I just love Stan's thought process.

--

--

--

For once, Stan was actually glad the only classes he had with Kyle were history and PE. He found it was amazingly easy to avoid someone when they were on the other side of the school learning about vector calculus, dynamical systems, and the chaos theory while he was taking good old algebra.

And it was easy to avoid him between classes, too, because Kyle was sort of easy to spot from a distance, what with the Jewfro and lime-green hat.

Lunch was an entirely different matter, however.

Stan slunk into the school library, tray in hand, and cast a passing glance at the librarian. Stan was fairly sure you weren't supposed to be eating in the library, but then, the librarian seemed more interested in his magazine of poultry porn than what the students were doing.

The school employed sadistic racists to teach history, hard-assed women of dubious sexual orientation to teach physical education, male nurses, and convicted chicken molesters to manage the library. Stan wondered who, exactly, was in charge of hiring.

He was planning on sitting by himself, rather than join the guys that played Dungeons and Dragons, but then he noticed Wendy, half-hidden behind a stack of books, and decided to join her.

"Mind if I sit?"

She looked up from the book she'd been flipping through so fast he was surprised she hadn't given herself a paper cut, and her eyebrows rose several notches.

"Why?"

"... Because we're friends?"

Her eyebrows rose a bit more. "We're friends?"

"We're not not friends, right?"

"... I suppose," she said, clearing off a space for him. Stan put down his tray and pulled up a chair, and then he glanced at the spines of the books, which were all about North Korea.

"I didn't know you were a library troll."

"Neither I you," she shot back, then relented. "I'm not usually, but this assignment is an absolute nightmare. I mean, God, at this point I wish I'd gotten Hitler. Is your group already done?"

"Um," Stan said. "Actually, we haven't really started."

Wendy looked shocked, then apprehensive. "Well, I hope you're done by Thursday."

"Wouldn't want to break your date, huh?" Stan tried to keep the jealous note out of his voice. He really did. Wendy frowned at him.

"So why are you eating lunch here, then?"

"Er. Just... enjoying the atmosphere." Wendy gave him a look. Stan resolutely avoided her gaze.

She sighed. "Stan, are you avoiding Kyle?"

"I'm not avoiding him, I'm just, um... not talking to him."

"Why?"

"Well. Um. I think Kyle might... you know..."

She sighed again and closed her book. "Stan, you're being ridiculous."

"Why?" he said, zoning in on her. "Has he said anything to you? Has he-"

"This may shock you, Stan - astound you, even - but when Kyle and I get together to study we don't talk about you. We actually study."

Stan huffed and started digging into his food. Wendy drummed her fingers on the thick volume of North Korean foreign policy.

"Why don't you just talk to him?"

"No way," he said quickly.

"Stan, do you think it's at all possible you think Kyle has a crush on you because you might want him to have a crush on you?"

"No! Dammit, Wendy, I already told you we aren't dating! I don't know why everyone thinks we are!"

"You guys went to the last school dance together."

"We didn't have dates! We were going STAG!"

"All right," she said, folding her hands on the table between them. "You were at the library Saturday. What did you do Sunday?"

"I went to the movies with... Kyle..." He trailed off, then his tone turned defensive. "So what! We go to the movies all the time!"

Wendy gave him a look. "That's sort of the point, Stan."

--

Kyle scowled down at the book in his hands.

It was after school and he was seated in the town library, and Kenny was off flirting with Rebecca Cogswald (one of the few girls in town who didn't slap him when he came onto them), and Cartman was reading Schindler's List and snickering.

Which was what was making him scowl. They'd been there for an hour and hadn't gotten any work done at all, and the report was due in two days, and Cartman and Kenny were jerking around and Stan hadn't even shown up.

He really wished they cared more about their grades. Or at all, really.

Cartman snickered again and Kyle finally snapped and flung his book at his head. He hoped it hurt a lot. He hoped he got a bloody nose, in fact.

"Jesus Christ!" Cartman screeched. "What the fuck is your problem, Jew?"

"Will you shut the fuck up, Cartman? The holocaust was not funny!"

"Aw, you mad because your chew toy's been avoiding you?"

"Shut up about Stan, too!" Kyle snarled, and chucked another book at him. There was nothing like taking it out on Cartman to make him feel better.

Cartman, however, ducked, and the book missed and just smacked into a shelf.

"Ey, you know what, Kyle?" He said irritably. "Screw you. I'm going home."

"You can't go home!" Kyle shouted. "We haven't finished our report yet!"

Cartman ignored him and headed toward the door. He would have exited it, too, had he not heard a clatter and some muted curses to his right. They sounded vaguely familiar and he wandered over curiously.

Wendy had been trying to hold a stack of books while simultaneously using the copier machine. She had discovered this was, in fact, physically impossible, if the number of books she'd just dropped on her foot was any indication.

She was hopping on one foot and rubbing her other when she heard an annoying, distinctive voice say, "That some sort of hippie rain dance?"

Wendy jumped and held unto the copier to steady herself, scowling at Cartman. "What do you want?"

"Or maybe you're trying to summon some flower power," Cartman went on, ignoring her. Wendy snorted and rolled her eyes.

"For your information, I dropped some books on my foot, all right?"

"That was stupid."

"I didn't do it on purpose!" she glared and turned back toward the copier, arranging a book and pushing the right buttons. "I've got to photocopy all this stuff because the librarian said checking out forty books was 'excessive,' but I won't know which ones I need until I read them all!"

