he did his socks and gloves. He tossed them to the floor, and they landed on the carpet with a soggy thud. He walked into the living room, dripping and leaving a dirty trail of rainwater behind him. The soft carpet felt warm and fuzzy beneath his bare feet, and it was kind of soothing - especially considering the weather outside.
Cartman headed into the living room. It was completely spotless - sparkling, just as it had been that morning. It was completely untouched, and so Cartman figured that his mom must have been out all day. She was probably still out now. He walked across the room and over to the television. He switched it on, and then headed out into the kitchen. One again, it was completely spotless. He opened the fridge but, seeing no food of interest, took out only a can of soda. He moved on to the cupboard and, just as he had the previous day, settled for a few packets of 'Cheesy Poofs'. Scratching his messy brown-haired head, he trundled back into the living room and slouched down on the sofa.
Cartman reached for the remote control, which was sitting on a small table just to the side of the sofa. He flicked through the channels, until he came across some crappy daytime TV game show. Shrugging, he tossed the remote control aside.
"Eric? Is that you, Hon?" Ms Cartman opened the front door, and called through the house. Cartman looked over into the hallway. His mom was carrying quite a few shopping bags, and her shoulders looked about ready to come apart under the weight.
"Yeah, it's me," Cartman replied, trying to sound as casual as possible. Ms Cartman walked into the room, taking small, awkward steps as a result of the heavy bags.
"You're home early, aren't you, Eric?" She asked, continuing past Cartman and into the kitchen. She dumped the bags on the table and sighed loudly. Cartman nodded.
"Yeah," he replied, bluntly. Ms Cartman walked into the living room. She stopped in front of Cartman, her hands on her hips, as if demanding an explanation. Cartman groaned, as he couldn't see the TV, and submitted. "I got suspended," he said. Ms Cartman's expression darkened and, seeing that she was about to get pissed off, Cartman shook his head. "Just let me explain - it wasn't my fault, mom!" Ms Cartman nodded reluctantly. "Alright, we were all electing a class president…" Cartman began, "and Mr Garrison was putting me down again. He said that I could never be the class president, 'cause I'm too stupid. I was really, really pissed off; so I called him a 'fucking queer'. Then I got suspended." Cartman cursed to himself, realising that he shouldn't have told his mom that he'd called Garrison a 'fucking queer'. Ms Cartman, however, had been appeased.
"Oh, well, don't you worry about that, Hon," she said, speaking sympathetically. "How about I make you a nice chocolate chicken pot pie to cheer you up, hmm?" Cartman's face lit up.
"Okay, mom," he said, trying to sound saddened by the turn of events. He was, obviously, playing on his mom's sympathy. Ms Cartman, nodding, walked back into the kitchen. A huge smile crossed Cartman's face. He burst open his pack of 'Cheesy Poofs' and grabbed a handful of them. He shoved them into his mouth, and then took several large swigs of his soda. He put his feet up on the sofa, sighing happily.
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A few hours later, and the school day had officially ended. Students emptied out of the school, and out of the yard. Wendy Testaburger was amongst them. Clutching her books tight against her chest, and with her eyes fixed firmly on the floor, she headed quickly out of the gates. Somehow, the weather had cleared up quite a little. The sun was finally able to pierce the clouds, and was already ridding the streets of the grey slush. The sidewalks, wet with the liquid remains of the slush, sparkled in the sunlight. As Wendy walked away from the school, she could see her blurry reflection on the pavements ahead of her. She sighed loudly.
It was fair to say that, for the most part, Wendy had endured a shit day so far. Her early morning set the standards at an all-time low, as it was far from perfect. Aside from the relatively laid-back journey to school, the rest of the day had, generally, followed suite with extreme precision. Her first lesson was nothing extraordinary - it was just dull and eventless, as per usual. Home Economics, however, sucked total ass. It's not like that was anything new, with Mrs Adler shitting out the usual crap. Whilst that sucked ass, it was far from the worst thing to happen. Wendy had made a total idiot of herself, and in front of a class of girls who respected her as their intellectual superior. 'I'd love to take our relationship further, but not until you buy me a diamond ring' - who'd have thought that saying that would prove such a difficult task? When asked to recite that very sentence, Wendy had fucked up… big time.
A few years ago, she wouldn't have had a problem; she'd have been able to recite it, along with just about any other normal person. It's not that she'd grown illiterate during her teenage years, but that she didn't have to think about sex when she was twelve! Well, she didn't have to think about sexual dilemmas, at least. Her relationship with Stan, though absolutely fantastic, was trapped between two levels of seriousness. There was their current stage, and the next stage up - the sex stage. Though she didn't know it, Wendy was feeling just about the same way Stan was about the whole situation. She really wanted to take it further with him, but she was so nervous… so afraid.
Wendy walked down the vale, in the opposite direction that Cartman had earlier. Whilst Cartman was heading for the 'generally well-off' district, Wendy was heading for the 'well-off' district. To be fair, her mom wasn't so much better-off than anybody else in town, they just happened to live in a nicer district. Her house was at least forty minutes from Stan's house, and that's why Wendy was staying over after the party.
A short while ago, she'd told Stan that she had something important to talk about. Despite their marvellous relationship, he'd thought that Wendy wanted to dump him! She cleared it up, and the two laughed it off. Wendy then decided that the school yard wasn't the time or place for the conversation, and told Stan that she'd talk with him at his party. She'd put herself under considerable pressure, and she had to keep to her word… despite her anxieties. Stan, obviously in the same situation as Wendy, suspected that she was thinking the same thing as him. However, this only made him even more nervous.
The 'well-off' district of South Park, obviously, was not situated on or off the main street. It consisted of a small residential area, which was a little neater and tidier than most of South Park. The vale, on which the school sat, ran between the 'well-off' and 'generally well-off' districts of the town. From the school, heading left would take you to the main street; and heading right would take you to the 'well-off' residential area. Wendy continued on down the vale and, the closer and closer she got to the 'well-off' district, the nicer and nicer the vale itself became.
As she neared the residential area, Wendy's mind drifted back to Stan's party. As a matter of fact, she hadn't even told her mom about it yet. Even though her mom was quite protective of her, Wendy wasn't at all worried. The chances were, she wouldn't have any problem with her going along… or staying the night, for that matter. Although Ms Testaburger hadn't really seen a whole lot of Stan, what little she had seen had given her a good picture of what kind of person he was. Ms Testaburger already knew just how special the relationship between Stan and her daughter was, and she trusted the two of them not to do anything stupid… without thinking about it first, at least. Wendy herself knew what her mom thought. Seeing as she knew that her mom wouldn't have a problem, Wendy figured that she'd tell her about the party that night.
Wendy was nearing the end of the vale, which was gradually bearing less and less resemblance to the scruffier main street. In the distance, she could see the residential area - the 'well-off' district. The incredible, but often only occasional, narrow-mindedness of the people of South Park never failed to amaze. The people of 'well-off' district weren't really any more well-off than the other people in town. The district was labelled so because of it's environment, rather than it's occupants. Yet just about every person outside of the district had a preset, stereotypical view of those inside of it. They were all upper-class and snobby, with plenty of money to burn… yeah right. The truth was that, bar the Williams family, there were very few such people in your average, backwater town - especially in South Park.
The actual span of South Park was like a precisely-defined spectrum. At one end of the town and spectrum, separated and isolated by the old railroad, was the 'totally poor' district. Following on immediately was South Park's 'generally well-off' district, the largest of the three. At the top of the spectrum, separated from the other districts by the vale, was the 'well-off' district. This kind of spectrum, genuinely rare, had been created by the people of South Park themselves. The inhabitants of the 'totally poor' district were complete slackers, content to sit by and let their homes crumble like sandcastles in the rain. At the other end, however, the people of the 'well-off' district had a little more dignity, often caring more about the appearance of their environment than themselves. Those between the two, in the 'generally well-off' district, just went about their lives on a day-to-day basis; as average, working class citizens of America… it was funny how they were called 'generally well-off', even though they were just average.
Wendy arrived at the end of the vale, walking out from beneath the trees and onto the streets of the 'well-off' district. Thanks to the vale, the transition from 'generally well-off' to 'well-off' was a gradual one, unlike the one from 'generally well-off' to 'totally-poor'. This district was very nice, in comparison to the others, at least. The streets, darting beneath leaning, luxuriant trees, were litter-free; as residents, even though they barely dropped any, took is upon themselves to it clean up. The pavements had been submerged in icy, grey crap for most of the day, but had been steam-cleaned. Now they sparkled in the golden sunlight, reflections of the mild blue sky shimmering on their stone surface like a undisturbed forest pond. Piles of fallen leaves lay about, having been shovelled by the residents of the district. The houses themselves were pretty nice. Each one came equipped with a large garage and an extensive, neatly-trimmed lawn. They stood proud, one after the other, along the spotless streets. They were almost like trophies, proud possessions, sitting and shining on South Park's mantelpiece.
