There's a reference to Team America in this chapter. I couldn't help myself.

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Stan was leaning against the bus sign, staring moodily down at his feet. He would have liked to be in bed right now, eating soap and watching TV, but his mother had pulled the 'I'll call the doctor card,' so he'd had to stuff his things into his bag and grab a piece of toast on his way out the door.

After he'd gotten home yesterday he'd flopped back into bed and ran over what he'd uncovered in Kyle's room. (His face had heated up when he recalled the porn collection, and he'd buried it in his pillow, hoping halfheartedly that he'd suffocate to death.) He felt... God, he didn't even know. Like he'd been tricked out of a week or gone around in a circle or something. He simultaneously wanted and did not want to see Kyle. Because, well. He'd completely invaded his privacy for what had turned out to be nothing.

Nothing.

Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.

"Stan!"

Stan straightened, shifting his weight off of the frozen sign and back to his feet. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Kyle, who was waving at him with a surprised, pleased expression on his face.

Pleased because he liked him. Not because he liked him.

"Hey," he said a little sullenly.

"God, am I glad to see you," Kyle said, crunching through the snow and joining his side. "I always manage to forget quite how much I hate Cartman until I'm stuck in his company again. And Kenny's... tolerable in small doses only." His eyebrows rose a little in abrupt concern. "What were you sick with?"

"Oh... just a... sore throat."

"It's not contagious, right?"

Stan couldn't help but crack a small grin at Kyle's unabashed selfishness. It made him feel a little less guilty for lying about his health. "No."

"Good."

"So," Stan said, "did you get the report done?"

"God, we'd better have," Kyle let out a low growl that confused Stan utterly.

"Huh?"

"Fatass wrote it. Supposedly."

"Cartman?"

"Do you know any other fatasses?" Kyle asked, grinning a little.

"Why Cartman?"

"I had to meet Wendy and Kenny flaked out on us. Speaking of..." he said, narrowing his eyes as none other than Kenny made his way to the bus stop.

"Hey dudes," Kenny said

"Where the hell were you?" Kyle demanded, skipping morning pleasantries.

Kenny seemed to deliberate the point, then said quite simply, "Hell."

"Oh," Kyle said, his fury at being stood up switching to indifference at his friend's most resent demise. "So you were dead."

"Christ, don't cry your eyes out," Kenny said sarcastically. Then he said, "You'll be interested to know I did some very fascinating research."

"Really," Kyle said flatly.

"Really."

"And that would be...?"

"Hitler is a weakling when it comes to arm wrestling. Also, listening to German in like listening to someone with whooping cough."

Kyle rolled his eyes.

"So you got the report done, then?" Kenny said conversationally. "Weren't too busy sobbing over my grave?"

"Cartman did it."

Kenny looked genuinely unnerved. "What?"

"Cartman did it," Kyle repeated.

"Wait... so, you mean, you gave him the rough draft and he typed it up."

"No," Kyle said. "He did the whole thing."

Kenny stared at him. Then he said, "Are you sick in the head? What possessed you to let Cartman write a paper on Hitler?"

"You fags talking about me?" Cartman demanded, having finally arrived on the scene. Kenny turned to him, obviously intent on confirming what Kyle had said, but Kyle beat him to the punch.

"You had better," he said, glaring at him, "have the report."

"Relax, Jew. It's in my binder."

"All right, then, give it to me."

Cartman snorted. "I don't think so. I'm not letting you get your Jew-mits on it and jeopardize my grade."

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Cartman, it's a group project. We're all going to get the same grade."

"Precisely," Kyle said, glaring at him. "And the group doesn't trust you. Right, Stan?"

At that point, however, the bus pulled up, which saved Stan from responding. It was doubtful he would have, anyway, because he had resumed staring moodily at his feet when Kyle had mentioned Wendy and had been tuning his friends out.

He climbed the bus steps last, after Kyle, and Stan stared at his back while he argued with Cartman. He just... couldn't... decide what he felt. If Kyle liked him then it was weird, and it made him feel self-conscious and hypersensitive and... spastic, for lack of a better term.

But if Kyle didn't like him...

They used the same buses they had always used, which had always fit elementary students just fine, but not so much with high school students. Due to space restrictions, two people had to sit in a seat, and due to the ever-increasing size of the students, that meant the two people were crammed next to each other.

And that had never been a problem. Before.

Stan glanced down his thigh, which was shoved up against Kyle's (and he was still hanging half in the aisle), then up at Kyle's face. Kyle didn't notice, however, because Kyle was twisted around in his seat and yelling at Cartman, who was sitting behind them, with Kenny. Stan felt sorry for Kenny.

He directed his gaze down to his hands, which were in his lap, because that was the only place they could be that wasn't touching Kyle.

If Kyle didn't like him... well, he was entitled to a little disappointment, right? Knowing someone had a crush on you was flattering. It didn't mean he liked Kyle, or something. He'd just sort of liked the idea of Kyle liking him.

And Stan honestly couldn't decide how to feel about it. When he thought Kyle did, he felt flattered and awkward. When he thought Kyle didn't, he felt disappointed and relieved. And as soon as he was convinced Kyle didn't, Kyle said something or looked at him in a way that made him think he did.

"Fuck you, Cartman," Kyle was saying, turning back around in his seat. Kyle didn't keep his hands in his lap like Stan; he dangled his arms over the back of the seat, which meant his left was half draped over Stan's shoulders. He caught his eyes and grinned a little.

"Douches, both of them." Cartman and Kenny kicked the back of his seat. "Uff. Assholes. I'm glad I've got you back."

