There'll be another update tomorrow.

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"Kyle, your storm drain..."

"I know. I think some huge-ass bird landed on it or something."

Kyle was searching his pockets for his house key. He finally found it and turned the doorknob, swinging the door open. Wendy followed him into the house, closing the door behind him and hugging her books to herself with one arm while keeping her bag on her shoulder with the other.

"God, it's freezing in here."

"Mom doesn't like heating an empty house. Hold on, I'll go turn on the heater," he said, kicking off his shoes and disappearing down the hall.

"Hey," Wendy heard him call from the kitchen. "You want something to eat?"

"No, I'm fine," she called back. "I'm just going to go up to your room."

Kyle made an acknowledging grunt and she headed up the stairs, keeping one hand up the handrail. She passed an air vent on her way up and could already feel the hot air pouring out of it.

Wendy had been in Kyle's room almost too many times to count. Surprisingly, neither his father nor his overbearing mother had so much as lifted an eyebrow at it. Stan had had far more of a problem with them studying there, and he used to routinely barge in on them 'unexpectedly,' obviously hoping to catch them in some sinful act.

She dumped her books on his desk and pulled out his extra chair, then glanced around the room. Her gaze fell in his window, and the clock-shaped hole in it that had been hastily patched up with some plastic and duct tape. She blinked and her eyebrows rose.

"I sincerely hope you weren't planning on changing your mind and taking some of my food," Kyle commented, coming in the door, a plate in hand. Wendy rolled her eyes and turned to face him.

"Don't worry; your chips are safe from my gluttonous appetite. I'm trying to watch my figure." She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder at his window. "What happened to your window?"

"Ah," he said. "Stan happened to my window. The patch job is crappy because I did it myself. I'm still trying to find the opportune moment to tell my parents."

Wendy furrowed her brow. "Where is your mom, anyway? The house's usually open by the time I come over."

"Some crusade."

"Ah," she said. She was starting to get used to Mrs. Broflovski. After all, she - along with the rest of the third grade - had heard Cartman's catchy jingle about the woman, but you really had to be around her to fully appreciate how true it was.

Wendy bent down and unlaced her boots as Kyle, frowning, put his plate down on his desk and wandered over to his bookcase.

"Something wrong?" Wendy asked, looking up as she unzipped her backpack and pulled out her notebooks and a binder.

"Yeah..." he trailed off and dropped to his knees, pulling out some DVDs and putting them back in the right order. "I think someone's been going through my stuff."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Your room is a pigsty. How can you even tell?"

"It's a systematic mess. Everything has a place. Its place just happens to be on the floor more often than not."

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Right, Kyle." She watched his back as he reorganized his movies. "Who do you think did it? Your mom?"

"No, she's never sneaky when she goes through my stuff. It'd be obvious if it was her."

"Who then? Ike?"

"I guess," Kyle said, standing up and walking back to his desk. Then both plopped down on chairs; Wendy pulled out her english notebook and Kyle picked up his snack. "Let's start with The Things They Carried."

"Mrumpf," Kyle said around a mouthful of chips, and got out his copy.

"Mr. Budge keeps bringing up cathartic moments and the Hero's Journey, so we better try and memorize the monomyth; I'm sure it'll be on the final. How much of it do you remember?"

"The hero gets into trouble. The hero gets out of trouble."

Wendy groaned a little. "No Kurt Vonnegut, Kyle. We don't start Slaughterhouse-Five until the next semester."

"All right, fine. Um... Well, there's departure, initiation, return, and reign and death."

Wendy flipped open her notebook to a fresh page and drew a hasty circle, which she divided up into four parts, labeling each accordingly. She drew several spokes around the circle, and then she turned her attention to the quarter that was labeled 'departure.'

"Okay," she said, "so the parts that have to do with departure are... The attempted murder, wound, and escape, and then the summons to adventure. The refusal, obviously, followed by the acquisition of a helper or some sort of supernatural aid..."

Kyle looked over her shoulder as she worked, then he chuckled a little. Wendy looked up.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just a little comforting, knowing there's always going to be someone out there dorkier than I am."

"Laugh all you want," she said, jabbing her pencil at his chest, "but it's because of my charts that I am number one in our graduating class, and you are only number two."

Kyle tried to look dignified while simultaneously cramming the rest of his chips into his mouth. Wendy cracked a grin.

"I'm glad, though. I thought you might still be writing your paper."

"Yeah," Kyle said, after swallowing. "I thought I'd have to blow you off, but then Cartman offered to write it."

Wendy dropped her pencil onto her notebook, and her eyes widened a little. "Cartman's writing it?"

"Yeah," he said again, nodding. "Weirdest thing, huh?" When she didn't answer him right away, he frowned and said, "Wendy? You okay?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," she said quickly. "I was just wondering, what about Stan?"