Wendy continued on down the street, passing strikingly similar house after house; as if walking through a long, looped film reel. She came to a set of traffic lights and, after pressing the activation button, watched as the roads froze over. She crossed hurriedly, continuing her journey on the opposite sidewalk. As if mirroring the other side of the road, the same monotonous pattern of houses existed there, too. After a little more walking, a small general store appeared at the end of the block. Wendy, very deep in thought, didn't notice the woman who stepped out of the doorway and in front of her. She appeared to be in her mid-forties; she was quite short, and a little podgy. She had straight, shoulder-length black hair, which had obviously been dyed, and brown eyes. She was wearing a yellow shirt and a long red skirt. Several heavy-looking shopping bags weighed her down, restricting her movement a little. Wendy, not looking up from the ground, walked straight into the woman, almost knocking her over. She stumbled, dropping her shopping, as Wendy also dropped her own books. She looked up, recognising the woman who she'd bumped into.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mrs Kimble!" Wendy said, snapping straight out of her thoughts. She hurried over to the woman, and began gathering her bags. Mrs Kimble shook her head.
"It's already, Wendy," she began, kneeling down and grabbing a few of her own bags herself. Wendy handed her the remainder of them, and then began collecting her books, as well. "I should've been paying more attention…"
"No, no!" Wendy interrupted, "I should've been looking where I was going - it was my fault, really." Picking up the last of her books, Wendy rose to her feet. She brushed the books, and then herself, off. "Well, it was nice to see you, Mrs Kimble," she said, smiling lightly.
"You too," Mrs Kimble replied, also smiling. "I haven't seen you in so long… eight, nine years?" Wendy nodded.
"Yeah, it's been nine years," she replied. Mrs Kimble eyed her up and down a few times, until her gaze rested on the books in Wendy's arms.
"I see you're still studying hard," she said. Wendy, looked down at her books, nodding. "That's good." Mrs Kimble, smiling, seemed to drift off into thought. After a few seconds, she spoke again. "And what about that boy… Stanley Marsh, was it? Are you still dating him?" She asked. Wendy nodded again.
"Yeah," was all she could muster as her mind, triggered by Stan's name, began to drift back to earlier matters of importance. Mrs Kimble looked astounded, and she shook her head in disbelief.
"That's really quite amazing," she began, smiling. "You two were dating when I last saw you, about eight years ago. I suppose you two are much more serious, now…" Wendy winced.
"Uh, yeah…" she said, feeling a little uncomfortable for the second time that day. She forced a smile. "I don't want to seem like I'm trying to get rid of you, but I've really gotta get home," she said. Mrs Kimble nodded. "It was nice seeing you again, Mrs Kimble."
"You too, Wendy," she said, walking past her and around the street corner. As soon as Mrs Kimble had gone, Wendy sighed. Once again, someone had brought up her and Stan in conversation. Any other time, she wouldn't have minded - she was so happy to be with Stan. But, right now, the mention of his name, or even the word 'serious', made her stomach tighten like a knot of barbed wire. It was a knot of anxiety and fear, not of detest. Wendy started off down the street again, her head hanging almost limply.
The more she thought about it, the more her anxieties seemed crazy and blown totally out of proportion. She and Stan had been together for a very, very long time… for a couple of their age, at least. At seventeen, a nine year-long relationship was something special. A 'silly, unrealistic childhood crush', as a lot of ignorant people had put it, had blossomed into a magnificent relationship. The couple, being madly in love, got on extremely well. They could talk, very comfortably, about anything with each other. Then why was it they couldn't talk about sex? Why was it that they'd barely even tried to? Maybe it was the fact that they'd been together for so long? Whatever the cause of their anxieties, and however insane those anxieties may have seemed, they were anxieties all the same… and they were an anti-catalyst. Despite this, Wendy knew that taking the first step, though not necessarily making the first move, would destroy them. All it would take was a simple confirmation - the confirmation that Stan felt exactly the same way about sex that she did. That was why Wendy had put herself on the spot. That confirmation would come at Stan's party, or not at all.
She continued on down the street, staring at the sparkling pavements under her feet. Her own reflection, though a little blurred, looked back. Lifting her gaze ahead of her, Wendy spotted her house in the distance. It loomed, detached, on the horizon; close to the perimeter of the residential area. After walking a little while longer, crossing a few small streets along the way, Wendy arrived at her house. It had a greyish-green paintjob, with a large garage of the same shade standing separately. A long garden path meandered across the extensive front lawn, eventually coming to a confluence with the sidewalk. Wendy cut onto the path, following it up to the front door. She unzipped the front of her coat, reaching into her inside pocket and fumbling about for her key. She fished out a large bundle of bronze, silver and gold keys, thumbing through them until she came to the front door key. She slid it into the keyhole, turning it until the lock clicked and opened. She pushed the door agape, stepped through it.
As she stepped into the house, Wendy was bathed in warmth. She and her mom had an expensive central heating system, which welcomed you home like a loyal family pet. Wendy walked into the living room. It was neat and perfectly organised, just as her mom liked it. Whilst a grey carpet lay on the floor, pink wallpaper covered the walls seamlessly. A television stood against one wall; and a large red sofa against the other, beneath a framed photo of a group of sunflowers. Ms Testaburger was sitting on it, thumbing through a woman's magazine. Everything about her, just like everything around her, was neat and tidy. She was in her mid-forties; with short black hair wore in a small bun, and deep green eyes - just like those of her daughter, if a little weaker. She was wearing a plain white shirt beneath a blue jacket, and a long brown skirt. Noticing Wendy's presence, Ms Testaburger looked up and smiled.
"Hello, Sweetheart," she said, closing over the magazine temporarily. Wendy smiled, though a little unenthusiastically.
"Hey, mom," she said, looking down at the grey carpet. A look of concern crossed Ms Testaburger's face.
"What's the matter, Wendy?" She asked. Wendy shook her head.
"N-nothing, I'm fine," she replied, lying. She forced a smile, and then attempted to change the subject. "Um, how was your day?" Ms Testaburger, a little suspicious, raised an eyebrow; but she cooperated nonetheless.
"It was okay," she began, "I spent most of the morning cleaning up the house, and then I went to work for a few hours. What about you?" Wendy shrugged.
"The usual, I suppose," she replied. "I'm, I'm going to go do my homework now, I'll see you in a little while." Ms Testaburger nodded, and Wendy turned and walked back into the hall. She ascended the stairs, her footsteps growing faint, until Ms Testaburger heard Wendy's bedroom door open and close. She looked concerned, but tried to go back to reading. Something seemed up with Wendy… she wasn't usually so downbeat. Ms Testaburger attempted to shake off the feeling, reverting her gaze back to the magazine, but it only returned with added intensity. Knowing that she was probably just being paranoid, Ms Testaburger ignored it and focussed all of her energy onto the glossy pages.
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Wendy's room was, for the most-part, quite girly. A deep reddish-brown carpet was laid out on the floor, and her walls were papered a dull pink. Her bed sat against the wall and alongside a window, looking out onto the back garden. A small table sat alongside it, heavy beneath many photos of those closest to Wendy - like Stan and her mom. Like just about every other bedroom in South Park, a wardrobe was built into one of the walls; a delicate pattern carved it's wooden frame and sliding doors. Wendy was sprawled out on top of her quilt, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her hair flowed onto the quilt, forming what appeared to be a jet-black river. Her beret and shoes lay on the floor, beside her bed. Nothing new had crossed her mind since the walk home. Wendy listened carefully, as she heard her mom ascending the stairs. Her footsteps grew louder, until she was outside the room. She rapped gently on the bedroom door.
"Wendy?" She called, "Wendy, can I come in?" Wendy, half-expecting her mom to gaze straight through the door, nodded her approval. Somehow, Ms Testaburger sensed this, and eased the door ajar. She walked slowly across the room to Wendy's bed, sitting herself down at the foot of it. The gradient of the bed shifted, and Wendy's eyes flicked over to where her mom was sitting. Once again, she looked a little concerned. "You don't seem so good, Sweetheart," Ms Testaburger began, "are you feeling okay?" Wendy shrugged.