"Kim Jong-il is easy," Cartman said in a dismissive tone of voice.

"He is not! I can't find a single thing he did that was beneficial!"

"So just look at the state of their economy and military and whatever before he came into power and after, and then claim any improvements were because of him and ignore everything else."

Wendy stared at him a moment. "... I can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"Because I can't claim he improved things if it was just a coincidence."

"Whatever, ho. Everyone else does it."

She glared. "God, with that attitude, it's no wonder you're failing every class."

"You should know that geniuses usually get bad grades. The school just isn't up to my level."

"I'm sure," Wendy said snidely. "You're lucky you have Kyle in your group."

"Lucky!" Cartman sounded incredulous.

"I know he'll just end up writing the whole thing himself because he got stuck with a couple of slackers like you and Kenny. You couldn't write a good report if you tried."

"I'll have you know I could write a better report than Jew-boy blindfolded. I just can't keep bailing him out forever, is all. If you light a match for a man, he's warm for a minute. If you set a man on fire, he's warm for the rest of his life."

"Whatever, Cartman," she said in a dismissive tone of voice, turning back to the copier machine. Cartman scowled at her back, then stormed back over to where Kyle was sitting and flung the copy of Schindler's List he was still carrying at the back of his head.

Unfortunately, as Kyle had assumed Cartman actually had gone home and wasn't expecting anything to be flung at his head, he didn't duck, and was whacked over the head with the volume. He whirled around in his seat, clutching the back of his head and giving Cartman a murderous look.

"Ow! What the fuck was that for?"

"Just giving you a taste of your own medicine. Or are you afraid for your genius intellect? Don't worry, I'm sure it will take more than a clubbing to the head to bring you down to the level of us mere mortals."

"What's wrong with you?" Kyle said, giving him a look and rubbing his neck. "What are you raving about?"

"Hey, dudes," Kenny said brightly, appearing from behind a bookcase and straightening his rumpled clothes. "Kyle," he said, "usually I don't like knowing where a chick's been before me, but I feel I must thank you for the work you did on Rebecca."

"My God, Kenny, shut the fuck up," Kyle said, making a face.

Kenny blinked a few times and glanced at the two of them. "You've been fighting," he attested firmly. "I guess that means Stan still hasn't shown up?"

--

Stan felt sort of bad about blowing off the library.

After all, as Wendy had pointed out, it was already Wednesday and they hadn't even started their paper. And without Kenny and himself around to distract them, Kyle and Cartman usually ended up trying to kill each other.

But hanging out with Kyle would just feel too weird. He needed to prove to himself that these rumors were just bullshit before he could be around him again. And there was only one person in town he could count on to be reasonable.

Stan found that his house was very easy to find, even though he hadn't been there for at least five years. He would have rang the doorbell, but he thought anything remotely related to music might set him off, so he knocked instead.

He waited for a minute or two, and then the door opened.

"... Stan?"

Chef sounded - and looked, actually - surprised. Stan didn't exactly blame him. He hadn't really seen him ever since he'd graduated from elementary school.

"Chef, I have problems."

"What's wrong?" Chef asked. He sounded like he'd expected that. Stan couldn't really blame him for that, either. Growing up in this town, he usually had problems.

"It's about Kyle."

"Oh," Chef said. "Well, I don't think I've got any songs that would really apply to that."

"Everyone thinks we're dating."

"Aren't you?"

"NO!"

"Okay, okay," Chef said, holding up his hands placidly. "I believe you."

"I don't know what to do," Stan said mournfully, walking in and slumping down on Chef's ugly couch.

"Well, Stan, you shouldn't let what other people think worry you-"

"It's not just that," Stan interrupted. Chef raised an eyebrow and Stan looked down at his shoes and picked at the couch's upholstery. "Um..." he said. "I think it might be true... not the part about us going out, obviously, but about Kyle being... you know..." Stan rubbed the back of his neck, his face turning a little red.

"Oh," Chef said.

"But," Stan blurted out, "Kyle doesn't act... He acts straight! He watches porn and he likes sports, even if he's shitty at them because he's built like a twig. And I always figured he was screwing around with Wendy behind my back, because they're locked up in his bedroom for two hours every Thursday and what sort of teenaged guy has a girl in his room and doesn't do anything about it?"

"Well-"

"A gay one," Stan answered his own question sullenly, sliding a little lower in his seat.

"Stan, I'm sure Kyle wouldn't go out with Wendy because of your history with her."

"Yeah, I know," Stan said glumly. "And, again. What sort of teenaged guy would turn down getting laid for a friend?"

"... You have a point," Chef admitted, looking at the ceiling. Stan groaned and Chef said, "Has Kyle done anything to make you think he likes you?"

"Well..." Stan hesitated. "He's not like, doodling my name in his notebooks or anything like that - I think. I've sort of been avoiding him all day."

"Well, Stan, I think you ought to make sure before you let it worry you."

"Yeah..." Stan said, looking at his boots. "Yeah, you're right," he sucked in a breath, got to his feet, and smiled. "Thanks, Chef."

"Anytime, children," he said, nodding toward the door. Stan let himself out, turning up his collar against the sudden cold wind. He crammed his hands into his pockets and headed home with his head down, kicking the snow in front of him.

Chef was right, Stan knew. He had to know for sure if Kyle liked him or not. He just couldn't keep avoiding him. And there was only one way to find out. He didn't really want to do it, but he didn't have any other options.

If he wanted to know how Kyle felt, he'd have to break into his room.

--

TBC