Never Trust Your Friends: Chapter Two

Five days until the Party:

Wendy was nearly to her classroom when her best friend, Bebe Stevens, came up to her. Although, to be perfectly fair, cornered her would be a more appropriate phrase. Bebe was somewhat like a tornado. She had a unique ability to turn the most peaceful area into a flurry of activity and chaos.

Part of it, Wendy had observed, had to do with her general appearance. She was practically the incarnation of Marilyn Monroe, with her bouncy blond hair, massive breasts and hourglass figure. Every time she moved, she had every single boy in the room (and a few of the girls) swinging around to watch her. That was when the chaos came into play. As everyone turned to stare at Bebe's finer attributes, their concentration went straight to hell. People bumped into each other, lunch trays were dropped, and lockers were slammed shut on their owner's hands.

Just your typical reaction to Bebe the tornado.

Wendy was the first to admit that Bebe exuded sexual chemistry, and it had a definite effect on her environment. However, she was not typically one of the bookdroppers.

Apparently, today was not a typical day.

As she fell on her knees, Wendy tried hard not to curse out loud. Part of the reason that she had dropped her books was a genuine hurry to get to class. The other part was that she had been walking along with her head lowered, trying her best not to be seen by her perky blond friend. Any dream of that was lost when she felt Bebe's hand on her back, scaring the hell out of her and—there you have it—causing her to lose her books.

Now the entire hallway was staring at her, and there was only one way that it could get worse. Luckily, he didn't seem to be around—

"Hahaha! Look at that! The stupid ho can't even hold onto her books!"

Fuck.

Wendy finished gathering her things and stood with as much dignity as was possible under the circumstances. Thankfully, looking cool under horrible conditions was one of her strengths.

She sighed, glancing at Bebe. "I don't know how that jackass is always around when I do something stupid. It's like he's got a radar or something."

Bebe just smiled her characteristic 'I know all, and you know nothing' smile, and commented "yes, it does seem like he hovers around you an awful lot."

Wendy shrugged. "Yeah, just my luck." Bebe wanted to be an actress, and had always had an above average flare for the dramatic. She had almost gotten to the point that it didn't annoy her. Almost.

"So listen," she said, glancing behind her at the door. "I really need to get to class. Mrs. Flarebush takes off points for tardies."

Bebe snorted. "Sounds like a bitch to me. So, what are you wearing to the party?"

Wendy once again resisted the urge to curse. She had been avoiding this conversation for a month. She had been so close to getting away…

"Bebe, I can't come to the party."

You would have thought she had said that she liked to molest kids while murdering bunnies. Bebe's face paled, and she gasped. "What do you mean, you can't come? This is our senior. class. party! Even Butters and Tweek are coming!"

"Look Bebe, I really would like to go." Bullshit. "But the thing is the Saturday before final exams. I mean, who scheduled that?"

"Your boyfriend scheduled it, Wendy. As you would know if you ever saw him—or any of us, for that matter—anymore."

"You don't have to make it sound like I'm avoiding you purposely. I'm not." Double bullshit. "I mean, can I help it that we don't have the same lunch period anymore, and that all of you work most weekends?"

Bebe just shook her head. "Don't think you're fooling me, Wendy Testaburger. I see right through you. You are coming to this party if I have to drag you there."

She turned around and strutted away in that overdramatic way of hers, swinging her hips to an even greater degree than usual. Wendy thought about calling her back, but finally just sighed and leaned her head back against a random locker behind her.

What was she going to do?

This party was precisely what she needed to keep away from. She had seen random teen movies. She knew what to expect. This party would be nothing but a massive sex-fest for couples graduating high school—and, essentially, each other. A sort of a kiss-off to top off four years of excellent service.

She couldn't face that. It was exactly the sort of thing that she had been avoiding for months. She had her own personal reasons invested in avoiding sex with Stan. After what she'd found out this summer, there was no way that she could in good conscience—

She broke off the thought as the stillness of the hall suddenly presented itself to her, and she realized that she had to be at least five minutes late to a class less than three feet away.