"I guess so - I don't feel ill," she replied, her gaze again returning to the ceiling. She continued to stare at it in contemplative silence. Ms Testaburger sighed.
"I didn't mean that, Wendy," she said. "I meant, is everything okay? Are you having any problems in school, or anything like that?" Wendy shrugged again.
"Nah, not at school… everything's fine at school," she replied. Ms Testaburger, seemingly not getting anywhere, took another guess. She cleared her throat.
"Well, then are you having any… relationship problems?" The whole room, immediately after the question, fell into acute silence. No words were exchanged for a few seconds - the lack of them was confirmation enough. Ms Testaburger sighed. "What's the problem, then? Are you and Stan not getting along… somehow?" Wendy shook her head.
"Don't be stupid, mom!" Wendy exclaimed, almost bolting upright. However, she remained lying down, and then continued to speak. "Stan and I are getting on great… nothing wrong there." Ms Testaburger sighed again.
"If you're getting along great, then what's the problem?" Wendy didn't reply. Ms Testaburger thought for a few moments, and then it hit her. "Alright… you're having sexual problems?"
"So we've finally stopped dancing around the obvious?" Wendy asked, still staring up at the ceiling. "You could say that we were having 'sexual problems'…" Ms Testaburger, relieved that she'd finally broken through her daughter's defence, looked over at her. She threw her such a look as if to say, 'please continue'. Wendy, getting the idea, did just that. "Well, it - it's not that we're having 'sexual problems'…"
"Then what is it?" Ms Testaburger asked. Wendy sat up and propped herself up against the wall. She glanced over at her mom, who was looking concerned.
"It's just, well, I guess I'm afraid of… taking it further with Stan," Wendy began. Her mom looked ready to interrupt, so she continued. "I mean, I want to… but I'm really, really nervous…" Wendy thought for a few moments. "This is so embarrassing…" Ms Testaburger, smiling, eventually spoke.
"It's okay, Wendy," she began, her voice filled with understanding. "It's common for kids your age to be nervous about sex - I was the same… and I felt embarrassed talking about it, too." Wendy sighed, her gaze falling to her quilt.
"Then, then… what should I do?" She asked. Ms Testaburger fell silent, obviously thinking. After a short while, she spoke.
"I think that the best thing to do is to talk with Stan about it… even if you do feel embarrassed. I'm sure he feels the same way." Wendy nodded.
"That's what I was planning on doing…" Wendy trailed off. "Oh, that reminds me - Stan's throwing a party on Friday, and he asked me to come and stay overnight. Is that alright with you?"
"Of course it is," she began, smiling. "Maybe you could have… err, talk to… Stan at the party?" Wendy nodded.
"Yeah, like I said, that's what I was planning on doing…" Wendy smiled. "Thanks for being so understanding mom," she said, "I thought you would've freaked-out, when you found out that I'd been thinking about sex, that is…" Ms Testaburger shook her head.
"Don't be crazy," she began, "like I said, I was exactly the same at your age. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I was having sex at your age… and, up until just now, I thought that you and Stan were already having sex, too…"
"Well, I'm just glad that I was able to get it out of my system," Wendy admitted. Ms Testaburger, nodding and smiling, rose from the foot of the bed. "Though it doesn't really help with my anxieties…" Ms Testaburger turned to face her daughter.
"It's not going to," she began. "I can give you all of the advice in the world but, at the end of the day, the only people who can help you overcome your anxieties are Stan and yourself." She smiled. "Once you get going, you'll be flying - trust me." Wendy smiled too and, with that, Ms Testaburger slipped out of the room.
Wendy collapsed back onto the bed, sighing. That talk had helped her out… if only a little. She'd kept her thoughts on sex to herself up until this point, and it felt good to finally get them off of her chest. At least now her mom knew about everything, and it was a huge relief that she was so understanding. To tell the truth, Wendy hadn't expected that - her mom had always come across as a very straight-laced person. She continued to stare up at the ceiling… so much was going through her mind. It was only late afternoon but, having nothing better to do, she decided to take a rest. Her eyelids, like the corrugated iron shutters of a shop, slammed shut. Wendy hadn't really thought about it beforehand, but she was really tired…
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The next morning came quickly, the sun erupting suddenly like an giant orange geyser in the darkness of the night, it's blazing silhouette protruding over the majestic backdrop of the jagged mountains. The rooster, as it had done everyday before, welcomed the sun's arrival with an enthusiastic cry. Strangely enough, it hadn't rained or even snowed during the night; and this day was to be that rare occasion… when South Park appeared in it's true form. The golden rays of the sun sparkled on the leaves of the trees which, without snow to blanket them, were a lush green. The cheerful singing of the birds, coupled with the growing light, helped to awaken the people of the town. The morning had all the makings of something special, even if it was to be just another day in South Park. It was Wednesday - the midpoint of the business week.
Wendy's eyes flickered open. A triumphant light shone brightly through her bedroom window, and she attempted to shield her eyes. She had forgotten to close the curtains the previous night. She looked down at herself, and saw that she was lying, fully clothed, on top of her bedding. She had obviously forgotten to undress and prepare for bed, too. She yawned, sitting up and rubbing her heavy eyes. She glanced over at her clock, which hung on the wall above the doorframe. It read '7:00 AM'. Perfect timing.
Wendy hauled herself up from the bed, feeling a little unsteady. She took her shoes and beret from the side of the bed, and then walked across the room to her wardrobe. Sliding the wooden door open, she fished out her usual attire and headed out of her bedroom. The curtains on the landing were still closed, and Wendy relaxed her eyes. She walked slowly across to the bathroom, turning the brass doorknob and stepping inside. The bathroom was a little nicer than most in South Park. The floor was covered with deep blue carpet, and the walls with dull pink wallpaper. A ceramic sink was built onto the wall, which was opposite the door. A circular mat lay at the foot of the sink, and a large mirror hung above it. Wendy smiled briefly. When she was younger, she had needed a stool to reach it and see her own reflection. Next to the sink was the toilet, which sat alongside a towel rack. The large bath sat against the right-hand wall, bordered with turquoise ceramic tiles. A shower curtain hung from a rack above it. Obviously, the bath doubled out as a shower.
Wendy closed the bathroom door over, locking it from the inside. She took her clean clothes and beret, and then hung them up on a peg, which was nailed onto the door. She undressed clumsily in her drowsiness, eventually removing her dirty clothes. She shoved them in the plastic washing basket, which sat behind the door. She stumbled back over to the bath, switching the shower on. Immediately, warm water sprayed out of the head, pattering softly against the base of the bath. Wendy stepped over the side of the bath and into the path of the water, closing the shower curtain in one swift motion.
Wendy sighed, as the warm water ran through her hair and over her body like a pleasant sensation. For a few minutes, she simply stood there. She found that, when she showered first thing in the morning, especially when she was tired, her mind just went blank. Or maybe it didn't go blank. Maybe she just enjoyed the soothing feeling. Whatever the case, she always spent more time in the shower than she had intended as a result of this. Eventually snapping out of the strange trance, Wendy reached over for the shampoo and shower gel. She washed her hair and her body as quickly as possible, before switching the shower off and drawing the curtain. She stepped out of the bath and onto the mat, grabbing an orange towel from the towel rack. Wendy dried off completely almost as quickly as she had showered, and then dressed with comparative speed. She looked over at the digital clock, which sat high up on a wooden shelf. It read '7:40 AM'… already? Wendy grumbled, realising that she had spent too long in the shower again.
Wendy headed back to her room. As she passed her small table, she picked up a brush, comb and miniature mirror, before sitting down on her bed. She took up the brush, and ran it roughly through her hair. She watched herself in the mirror, organising her messy hair into something that resembled it's usual form. When she'd finished brushing, Wendy began combing her hair. Despite the repetitiveness of the task, she actually enjoyed combing. Unlike brushing, it was a more soothing experience. She didn't have to think of anything and so, even if only for a few minutes, she could enjoy a little peace-of-mind. She hummed to herself quietly, arranging her hair into a straight, jet-black curtain. Her hair was soft and, thanks to the conditioner she'd used, it shimmered. It looked nice, and Stan often told her so. Wendy smiled to herself. 'Your hair looks nice' - that seemed to be one of Stan's favourite lines, and he'd used it ever since they were little kids. When she'd finished combing, Wendy placed her equipment back on the bedside table. She ran her fingers through her hair. There were no clumps or knots… almost perfect. Very long, soft, flowing hair; a beautiful black river, running right down to the very bottom of her back.