All credible evidence pointed to Kyle not liking him, Stan thought, as he colored a little and looked away.

But Kyle could have said 'I'm glad you're back.'

--

"... and in 2004, Kim Jong-il organized a mass peace rally..."

The morning had passed as normally as possible. Kyle and Cartman had kept arguing over who was more trustworthy to hold onto the report, and Kenny had scarcely escaped chemistry with his life.

Now history class had finally rolled around and Wendy was up at the front of the class with Jimmy, Veronica, and Andrew. Wendy was delivering the report, which Stan thought was a wise move, considering Jimmy's stuttering and the fact Andrew and Veronica were giggling and poking at each other, slapping each other's hands away and generally ignoring the rest of the class.

Wendy was having a little trouble, however, because Clyde and Craig were chatting in the corner and ignoring her, which was obviously aggravating her.

"Kim Jong-il is-"

Clyde said something and Craig snickered.

Wendy clenched her teeth. "Kim Jong-il-"

Craig gestured toward Bebe and muttered something under his breath.

"God damn it!" Wendy suddenly shouted, which made the class jump. "I am talking here and you will RESPECT MY AUTHORITAH!"

In the silence that followed, the only thing that could be heard was the buzzing of the fluorescent overhead lights. (God telling them they'd horribly misinterpreted the Ten Commandments, which was his misplaced grocery list, if you listened to Kyle.) Wendy certainly had Clyde and Craig's attention now. They, along with the rest of the class, were gaping at her.

"... Oh!" she cried, eyes wide, and clapped her hands over her mouth, the pages of her report fluttering to the ground. "Oh!" she said again, paling. She cast a startled glance in Cartman's direction, then made a break for the door.

Cartman promptly started after her, though Kyle made a dive for him and grabbed him by the back of the shirt.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Kyle hissed, outraged. "You have our report!"

Cartman broke out of his grip without answering, though he paused at the door long enough to flip him off. Kyle swore.

"... Mister Tedlock, Miss Depp, Mister Valmer, get on with it," Mr. Dorcas finally said.

Veronica snorted and brushed her hair over her shoulder. "I don't know anything about Kill Gong-ill," she said loftily.

"Me neither," Andrew said, though he had the decency to look sheepish.

"Well," Mr. Dorcas said, sounding pleased, "if you can't finish your report, you'll get an 'F'."

"I do!" Jimmy said quickly. "K-kim J... J... Jong-il wah-was-"

"'F'!" Mr. Dorcas boomed loudly and somewhat panicky. He obviously feared listening to Jimmy deliver the report. They sat down, dejected (except Veronica, who busted out a nail file and went to work without a care).

"Team Broflovski," Mr. Dorcas said with incredible amusement. "Your turn."

Kyle glared at him, then he bent down and started going through Cartman's backpack.

"If you don't have it," Mr. Dorcas went on in a tremendously pleased tone of voice, "I'll be forced to give you an 'F'-"

"Here it is!" Kyle said, distinctively relieved. Mr. Dorcas looked a little disappointed, but beckoned them toward the front of the room.

"Get on with it, then."

Kyle, along with Stan and Kenny, made his way to the front of the room. He glanced briefly at the other two, but it was pretty much understood without speaking that he would read the report; Kenny nearly never spoke in class, and Stan was staring moodily at his feet with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Kyle cleared his throat and looked down at the report. Anyway, if he was reading it, he could start improvising if Cartman's Jew bashing got too bad.

But by the time he'd gotten two paragraphs into it, Kyle's eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline. The paper was... good. Startlingly good. His grammar was sort of crappy and it could have used another rewrite, but Cartman made some good points. He brought up how Hitler had pulled Germany out of their depression, rebuilt their demolished army, and gave them back their pride.

Mr. Dorcas was scowling by the time he finished. He had obviously been hoping that Kyle would pitch a fit, or something. He gestured toward their desks with disgust.

"Sit down. All right, Miss Stevens-"

The lunch bell rang. Wendy's performance had wasted enough class time so that the last group couldn't present. Everyone rushed for the door before Mr. Dorcas had a chance to tell them they all had to stay until they were finished, which was just the sort of thing he'd do.

There was the customary rush to the lunch lines, and once everyone had gotten their food they moved outside and grabbed their usual lunch spots. It wasn't until everyone had settled down that anyone noticed Cartman and Wendy, who were standing in the middle of the quad, screaming at each other.

"I don't like you!" Wendy was shouting.

"Well, good!" Cartman was shouting back. "I don't like you either!"

"And I'd never go out with you!"

"I'd never ask you!"

"And I'm not free on Saturday!"

"Well you can go to Shakey's Pizza, but you'll be waiting for me all day 'cause I'm not going to show up!"

"Fine!" Wendy hollered.

"Fine!" Cartman yelled.

And then they both stomped in opposite directions.

"Damn," Kenny said. "One day those two are both going to snap and have the hottest sex ever."

Kyle gagged on his apple. "Dude!" he shrieked. "I'm never going to get that image out of my head now!"

"Aw, Stanley, you hear that? Kyle here is picturing Cartman naked."

Stan shifted uncomfortably; Kyle threw his carton of milk at Kenny, who ducked, and it instead hit Heidi, who was standing behind him. He grinned and twisted around in his seat, offering to lick it off for her. She looked stunned for a moment, as if still trying to figure out why her sweater was dripped wet, and then she snarled and punched Kenny in the face.

"Pervert," Kyle grumbled. "It would serve him right if she maced him again."

"Yeah," Stan agreed passively, picking at his food.

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TBC