She took her seat as all of her class mates looked on, and the bitch teacher—one of the few that Wendy hadn't been able to ingratiate herself with—scowled at her.

"Well, well, Miss Testaburger. So glad that you decided to show up," She said with a smirk in that ridiculously high pitched voice of hers. "You will notice a ten point reduction in your daily grade. Also, as I have already taken up the homework due today, I will not be able to give you credit."

Wendy rose in indignation. "But Mrs. Flarebush—"

"Kindly take your seat, and open your book to page 211." Clearly, she meant business.

Wendy just breathed in deeply, fighting the urge to scream. But then, as if by magic…

"Haha! Dumb bitch can't even get to class on time!"

Eric Cartman's voice drifted through the hallways, through the closed door, and into the classroom. Clearly from a distance, the mocking words were nonetheless extremely audible.

That was it.

"Fuck you, Cartman!" Wendy didn't even realize that she's stood up, until she heard her chair slam to the ground from the force of her rising. She was breathing heavily, face flushed.

And she knew that she was screwed.

"That's twenty points, and a week of detention." There was a wealth of satisfaction in the words.

Wendy just lowered her head to the desk as Cartman's mocking laughter echoed throughout the school.

Kyle Broflovski shook his head from his position across from Cartman at the lunch table. It had been five minutes since the asshole's latest abuse of Wendy Testaburger, during which time they had entered the lunchroom, gotten their food, and sat down.

He still hadn't stopped laughing.

"You suck, fatass."

Cartman just snickered harder.

"How do you even do that, man?" Kenny asked in his usual mumble. "It's like you've got a radar for that chick or something."

Cartman finally managed to recover. "Hey, can I help it that the bitch screws up so much? You can't help but notice."

Kyle just shook his head again. For some reason, he'd never been able to like Wendy very much. Maybe it was her almost obsessive compulsive drive to be the best at everything, despite who she may have to step on along the way. Maybe it was her almost Cartman-esque manipulation of everyone and everything around her.

Maybe it was something else.

At that thought, he instantly tried to avert his mind. He had found that he was a lot better off just avoiding that kind of thinking entirely.

Trying to get his focus back, he at least felt compelled to say something on Wendy's behalf. "You know, Cartman, if Stan ever catches on to how you're harassing his…girlfriend," the word tasted sour on his tongue, "he's going to kick your ass."

Cartman snorted. "Please. That homo's too busy playing butt-fairy with his football bitches to notice anything Wendy does. Besides, if he ever came up against a real man like me he'd run off screaming like the little girl that he is." He leaned back in his chair, smirking with self-satisfaction.

Kyle looked like he was about to come across the table and strangle him with his bare hands. Kenny, sitting next to Eric and unwilling to be caught in the crossfire, immediately felt the need to distract them both.

"You coming to the party, Cartman?" he mumbled through a mouth filled with lumpy mashed potatos. The cafeteria had never been the same since they lost Chef.

Cartman snorted. "Yeah, right. Spend my weekend hanging out with you freaks? Screw that! Besides, you know that Russell Crowe fighting show?"

Kyle just shook his head. "I can't believe that stupid show is in its eighth season."

Cartman continued, disregarding his comment. "Well, anyway, Russell Crowe's traveling to Ethiopia and fighting a poor person that weak. The winner gets a lifetime supply of Cheesy Poofs!"

"Sounds like your daydreams, fatass," Kyle muttered.

"Hey!"

Once again, it was Kenny's turn to interject. "Come on, Cartman. I'm going to get Stan to hire strippers!"

"Ooh, strippers," Bebe said, sitting down next to Kenny and absently reaching out to fondle his thigh. "Sounds like my kind of party!"

Bebe and Kenny had been dating for six months, ever since they discovered that they could enjoy great sex and an emotional connection, and that they were the only two people in the school who wouldn't get pissed when one of them decided to screw someone else.

Kyle frowned. "I think that he meant girl strippers, Bebe."

She just winked at him, using one of her carrots in a very suggestive manner. "I know."

Kyle shook his head. Kenny and Bebe were perfect for one another. They were the two biggest sluts that he knew.