Wendy stood up, taking her beret from beside her. She looked at it strangely. She often wondered why she even wore it. She was definitely the only girl in the school who wore a hat regularly, but it helped in the wintry weather. She had worn it ever since she were a kid, and had taken to it. Stan, too, had commented on how well a beret suits her. For those two reasons alone, Wendy had continued wearing it. She didn't put it on, but simply carried it out of her room with her. She walked across the brown carpet of the landing, trudging down the stairs. By the sound of things, her mom was already up.
In the living room, the television set was switched on; the sound of the early morning breakfast news flooding the room. Ignoring it, Wendy headed through the living room and into the kitchen. Her mom was standing over the kitchen sink, washing dishes. The radio, sitting in the far corner of the room, chattered to itself quietly, blurring out the occasional tune. Sensing her daughter's presence, Ms Testaburger turned her head slightly. She smiled.
"Good morning, Wendy," she said, speaking over the combined racket of the dishes and the radio. Wendy, too, smiled a little.
"Good morning, mom," she replied, sitting down at the kitchen table. She took her beret, which she'd carried down from her room, and placed it in front of her. Ms Testaburger, having finished cleaning the dishes, began to dry her hands off on a small towel.
"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you," she began, throwing the towel down onto the worktop. "I was listening to the radio earlier and, apparently, the school is closed today."
"Huh?" Wendy looked up from the table. "It is?" Her mom nodded, and Wendy looked a little bemused. "How come?"
"I'm not really too sure," Ms Testaburger began, beginning to stack the clean dishes into the cupboard. They clanked together loudly. "All I remember is that the school is closed for today." She paused for a few seconds. "I guess I should've told you before you'd gotten up." Wendy shook her head.
"Nah, that's okay," she began. "I'm up and ready now, so I guess there's no point complaining." Wendy smiled. "Besides, I've got the whole day off school." As Cartman had found out the previous day, there was nothing better than an unexpected break from school time - even if it was only for a day. "I suppose I'll go watch TV, or something." Ms Testaburger nodded.
"Alright, Sweetheart. Do you want a cup of coffee, or something?" She asked. Wendy thought for a few moments, rising from the table.
"Um… yeah, okay," she replied, smiling. Ms Testaburger nodded, heading back over to the sink to fill the kettle. Wendy walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. She slouched down onto the large red sofa, feeling quite relaxed. She reached for the remote control, which was sitting on a table beside the sofa. She began flicking through the channels, looking for something even mildly entertaining to watch. Chances were, with the usual early morning television schedule, she wasn't going to come across anything. In the end, she decided to settle for the news. It was hardly entertaining, and the droning voice of the presenter made Wendy yawn. Even after showering, she was still feeling a little tired. She put her feet up on the sofa, stretching out a little. After a few minutes, her mom walked in from the kitchen, carrying two mugs of coffee. Wendy sat up, and her mom handed her one. "Thanks, mom."
"No problem, Wendy," Ms Testaburger said, smiling. She walked back out into the kitchen, sitting down at the table. She took a magazine, and began thumbing through the pages. Wendy took a sip of her own coffee, before setting the mug down on the table. She lay back on the sofa again, sighing. She had a whole day off school. It was a rare break, and she was determined not to waste it…
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Closing A/N
Okay, that's the end of Chapter 5, and I have a few things to explain. First off, I'm well aware that I promised to try and include much more dialogue in this fan fiction. This was evident during the previous chapter. In Chapter 5, however, I didn't feel the need to use a whole lot of dialogue (though there was a little of it). Also, I think I'm beginning to focus on Stan and Wendy's situation more than I originally intended, and it's fast becoming the major storyline. I'll try and give it a rest in the future, but I'm not gonna promise anything.
Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Don't forget to review, guys!
Alright, here is the next chapter of 'High School Escapades', entitled 'An Alternative Point Of View'. It actually begins several hours before the end of 'A New Life', commencing with Cartman's reaction to his suspension…
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter - don't forget to review, people!
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Cartman stomped down the stone steps of the main entrance and onto the yard, the grey slush splashing beneath his heavy feet. He was surrounded, everywhere he looked, by other students. In his state of mind, they all seemed to be mocking him. They were pointing at him, and laughing at him. He was a loser - and everybody knew it. Suddenly, Cartman's paranoia turned to anger.
"What the fucking Hell are you all looking at?!" He yelled, his arms outstretched and inviting some kind of retaliation. A few students turned around and actually looked at him, but most of them simply ignored him. "Argh! I hate you guys! I hate all you guys!" Almost every student in the yard, upon hearing this outburst, erupted into laughter. Cartman tugged at the messy brown hair beneath his hat in both frustration and embarrassment, and then scurried across the yard. He felt totally targeted, and tried to hide beneath himself.
Cartman trudged out of the school gates and onto the street. It was beginning to rain, if only a little. The rain, accompanied by sleet, added to the grey slush that drowned the sidewalks. Cartman felt like total shit, but he didn't know why. The day before, he'd have given just about anything for an excuse to get away from school. A little time off was sweet, but a suspension was not. Cartman was never going to be a nice guy, and he was never going to care about school; but something inside him was yelling out - 'dumb ass! How could you have been so stupid as to get suspended?! Now everyone knows that you're a loser!' Cartman shook his head furiously, plunging his hands into his pockets. He sighed heavily, his icy breath hanging in the air like a sombre spectre. It was the ghost of his self-respect.
He started off down the street, his hands in his pockets. The greyish-green trees jerked mechanically in the wind, as if they were doubling-over with laughter. They were, as was the case with just about every student in South Park High School, mocking Cartman. He looked around anxiously, and tried again to hide himself… this time from the trees. After a few seconds of this, he shook his head and ceased. What the Hell was he thinking?! Though just about every student in South Park High School was probably laughing at him right now, the trees most certainly were not. Somehow, that made Cartman feel a little better; but it failed to help or solve the situation.
Throwing aside his own self-esteem and reputation for the moment, Cartman began to think of another matter at hand. He had to explain to his mom about his suspension. She always knew that he was quite the mischief-maker, but she'd never have guessed that he'd be so stupid as to get suspended. When she found out, she was going to flip! Maybe Cartman could just lie about it, and claim that he'd felt ill? Being the idiot that he was, the thought had crossed his almost non-functional mind. At the end of the day, she was going to find out anyway. If Cartman lied about it, and then his mom found out, it would just make everything even worse.
As he trundled miserably down the vale, a series of cars sped towards him. They tore past him like a group of drunken street racers, whipping the rainwater and grey slush into a frenzy. Before he could react, Cartman had been drenched. He stood for a few seconds, totally motionless, before clenching his fists and lifting his head…
"Not again! Fucking weak!" He screamed, alarming a group of birds that had, somehow, settled in a nearby tree. With a startled flutter, they flew off into the icy air. Cartman, an angry look on his face, watched them as they passed overhead. He leaned over into the gutter, grabbing a large, jagged rock and hurling it at the flock. Obviously, they were far too fast for him, and easily evaded the projectile. The rocked crashed back to earth, landing heavily on the sidewalk with an empty crack. Cartman, now even more frustrated by his failure, screamed. Angrier than ever, he continued on down the road.
The main street, like a desolate, icy wasteland, loomed in the distance. Though it's multitude of colours were now visible, they had been dampened by the rain and sleet. Even from the vale, Cartman could see that nobody was out. They were probably all in their homes or shops, taking refuge from the shitty weather. He, too, wanted to take refuge. If not from the weather, then from the humiliation and sense of defeat that accompanied suspension.
The way Cartman was thinking about the suspension, you'd think that he was really, really upset about the whole thing. Whilst that was, to an extent, true; it wasn't exactly the case. He had a better reason to be pissed. The reason was this: he'd committed a mischievous act, tried to remain anonymous, and he'd been caught. By now, everybody knew it. By now, he was the laughing stock of the school. He was an idiot. Decent troublemakers wouldn't have been so stupid. Decent troublemakers were smarter than that. Decent troublemakers… like Craig, for instance. Cartman, homing in on the main street, laughed aloud.
Craig? A decent troublemaker? Yeah, right! Craig was a pussy. Whilst Cartman's childhood antics had involved verbally attacking gays and targeting minorities, Craig's had involved flipping people off behind their backs, and throwing paper airplanes. Suddenly, a small smile crossed Cartman's lips. So what if he'd been suspended - caught in the act? So what if people thought he was a dumb ass? Whilst he was a dumb ass, he was also a bad ass. When it came to troublemaking, and shit-stirring, Cartman had no boundaries. That was what set him apart from everyone else. Everyone else had a line, a point which they would not go beyond. Cartman had no such line.