"Oh. Well... Stan's been avoiding me. Since Tuesday."

"O - oh?" she said, picking at her sleeve.

"Yeah, and it's really starting to annoy- wait."

Wendy picked at her sleeve faster. Kyle eyed her, frowning thoughtfully.

"How'd you know we still hadn't finished our paper...?"

"Women's intuition?"

"You've been talking to Stan," he said, sounding betrayed. "When?"

"Yesterday, all right?" she said, throwing up her hands. "We had lunch in the library under the supervision of that book-mobile-driver-turned-school-librarian. And he knows - well, at least, he suspects - look, I told you this would happen! And anyway, you should have told him years ago!"

Kyle scowled a little. "I know, all right?" he said, and pressed a hand to his forehead.

"He was bound to find out sooner or later," she added, and then seemed to decide his was feeling badly enough, because she reached out and patted his arm a little awkwardly.

"Look, it's not the end of the world."

"Hrn."

"It's not like he can avoid you forever. And, er. If he can, well, it's not like you don't know where he lives. You can just go break down his door - or window, I suppose, if you're feeling vindictive - and make him talk to you."

"You sort of suck at comforting people, Wendy," he said, grinning at her.

"Well at least I'm trying," she huffed, folding her arms.

"Please, don't strain yourself for my account."

"Speaking of doing things for other people..." she said, glancing at Kyle in what she hoped was a casual manner, "why's Cartman writing the paper?"

"God, beats me. I have no idea why that fat fuck does the things he does. He's a dumbass, anyway."

"He is not!" she burst out. Kyle raised an eyebrow, and she paled.

"Er, I mean, he has to be pretty smart, right? To trick people the way he does."

"That's not exactly a virtue, Wendy. And it's not exactly difficult to trick the morons that populate this town."

"Well..." she said, and frowned, as if desperately trying to come up with a rebuttal.

"Why are you so hung up on Cartman, Wendy?"

She colored. "I am not."

"Yes, you are. Take, for instance, the paper: why do you care if he's writing it?"

"Well - I just - look, we had a conversation, all right?"

"A conversation," Kyle repeated flatly.

"Yes, a conversation. And it was... halfway decent. And he gave me some advice on my paper that wasn't entirely horrible. I got to thinking..."

Kyle sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"... that, you know, he can be a nice person. Sometimes."

Kyle snorted. "No, he can't."

"He can to!" she snarled, because she didn't like being contradicted.

"No, Wendy, he seriously can't. He is always an evil, manipulative asshole. The only times he isn't is when he's being a deceptive, evil, manipulative asshole. I've never seen him genuinely care about anybody."

"Well I have," she muttered stubbornly.

"Oh?" Kyle sounded skeptical. "Who, then?"

"Me." Kyle stared at her and she colored a little. "I... look, I'm not saying I like him, or something ridiculous like that! It's just... why do you hate him so much?"

"What, do you want a list?"

"Kyle, really. What has he ever done that was so horrible?"

"Let's see," he said with mock concentration. "Horrible things Cartman has done... Horrible things Cartman has done..." Wendy scowled at him.

"Well, there was the time he started a hell-fearing cult to get ten million dollars."

"He didn't force anybody to join," Wendy grumbled.

"Tricked a bunch of women into abortion so that he could build a fast-food joint, wouldn't shut up about his hand puppet, locked Butters in a bomb shelter for, like, a week, joined the special olympics, and turned a bunch of gingers into a murderous mob."

"Still..." Wendy said. "I mean, still, that's not so bad..."

"He hacked up a kid's parents and fed them to him, Wendy. He's had someone killed."

"Well, so have I," she said, sitting up in her seat.

Kyle frowned. "Well, yeah... But... you were just a kid..."

"So was he," Wendy said, giving him a look.

"Fine," Kyle said. "You want a specific reason why I hate him? There are many, but let's say it's because he burned down the synagogue."

Wendy shifted around in her seat, obviously trying to think of a way to justify this. "Yeah... Um... But, you really hated having to do your Bar Mitzvah, right? You were whining about it all the time."

"So?"

"So if Cartman hadn't burned down the synagogue halfway through it you would have been really bored, right? You would have had to put up with your family and everything..." She frowned at the face he was making. "All I'm saying is, at least Cartman makes things interesting."

"Well, I could do with a lot less excitement in this town," Kyle grumbled.

"Fine," Wendy huffed, gathering her books and jamming her boots back on. "You know what? Screw you, Kyle. I'm going home."

And then she marched out his bedroom door. Kyle sat at his desk for a while, staring after her, and then he sucked in a breath and shook his head.

"Damn," he said, "but if that isn't one of the freakiest things I've ever heard."

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TBC