Bebe sighed—moaned would be the more accurate description—and leaned back in the chair, pushing out her gargantuan breasts to an almost button-popping extent. "I can't wait for this party. I really need to just… cut loose!"

Kenny's eyes were fixed on his girlfriend's monstrous cleavage, with a slightly glazed expression.

Kyle looked at them both, and rolled his eyes. Then he glanced over at Cartman, who had by this time curled his lip up into a sneer and looked ready to cut loose with one of his viler insults.

He interrupted quickly. "So, Bebe, is Wendy coming?"

That seemed to distract Cartman, alright.

Bebe looked up from what appeared to be an interesting game of stare-down eye sex with her boyfriend to grin determinedly. "You bet she is!"

Kyle scowled. He'd hoped she had decided to stay home. She had the most annoying way of monopolizing Stan's time.

Cartman suddenly piped up, "So, what time is this crap-fest, anyway?"

"What do you care, fatass," Stan said as he sat his tray down next to Kyle. "I heard that you weren't coming, anyway."

"Stay out of my business, bitch!"

Stan just rolled his eyes.

"Too bad Wendy the bitch is coming to the party," Kenny announced. "That chick could bring a funeral down."

Stan didn't hear. By this time, he was completely immersed in conversation with Kyle. Bebe slapped her man lightly on the back of his head, and then began to make out with him.

Cartman's eyes narrowed into tiny slits. He covertly removed a small object from his pocket.

Across the table, Stan was asking Kyle, "So... are you bringing anyone to this party?

Kyle just shrugged.

Stan scowled. What the hell could he do with an answer like that? "What does that mean exactly?"

Kyle frowned. He was making it extremely difficult to avoid the subject. "I don't know, what's the point of a date? Kenny says that we'll have strippers." He tried to joke.

It wasn't a very funny joke.

Stan burst out. "Hell no, we're not having strippers! Since when do you like strippers, anyway!"

Kyle gave him a weird look. "Dude… what the hell's the matter with you?"

"Not a damn thing," Stan said, and focused his attention on mashing his potatoes violently with his fork.

Across the table, there was a barely audible series of ting sounds, like a bunch of tiny metal somethings were hitting the tile floor.

Kenny looked up from his lip-lock with Bebe. "Hey, did you guys hear something?"

"Like what, my dear friend and companion?" Eric asked, smiling innocently.

There was something terrifying about that smile.

"I'm not sure. It sounded like—"

Suddenly, Kenny's chair seemed to collapse. It fell to the ground with Kenny in it… but not before he hit his head on the table behind him, shattering his skull.

"Oh my God, they killed Kenny!"

"You bastards!"

Bebe fell to the floor beside him, burying her head in his chest and sobbing expertly. It was a daily even for her, and, theatrical as she was, it never seemed to get old.

Kyle and Stan, argument forgotten, got up to alert the janitor.

Cartman just smirked, returning the miniature screwdriver to his pocket and taking the opportunity to steal Stan and Kyle's desserts.

Notes: Okay, I am actually sort of proud of this chapter. I hope that you all will let me know what you think! I know that everyone says this, but reviews really do motivate me to work faster. By the way, I have general ideas for this story, but nothing totally definite. I will take into consideration any ideas that you all might have. I really appreciate the great reviews I have gotten so far!

Individually:

Seaouryou: Thanks so much! You have no idea how excited I was that you reviewed. I am so hooked on your newest fic that it isn't even funny.

Broken-SilverWings: Don't worry, Stan will figure it out. After much social-awkwardness, that is! 

Mina-chan: Thanks!

Danakagome: Thanks!

BlackNeonTears: I'm glad you like it! I will try to stay on track with my updates.

Lilchicky004: I love you too! Yeah, Stan's always been better with boys

Coffeey: Thanks!

Rakal: Thanks! If I screw up, feel free to let me know. Actually, I would appreciate it if you did.

Indiana Beach Bum: I appreciate the compliment! This is a new style for me, so I hope I am able to do it some small bit of justice.

By the way, I am now accepting anonymous reviews. I didn't realize that you had to correct that at first