All of a sudden, things were starting to look up. Sure, he'd been suspended. Sure, he'd get a little disciplining from his mom. But, when it was all said and done, he would be the biggest menace in South Park High… and he'd have some time off school to boot! Cartman grinned widely - things weren't going to be so bad after all. As he closed in on the first shop of the main street, his miserable trundle broke into a more jovial stroll. It was so strange how, with one thought, he'd come to see things entirely differently.
Cartman continued on down the main street. Whilst a thick mist hung about him, freezing-cold sleet continued to drench him, and grey slush still bathed his feet in ice; he couldn't care less. Since his certain realisation, Cartman had come to feel that his suspension was nothing but a little time off school. And when did a little time off school give you, or anybody else, reason for dismay? Never. It was fair to say that, whilst Cartman wasn't feeling as fantastic as Kenny probably was twelve hours or so earlier, he was feeling pretty good about himself.
Nobody was about. Not a single person walked the main street, aside from Cartman himself. They were all indoors, sheltering from the weather. Whilst they didn't exactly conjure up a thunder storm; the rain, sleet and slush made for general unpleasantness. Walking down the main street, Cartman passed shop after shop, and home after home. Every time, due to his nosey demeanour, he looked in through the window. He saw shop keeper, customer and everyday person alike, fussing about in the warmth of the indoors. Seeing this, Cartman shuddered violently. He was, of course, on the outside - and it was a Hell of a lot colder from where he was standing. He smiled a little. He was thinking about how he'd spend his first hour or so off school. First off, he'd have to tell his mom about his suspension. After a little disciplining, he'd grab a few packs of Cheesy Poofs, put his feet up on the sofa and watch television… in the warmth. Cartman sighed agreeably, continuing on down the main street.
Screech… splash!
Cartman turned his head, catching a glimpse of a small car, speeding off towards the vale. He looked down at his drenched, icy body, dripping onto the already soaked sidewalk. His arms were outstretched and, from the neck down, he was completely motionless.
"WEEEEAAK!" He tore his waterlogged hat from his head, throwing it to the floor. It hit the cold pavement with a soggy thud, splashing more grey matter about the place. In his anger, Cartman stomped continuously on his hat, muddying it, before booting it into the gutter. He ran and jumped from the sidewalk, his heavy boots landing hard on the hat. He began jumping up and down on it, whining and screaming.
A few shopkeepers, curious as to what was going on, stepped out of their shops to take a look. Most of them, seeing that it was Eric Cartman, simply shrugged and slammed their doors over. Some, however, hung around to watch him throw a temper-tantrum, amused smiles spread over their faces. Cartman continued to jump up and down on his hat, sleet, slush and a little snow splashing about around him. In his final act, he kicked the hat along the gutter and down into a drain. He listened intently, as the hat plunged into the sewage water below with a heavy plop. A half-content smile crossing his face, Cartman stepped back onto the sidewalk. That was when he noticed the shopkeepers, staring at him.
"What the fuck are you all looking at?! Go away - I'm fucking seriously!" The shopkeepers, laughing and shrugging at the same time, stepped back into their shops. Cartman, now feeling a little better, started off towards the main residential district. Suddenly, he looked really, really pissed. Now his mom was gonna bitch at him for losing his hat, too! "This fucking sucks!" Once again, in the blink of an eye, Cartman's mood had swung completely. He had always been like that. One minute, he'd be in the best of moods. The next, he'd be throwing a total temper-tantrum. Being in a situation like his didn't help, though. Taking a deep breath, he tried to think positive thoughts. After a few seconds, he continued on down the road.
After a short while, Cartman entered the main residential district of South Park. This consisted of a few small blocks of houses, stemming out from the main street itself like the branches of a tree. Within a short amount of time, Cartman had reached his own house. Probably because of the weather, it looked a little more miserable than usual. The bright paint looked very dull behind a curtain of fog, and the lawn dead beneath the grey slush. Cartman started up his garden path, stopping at the door. He reached into his pocket, fumbling about for, and fishing out, his key. He slid it into the lock, but hesitated to turn it. For some reason or another, he was dreading telling his mom of his suspension. He didn't know why - after all, it wasn't like Eric Theodore Cartman to be worried by anything. He shook his head viciously and, shoving aside the ominous feeling, turned the key. Hearing the lock click, he pushed the door open.
Cartman stepped into the hallway. He slammed the door behind himself with such ferocity that the house itself seemed to shake. He shrugged, unbuttoning and removing his coat. He hung it up on a wooden coat rack which, like the one in the kitchen, hung alongside the door. He unfastened and slipped off his shoes, as he did his socks and gloves. He tossed them to the floor, and they landed on the carpet with a soggy thud. He walked into the living room, dripping and leaving a dirty trail of rainwater behind him. The soft carpet felt warm and fuzzy beneath his bare feet, and it was kind of soothing - especially considering the weather outside.
Cartman headed into the living room. It was completely spotless - sparkling, just as it had been that morning. It was completely untouched, and so Cartman figured that his mom must have been out all day. She was probably still out now. He walked across the room and over to the television. He switched it on, and then headed out into the kitchen. One again, it was completely spotless. He opened the fridge but, seeing no food of interest, took out only a can of soda. He moved on to the cupboard and, just as he had the previous day, settled for a few packets of 'Cheesy Poofs'. Scratching his messy brown-haired head, he trundled back into the living room and slouched down on the sofa.
Cartman reached for the remote control, which was sitting on a small table just to the side of the sofa. He flicked through the channels, until he came across some crappy daytime TV game show. Shrugging, he tossed the remote control aside.
"Eric? Is that you, Hon?" Ms Cartman opened the front door, and called through the house. Cartman looked over into the hallway. His mom was carrying quite a few shopping bags, and her shoulders looked about ready to come apart under the weight.
"Yeah, it's me," Cartman replied, trying to sound as casual as possible. Ms Cartman walked into the room, taking small, awkward steps as a result of the heavy bags.
"You're home early, aren't you, Eric?" She asked, continuing past Cartman and into the kitchen. She dumped the bags on the table and sighed loudly. Cartman nodded.
"Yeah," he replied, bluntly. Ms Cartman walked into the living room. She stopped in front of Cartman, her hands on her hips, as if demanding an explanation. Cartman groaned, as he couldn't see the TV, and submitted. "I got suspended," he said. Ms Cartman's expression darkened and, seeing that she was about to get pissed off, Cartman shook his head. "Just let me explain - it wasn't my fault, mom!" Ms Cartman nodded reluctantly. "Alright, we were all electing a class president…" Cartman began, "and Mr Garrison was putting me down again. He said that I could never be the class president, 'cause I'm too stupid. I was really, really pissed off; so I called him a 'fucking queer'. Then I got suspended." Cartman cursed to himself, realising that he shouldn't have told his mom that he'd called Garrison a 'fucking queer'. Ms Cartman, however, had been appeased.
"Oh, well, don't you worry about that, Hon," she said, speaking sympathetically. "How about I make you a nice chocolate chicken pot pie to cheer you up, hmm?" Cartman's face lit up.
"Okay, mom," he said, trying to sound saddened by the turn of events. He was, obviously, playing on his mom's sympathy. Ms Cartman, nodding, walked back into the kitchen. A huge smile crossed Cartman's face. He burst open his pack of 'Cheesy Poofs' and grabbed a handful of them. He shoved them into his mouth, and then took several large swigs of his soda. He put his feet up on the sofa, sighing happily.
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A few hours later, and the school day had officially ended. Students emptied out of the school, and out of the yard. Wendy Testaburger was amongst them. Clutching her books tight against her chest, and with her eyes fixed firmly on the floor, she headed quickly out of the gates. Somehow, the weather had cleared up quite a little. The sun was finally able to pierce the clouds, and was already ridding the streets of the grey slush. The sidewalks, wet with the liquid remains of the slush, sparkled in the sunlight. As Wendy walked away from the school, she could see her blurry reflection on the pavements ahead of her. She sighed loudly.
It was fair to say that, for the most part, Wendy had endured a shit day so far. Her early morning set the standards at an all-time low, as it was far from perfect. Aside from the relatively laid-back journey to school, the rest of the day had, generally, followed suite with extreme precision. Her first lesson was nothing extraordinary - it was just dull and eventless, as per usual. Home Economics, however, sucked total ass. It's not like that was anything new, with Mrs Adler shitting out the usual crap. Whilst that sucked ass, it was far from the worst thing to happen. Wendy had made a total idiot of herself, and in front of a class of girls who respected her as their intellectual superior. 'I'd love to take our relationship further, but not until you buy me a diamond ring' - who'd have thought that saying that would prove such a difficult task? When asked to recite that very sentence, Wendy had fucked up… big time.
A few years ago, she wouldn't have had a problem; she'd have been able to recite it, along with just about any other normal person. It's not that she'd grown illiterate during her teenage years, but that she didn't have to think about sex when she was twelve! Well, she didn't have to think about sexual dilemmas, at least. Her relationship with Stan, though absolutely fantastic, was trapped between two levels of seriousness. There was their current stage, and the next stage up - the sex stage. Though she didn't know it, Wendy was feeling just about the same way Stan was about the whole situation. She really wanted to take it further with him, but she was so nervous… so afraid.
Wendy walked down the vale, in the opposite direction that Cartman had earlier. Whilst Cartman was heading for the 'generally well-off' district, Wendy was heading for the 'well-off' district. To be fair, her mom wasn't so much better-off than anybody else in town, they just happened to live in a nicer district. Her house was at least forty minutes from Stan's house, and that's why Wendy was staying over after the party.
A short while ago, she'd told Stan that she had something important to talk about. Despite their marvellous relationship, he'd thought that Wendy wanted to dump him! She cleared it up, and the two laughed it off. Wendy then decided that the school yard wasn't the time or place for the conversation, and told Stan that she'd talk with him at his party. She'd put herself under considerable pressure, and she had to keep to her word… despite her anxieties. Stan, obviously in the same situation as Wendy, suspected that she was thinking the same thing as him. However, this only made him even more nervous.
The 'well-off' district of South Park, obviously, was not situated on or off the main street. It consisted of a small residential area, which was a little neater and tidier than most of South Park. The vale, on which the school sat, ran between the 'well-off' and 'generally well-off' districts of the town. From the school, heading left would take you to the main street; and heading right would take you to the 'well-off' residential area. Wendy continued on down the vale and, the closer and closer she got to the 'well-off' district, the nicer and nicer the vale itself became.
As she neared the residential area, Wendy's mind drifted back to Stan's party. As a matter of fact, she hadn't even told her mom about it yet. Even though her mom was quite protective of her, Wendy wasn't at all worried. The chances were, she wouldn't have any problem with her going along… or staying the night, for that matter. Although Ms Testaburger hadn't really seen a whole lot of Stan, what little she had seen had given her a good picture of what kind of person he was. Ms Testaburger already knew just how special the relationship between Stan and her daughter was, and she trusted the two of them not to do anything stupid… without thinking about it first, at least. Wendy herself knew what her mom thought. Seeing as she knew that her mom wouldn't have a problem, Wendy figured that she'd tell her about the party that night.
Wendy was nearing the end of the vale, which was gradually bearing less and less resemblance to the scruffier main street. In the distance, she could see the residential area - the 'well-off' district. The incredible, but often only occasional, narrow-mindedness of the people of South Park never failed to amaze. The people of 'well-off' district weren't really any more well-off than the other people in town. The district was labelled so because of it's environment, rather than it's occupants. Yet just about every person outside of the district had a preset, stereotypical view of those inside of it. They were all upper-class and snobby, with plenty of money to burn… yeah right. The truth was that, bar the Williams family, there were very few such people in your average, backwater town - especially in South Park.
The actual span of South Park was like a precisely-defined spectrum. At one end of the town and spectrum, separated and isolated by the old railroad, was the 'totally poor' district. Following on immediately was South Park's 'generally well-off' district, the largest of the three. At the top of the spectrum, separated from the other districts by the vale, was the 'well-off' district. This kind of spectrum, genuinely rare, had been created by the people of South Park themselves. The inhabitants of the 'totally poor' district were complete slackers, content to sit by and let their homes crumble like sandcastles in the rain. At the other end, however, the people of the 'well-off' district had a little more dignity, often caring more about the appearance of their environment than themselves. Those between the two, in the 'generally well-off' district, just went about their lives on a day-to-day basis; as average, working class citizens of America… it was funny how they were called 'generally well-off', even though they were just average.
Wendy arrived at the end of the vale, walking out from beneath the trees and onto the streets of the 'well-off' district. Thanks to the vale, the transition from 'generally well-off' to 'well-off' was a gradual one, unlike the one from 'generally well-off' to 'totally-poor'. This district was very nice, in comparison to the others, at least. The streets, darting beneath leaning, luxuriant trees, were litter-free; as residents, even though they barely dropped any, took is upon themselves to it clean up. The pavements had been submerged in icy, grey crap for most of the day, but had been steam-cleaned. Now they sparkled in the golden sunlight, reflections of the mild blue sky shimmering on their stone surface like a undisturbed forest pond. Piles of fallen leaves lay about, having been shovelled by the residents of the district. The houses themselves were pretty nice. Each one came equipped with a large garage and an extensive, neatly-trimmed lawn. They stood proud, one after the other, along the spotless streets. They were almost like trophies, proud possessions, sitting and shining on South Park's mantelpiece.
Wendy continued on down the street, passing strikingly similar house after house; as if walking through a long, looped film reel. She came to a set of traffic lights and, after pressing the activation button, watched as the roads froze over. She crossed hurriedly, continuing her journey on the opposite sidewalk. As if mirroring the other side of the road, the same monotonous pattern of houses existed there, too. After a little more walking, a small general store appeared at the end of the block. Wendy, very deep in thought, didn't notice the woman who stepped out of the doorway and in front of her. She appeared to be in her mid-forties; she was quite short, and a little podgy. She had straight, shoulder-length black hair, which had obviously been dyed, and brown eyes. She was wearing a yellow shirt and a long red skirt. Several heavy-looking shopping bags weighed her down, restricting her movement a little. Wendy, not looking up from the ground, walked straight into the woman, almost knocking her over. She stumbled, dropping her shopping, as Wendy also dropped her own books. She looked up, recognising the woman who she'd bumped into.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mrs Kimble!" Wendy said, snapping straight out of her thoughts. She hurried over to the woman, and began gathering her bags. Mrs Kimble shook her head.
"It's already, Wendy," she began, kneeling down and grabbing a few of her own bags herself. Wendy handed her the remainder of them, and then began collecting her books, as well. "I should've been paying more attention…"
"No, no!" Wendy interrupted, "I should've been looking where I was going - it was my fault, really." Picking up the last of her books, Wendy rose to her feet. She brushed the books, and then herself, off. "Well, it was nice to see you, Mrs Kimble," she said, smiling lightly.
"You too," Mrs Kimble replied, also smiling. "I haven't seen you in so long… eight, nine years?" Wendy nodded.
"Yeah, it's been nine years," she replied. Mrs Kimble eyed her up and down a few times, until her gaze rested on the books in Wendy's arms.
"I see you're still studying hard," she said. Wendy, looked down at her books, nodding. "That's good." Mrs Kimble, smiling, seemed to drift off into thought. After a few seconds, she spoke again. "And what about that boy… Stanley Marsh, was it? Are you still dating him?" She asked. Wendy nodded again.
"Yeah," was all she could muster as her mind, triggered by Stan's name, began to drift back to earlier matters of importance. Mrs Kimble looked astounded, and she shook her head in disbelief.
"That's really quite amazing," she began, smiling. "You two were dating when I last saw you, about eight years ago. I suppose you two are much more serious, now…" Wendy winced.
"Uh, yeah…" she said, feeling a little uncomfortable for the second time that day. She forced a smile. "I don't want to seem like I'm trying to get rid of you, but I've really gotta get home," she said. Mrs Kimble nodded. "It was nice seeing you again, Mrs Kimble."
"You too, Wendy," she said, walking past her and around the street corner. As soon as Mrs Kimble had gone, Wendy sighed. Once again, someone had brought up her and Stan in conversation. Any other time, she wouldn't have minded - she was so happy to be with Stan. But, right now, the mention of his name, or even the word 'serious', made her stomach tighten like a knot of barbed wire. It was a knot of anxiety and fear, not of detest. Wendy started off down the street again, her head hanging almost limply.
The more she thought about it, the more her anxieties seemed crazy and blown totally out of proportion. She and Stan had been together for a very, very long time… for a couple of their age, at least. At seventeen, a nine year-long relationship was something special. A 'silly, unrealistic childhood crush', as a lot of ignorant people had put it, had blossomed into a magnificent relationship. The couple, being madly in love, got on extremely well. They could talk, very comfortably, about anything with each other. Then why was it they couldn't talk about sex? Why was it that they'd barely even tried to? Maybe it was the fact that they'd been together for so long? Whatever the cause of their anxieties, and however insane those anxieties may have seemed, they were anxieties all the same… and they were an anti-catalyst. Despite this, Wendy knew that taking the first step, though not necessarily making the first move, would destroy them. All it would take was a simple confirmation - the confirmation that Stan felt exactly the same way about sex that she did. That was why Wendy had put herself on the spot. That confirmation would come at Stan's party, or not at all.
She continued on down the street, staring at the sparkling pavements under her feet. Her own reflection, though a little blurred, looked back. Lifting her gaze ahead of her, Wendy spotted her house in the distance. It loomed, detached, on the horizon; close to the perimeter of the residential area. After walking a little while longer, crossing a few small streets along the way, Wendy arrived at her house. It had a greyish-green paintjob, with a large garage of the same shade standing separately. A long garden path meandered across the extensive front lawn, eventually coming to a confluence with the sidewalk. Wendy cut onto the path, following it up to the front door. She unzipped the front of her coat, reaching into her inside pocket and fumbling about for her key. She fished out a large bundle of bronze, silver and gold keys, thumbing through them until she came to the front door key. She slid it into the keyhole, turning it until the lock clicked and opened. She pushed the door agape, stepped through it.
As she stepped into the house, Wendy was bathed in warmth. She and her mom had an expensive central heating system, which welcomed you home like a loyal family pet. Wendy walked into the living room. It was neat and perfectly organised, just as her mom liked it. Whilst a grey carpet lay on the floor, pink wallpaper covered the walls seamlessly. A television stood against one wall; and a large red sofa against the other, beneath a framed photo of a group of sunflowers. Ms Testaburger was sitting on it, thumbing through a woman's magazine. Everything about her, just like everything around her, was neat and tidy. She was in her mid-forties; with short black hair wore in a small bun, and deep green eyes - just like those of her daughter, if a little weaker. She was wearing a plain white shirt beneath a blue jacket, and a long brown skirt. Noticing Wendy's presence, Ms Testaburger looked up and smiled.
"Hello, Sweetheart," she said, closing over the magazine temporarily. Wendy smiled, though a little unenthusiastically.
"Hey, mom," she said, looking down at the grey carpet. A look of concern crossed Ms Testaburger's face.
"What's the matter, Wendy?" She asked. Wendy shook her head.
"N-nothing, I'm fine," she replied, lying. She forced a smile, and then attempted to change the subject. "Um, how was your day?" Ms Testaburger, a little suspicious, raised an eyebrow; but she cooperated nonetheless.
"It was okay," she began, "I spent most of the morning cleaning up the house, and then I went to work for a few hours. What about you?" Wendy shrugged.
"The usual, I suppose," she replied. "I'm, I'm going to go do my homework now, I'll see you in a little while." Ms Testaburger nodded, and Wendy turned and walked back into the hall. She ascended the stairs, her footsteps growing faint, until Ms Testaburger heard Wendy's bedroom door open and close. She looked concerned, but tried to go back to reading. Something seemed up with Wendy… she wasn't usually so downbeat. Ms Testaburger attempted to shake off the feeling, reverting her gaze back to the magazine, but it only returned with added intensity. Knowing that she was probably just being paranoid, Ms Testaburger ignored it and focussed all of her energy onto the glossy pages.
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Wendy's room was, for the most-part, quite girly. A deep reddish-brown carpet was laid out on the floor, and her walls were papered a dull pink. Her bed sat against the wall and alongside a window, looking out onto the back garden. A small table sat alongside it, heavy beneath many photos of those closest to Wendy - like Stan and her mom. Like just about every other bedroom in South Park, a wardrobe was built into one of the walls; a delicate pattern carved it's wooden frame and sliding doors. Wendy was sprawled out on top of her quilt, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her hair flowed onto the quilt, forming what appeared to be a jet-black river. Her beret and shoes lay on the floor, beside her bed. Nothing new had crossed her mind since the walk home. Wendy listened carefully, as she heard her mom ascending the stairs. Her footsteps grew louder, until she was outside the room. She rapped gently on the bedroom door.
"Wendy?" She called, "Wendy, can I come in?" Wendy, half-expecting her mom to gaze straight through the door, nodded her approval. Somehow, Ms Testaburger sensed this, and eased the door ajar. She walked slowly across the room to Wendy's bed, sitting herself down at the foot of it. The gradient of the bed shifted, and Wendy's eyes flicked over to where her mom was sitting. Once again, she looked a little concerned. "You don't seem so good, Sweetheart," Ms Testaburger began, "are you feeling okay?" Wendy shrugged.
"I guess so - I don't feel ill," she replied, her gaze again returning to the ceiling. She continued to stare at it in contemplative silence. Ms Testaburger sighed.
"I didn't mean that, Wendy," she said. "I meant, is everything okay? Are you having any problems in school, or anything like that?" Wendy shrugged again.
"Nah, not at school… everything's fine at school," she replied. Ms Testaburger, seemingly not getting anywhere, took another guess. She cleared her throat.
"Well, then are you having any… relationship problems?" The whole room, immediately after the question, fell into acute silence. No words were exchanged for a few seconds - the lack of them was confirmation enough. Ms Testaburger sighed. "What's the problem, then? Are you and Stan not getting along… somehow?" Wendy shook her head.
"Don't be stupid, mom!" Wendy exclaimed, almost bolting upright. However, she remained lying down, and then continued to speak. "Stan and I are getting on great… nothing wrong there." Ms Testaburger sighed again.
"If you're getting along great, then what's the problem?" Wendy didn't reply. Ms Testaburger thought for a few moments, and then it hit her. "Alright… you're having sexual problems?"
"So we've finally stopped dancing around the obvious?" Wendy asked, still staring up at the ceiling. "You could say that we were having 'sexual problems'…" Ms Testaburger, relieved that she'd finally broken through her daughter's defence, looked over at her. She threw her such a look as if to say, 'please continue'. Wendy, getting the idea, did just that. "Well, it - it's not that we're having 'sexual problems'…"
"Then what is it?" Ms Testaburger asked. Wendy sat up and propped herself up against the wall. She glanced over at her mom, who was looking concerned.
"It's just, well, I guess I'm afraid of… taking it further with Stan," Wendy began. Her mom looked ready to interrupt, so she continued. "I mean, I want to… but I'm really, really nervous…" Wendy thought for a few moments. "This is so embarrassing…" Ms Testaburger, smiling, eventually spoke.
"It's okay, Wendy," she began, her voice filled with understanding. "It's common for kids your age to be nervous about sex - I was the same… and I felt embarrassed talking about it, too." Wendy sighed, her gaze falling to her quilt.
"Then, then… what should I do?" She asked. Ms Testaburger fell silent, obviously thinking. After a short while, she spoke.
"I think that the best thing to do is to talk with Stan about it… even if you do feel embarrassed. I'm sure he feels the same way." Wendy nodded.
"That's what I was planning on doing…" Wendy trailed off. "Oh, that reminds me - Stan's throwing a party on Friday, and he asked me to come and stay overnight. Is that alright with you?"
"Of course it is," she began, smiling. "Maybe you could have… err, talk to… Stan at the party?" Wendy nodded.
"Yeah, like I said, that's what I was planning on doing…" Wendy smiled. "Thanks for being so understanding mom," she said, "I thought you would've freaked-out, when you found out that I'd been thinking about sex, that is…" Ms Testaburger shook her head.
"Don't be crazy," she began, "like I said, I was exactly the same at your age. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I was having sex at your age… and, up until just now, I thought that you and Stan were already having sex, too…"
"Well, I'm just glad that I was able to get it out of my system," Wendy admitted. Ms Testaburger, nodding and smiling, rose from the foot of the bed. "Though it doesn't really help with my anxieties…" Ms Testaburger turned to face her daughter.
"It's not going to," she began. "I can give you all of the advice in the world but, at the end of the day, the only people who can help you overcome your anxieties are Stan and yourself." She smiled. "Once you get going, you'll be flying - trust me." Wendy smiled too and, with that, Ms Testaburger slipped out of the room.
Wendy collapsed back onto the bed, sighing. That talk had helped her out… if only a little. She'd kept her thoughts on sex to herself up until this point, and it felt good to finally get them off of her chest. At least now her mom knew about everything, and it was a huge relief that she was so understanding. To tell the truth, Wendy hadn't expected that - her mom had always come across as a very straight-laced person. She continued to stare up at the ceiling… so much was going through her mind. It was only late afternoon but, having nothing better to do, she decided to take a rest. Her eyelids, like the corrugated iron shutters of a shop, slammed shut. Wendy hadn't really thought about it beforehand, but she was really tired…
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The next morning came quickly, the sun erupting suddenly like an giant orange geyser in the darkness of the night, it's blazing silhouette protruding over the majestic backdrop of the jagged mountains. The rooster, as it had done everyday before, welcomed the sun's arrival with an enthusiastic cry. Strangely enough, it hadn't rained or even snowed during the night; and this day was to be that rare occasion… when South Park appeared in it's true form. The golden rays of the sun sparkled on the leaves of the trees which, without snow to blanket them, were a lush green. The cheerful singing of the birds, coupled with the growing light, helped to awaken the people of the town. The morning had all the makings of something special, even if it was to be just another day in South Park. It was Wednesday - the midpoint of the business week.
Wendy's eyes flickered open. A triumphant light shone brightly through her bedroom window, and she attempted to shield her eyes. She had forgotten to close the curtains the previous night. She looked down at herself, and saw that she was lying, fully clothed, on top of her bedding. She had obviously forgotten to undress and prepare for bed, too. She yawned, sitting up and rubbing her heavy eyes. She glanced over at her clock, which hung on the wall above the doorframe. It read '7:00 AM'. Perfect timing.
Wendy hauled herself up from the bed, feeling a little unsteady. She took her shoes and beret from the side of the bed, and then walked across the room to her wardrobe. Sliding the wooden door open, she fished out her usual attire and headed out of her bedroom. The curtains on the landing were still closed, and Wendy relaxed her eyes. She walked slowly across to the bathroom, turning the brass doorknob and stepping inside. The bathroom was a little nicer than most in South Park. The floor was covered with deep blue carpet, and the walls with dull pink wallpaper. A ceramic sink was built onto the wall, which was opposite the door. A circular mat lay at the foot of the sink, and a large mirror hung above it. Wendy smiled briefly. When she was younger, she had needed a stool to reach it and see her own reflection. Next to the sink was the toilet, which sat alongside a towel rack. The large bath sat against the right-hand wall, bordered with turquoise ceramic tiles. A shower curtain hung from a rack above it. Obviously, the bath doubled out as a shower.
Wendy closed the bathroom door over, locking it from the inside. She took her clean clothes and beret, and then hung them up on a peg, which was nailed onto the door. She undressed clumsily in her drowsiness, eventually removing her dirty clothes. She shoved them in the plastic washing basket, which sat behind the door. She stumbled back over to the bath, switching the shower on. Immediately, warm water sprayed out of the head, pattering softly against the base of the bath. Wendy stepped over the side of the bath and into the path of the water, closing the shower curtain in one swift motion.
Wendy sighed, as the warm water ran through her hair and over her body like a pleasant sensation. For a few minutes, she simply stood there. She found that, when she showered first thing in the morning, especially when she was tired, her mind just went blank. Or maybe it didn't go blank. Maybe she just enjoyed the soothing feeling. Whatever the case, she always spent more time in the shower than she had intended as a result of this. Eventually snapping out of the strange trance, Wendy reached over for the shampoo and shower gel. She washed her hair and her body as quickly as possible, before switching the shower off and drawing the curtain. She stepped out of the bath and onto the mat, grabbing an orange towel from the towel rack. Wendy dried off completely almost as quickly as she had showered, and then dressed with comparative speed. She looked over at the digital clock, which sat high up on a wooden shelf. It read '7:40 AM'… already? Wendy grumbled, realising that she had spent too long in the shower again.
Wendy headed back to her room. As she passed her small table, she picked up a brush, comb and miniature mirror, before sitting down on her bed. She took up the brush, and ran it roughly through her hair. She watched herself in the mirror, organising her messy hair into something that resembled it's usual form. When she'd finished brushing, Wendy began combing her hair. Despite the repetitiveness of the task, she actually enjoyed combing. Unlike brushing, it was a more soothing experience. She didn't have to think of anything and so, even if only for a few minutes, she could enjoy a little peace-of-mind. She hummed to herself quietly, arranging her hair into a straight, jet-black curtain. Her hair was soft and, thanks to the conditioner she'd used, it shimmered. It looked nice, and Stan often told her so. Wendy smiled to herself. 'Your hair looks nice' - that seemed to be one of Stan's favourite lines, and he'd used it ever since they were little kids. When she'd finished combing, Wendy placed her equipment back on the bedside table. She ran her fingers through her hair. There were no clumps or knots… almost perfect. Very long, soft, flowing hair; a beautiful black river, running right down to the very bottom of her back.
Wendy stood up, taking her beret from beside her. She looked at it strangely. She often wondered why she even wore it. She was definitely the only girl in the school who wore a hat regularly, but it helped in the wintry weather. She had worn it ever since she were a kid, and had taken to it. Stan, too, had commented on how well a beret suits her. For those two reasons alone, Wendy had continued wearing it. She didn't put it on, but simply carried it out of her room with her. She walked across the brown carpet of the landing, trudging down the stairs. By the sound of things, her mom was already up.
In the living room, the television set was switched on; the sound of the early morning breakfast news flooding the room. Ignoring it, Wendy headed through the living room and into the kitchen. Her mom was standing over the kitchen sink, washing dishes. The radio, sitting in the far corner of the room, chattered to itself quietly, blurring out the occasional tune. Sensing her daughter's presence, Ms Testaburger turned her head slightly. She smiled.
"Good morning, Wendy," she said, speaking over the combined racket of the dishes and the radio. Wendy, too, smiled a little.
"Good morning, mom," she replied, sitting down at the kitchen table. She took her beret, which she'd carried down from her room, and placed it in front of her. Ms Testaburger, having finished cleaning the dishes, began to dry her hands off on a small towel.
"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you," she began, throwing the towel down onto the worktop. "I was listening to the radio earlier and, apparently, the school is closed today."
"Huh?" Wendy looked up from the table. "It is?" Her mom nodded, and Wendy looked a little bemused. "How come?"
"I'm not really too sure," Ms Testaburger began, beginning to stack the clean dishes into the cupboard. They clanked together loudly. "All I remember is that the school is closed for today." She paused for a few seconds. "I guess I should've told you before you'd gotten up." Wendy shook her head.
"Nah, that's okay," she began. "I'm up and ready now, so I guess there's no point complaining." Wendy smiled. "Besides, I've got the whole day off school." As Cartman had found out the previous day, there was nothing better than an unexpected break from school time - even if it was only for a day. "I suppose I'll go watch TV, or something." Ms Testaburger nodded.
"Alright, Sweetheart. Do you want a cup of coffee, or something?" She asked. Wendy thought for a few moments, rising from the table.
"Um… yeah, okay," she replied, smiling. Ms Testaburger nodded, heading back over to the sink to fill the kettle. Wendy walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. She slouched down onto the large red sofa, feeling quite relaxed. She reached for the remote control, which was sitting on a table beside the sofa. She began flicking through the channels, looking for something even mildly entertaining to watch. Chances were, with the usual early morning television schedule, she wasn't going to come across anything. In the end, she decided to settle for the news. It was hardly entertaining, and the droning voice of the presenter made Wendy yawn. Even after showering, she was still feeling a little tired. She put her feet up on the sofa, stretching out a little. After a few minutes, her mom walked in from the kitchen, carrying two mugs of coffee. Wendy sat up, and her mom handed her one. "Thanks, mom."
"No problem, Wendy," Ms Testaburger said, smiling. She walked back out into the kitchen, sitting down at the table. She took a magazine, and began thumbing through the pages. Wendy took a sip of her own coffee, before setting the mug down on the table. She lay back on the sofa again, sighing. She had a whole day off school. It was a rare break, and she was determined not to waste it…
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Closing A/N
Okay, that's the end of Chapter 5, and I have a few things to explain. First off, I'm well aware that I promised to try and include much more dialogue in this fan fiction. This was evident during the previous chapter. In Chapter 5, however, I didn't feel the need to use a whole lot of dialogue (though there was a little of it). Also, I think I'm beginning to focus on Stan and Wendy's situation more than I originally intended, and it's fast becoming the major storyline. I'll try and give it a rest in the future, but I'm not gonna promise anything.
Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Don't forget to review, guys!