A couple weeks went by where nothing really happened except for the one time that Christophe caught Kenny staring at him creepily in the hallway, but that was totally an accident so Kenny didn't think it even counted. Aside from that, Kenny couldn't really think of any excuses to approach him again and Christophe didn't seem particularly forthcoming. It was slightly infuriating, really. Usually after Kenny talked to a person a couple of times it meant that they were cool, but Christophe always just gave him this look like he was a piece of taxidermy or something--mildly interesting but mostly kind of weird.
The next time they spoke, it was an unremarkable sort of Tuesday. Kenny was sitting at his usual table in the cafeteria with Stan and Kyle and everyone else, sneaking chips out of Stan's bag when he wasn't looking. Usually Stan knew better than to leave his food unattended when Kenny was around, but today he was preoccupied with trying to finish yet more Trig homework while Kyle lectured him.
Meanwhile, further down the table, Clyde was using his white plastic spork as a catapult to launch bits of mashed potato at Tweek while Craig ridiculed him for bringing mashed potatoes to school. Tweek ignored both of them in favor of explaining his latest conspiracy theory to Token.
"They're onto us, man," Tweek was saying in a hushed and manic whisper. He twitched as some mashed potato landed in his hair. Token nodded solemnly.
Kenny frowned. Even if he could afford to smoke half as much weed as Token did, he didn't think he'd be able to stand hanging out with those guys on a regular basis. However, watching a scowling Kyle hover over Stan and talk about how disappointed he was, Kenny guessed he didn't have that much room to talk.
"No one would notice if I left right now," Kenny announced to no one in particular, just to see if it was true.
"Hey everyone," said Craig. "Clyde's a faggot." Clyde scowled and flicked some potatoes at Craig. Predictably, Craig flipped him off.
"Onto us," Tweek repeated, glancing wildly around the room. Kenny decided to take that as affirmation of his suspicions and slid out of his seat, patting Stan bracingly on the shoulder and then stealing the rest of his chips on his way out of the cafeteria.
He wandered around outside for a couple minutes, scaring a couple of underclassmen who were making out against a wall and trying to convince himself that he hadn't really left for any particular reason other than that he could. Shortly thereafter he gave up on that particular line of thinking and walked to the back of the school, looking around for Christophe.
He wasn't far away, standing by himself in the snow with his back against a scrubby tree. The weather was better than it'd been a few weeks ago, but it was still shitty. Kenny wondered why Christophe didn't just go inside. It would make the whole stalking thing Kenny had going on a lot easier, at least. He walked over to stand in front of Christophe, trying to think up some witty opening remark that would justify his being there again when the dude clearly didn't want to speak to him besides 'hi, I'm mad that you don't like me.'
"Aren't you cold?" Kenny asked brilliantly, and then wished that he were flexible enough to kick himself in the face, because seriously.
Christophe didn't bother to answer, instead peering inscrutably at Kenny through a plume of smoke. He didn't look like he had much of an opinion on Kenny being there, but if you took him at face value he didn't really look like he had opinions on anything at all. Except shovels. Kenny decided to count it as a win that he was even still standing there.
"Anyway," he plowed on, grinning at Christophe charmingly. "What's up?"
Christophe paused and gave Kenny a calculating look that he was becoming thoroughly used to before answering. "Nothing at all," he said, and either Kenny was insane or there was a quick upward tug at the corner of his mouth, like he'd almost wanted to smile but then suppressed it violently. Both notions seemed vaguely plausible. Christophe finished his cigarette and tossed it into the dingy pile of snow next to him, folding his arms and glancing at Kenny, then quickly away. They stood in silence for a few moments before he added, "And yourself?"
Christophe had barely said anything at all. If it weren't for the occasional rumors around school about him having killed several men in cold blood during the course of his mercenary work, he could conceivably be just your typical shovel-loving, nicotine-addicted loner. Therefore, Kenny was still unable to fathom why he was suddenly seized with the urgent and irrational desire to impress Christophe with his worldliness.
"Oh, you know," he said, waving his hand in the air in what he hoped was a worldly and impressive manner. Christophe nodded skeptically, appearing unswayed. Dammit.
"So hey," Kenny continued wildly, by this point only marginally aware of what the fuck he was saying. "My friend is having a thing this weekend, you should come." Inside himself, the sane part of his mind cried. That was a total lie. There was no thing. No one was having a thing.
Christophe frowned. "A thing," he repeated, like he could see inside Kenny's mind. Kenny reminded himself sternly that this was impossible and nodded, trying to appear cool and disaffected and as if he totally wasn't a little bit anxious to hear what Christophe would say.
"I'm busy, I think," he said, deftly producing another cigarette and lighting up. The words were halting, but Kenny could've sworn that he caught a glimpse of another one of those tiny and violently suppressed smiles. Full of renewed determination, Kenny dared to edge closer in from the polite few feet away that he had been.
"Are you sure?" he asked, adopting a tone of voice that never failed to work on Stan and more often than not caused Kyle to throw his hands up in defeat. "It's gonna be a pretty awesome thing. You know, booze and girls. And booze."
"I am sure," said Christophe, but this time Kenny was positive that he saw it. He couldn't be sure if it meant that Christophe was finally warming up to him or if he was just so amused by Kenny's jackassery that he was no longer able to hide it, but he decided to take it as a positive sign.
"It's only Tuesday," said Kenny. "Maybe you'll change your mind by the weekend." Of course, by this he meant 'I will bother you forever unless you change your mind by the weekend,' but Christophe didn't need to know that. Yet.
Christophe snorted and reached behind him to adjust his shovel, apparently unafraid of burns from the cigarette still held between his fingers. "I don't think I will," he said, but his words sounded more like a challenge than a definitive answer.
"We'll see," said Kenny magnanimously. This was more like it. He was about to get a jump start on the whole bothering thing when he heard a familiar voice behind him.
"Kenny? What the hell are you doing? Tweek's freaking out." Kenny winced and turned around. There stood Stan, shivering in the cold with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyebrows all but vanished into his hairline as he saw who Kenny was talking to. Talking at, really, but whatever.
Kenny gave Stan a look.
"No, like more than usual," said Stan, purposely misinterpreting it. "He's convinced he's going to get potato poisoning."
"Is that even a thing?" Kenny asked hopelessly. For some reason he felt as though he had just been caught doing something untoward. Christophe being his usual impassive self in the background didn't really help.
"Dunno." Stan shrugged, eyes darting from Kenny to Christophe with a slowly dawning expression of realization. Fucking Stan.
"God, let's go then," sighed Kenny, making sure that Stan was heading off in the direction of the cafeteria before glancing stealthily over his shoulder at Christophe.
Kenny had expected a blank stare, if any acknowledgement at all, but instead Christophe looked right at him and gave a sarcastic sort of wave. Kenny waved back, trying not to look too taken aback. He suddenly felt a little bit like a rainbow had punched him in the stomach.
Meanwhile, Stan had stopped in his tracks and was watching the whole exchange with interest. Dammit.
Kenny didn't even bother trying to convince Stan that he was wrong, because he knew it wouldn't make any difference. "Just don't tell Kyle," sighed Kenny, wondering when this had all turned into such a fucking hassle.
"Sure," said Stan, by this time grinning wildly. "I'm a steel trap, dude." He clicked his teeth together demonstratively. Kenny snorted, falling in step beside Stan for the rest of the walk back to the cafeteria.
They got back to their table just in time to see Craig literally fall onto the grimy cafeteria floor from laughing at Tweek, or Clyde, or some combination of the two of them. They were both glaring at him, anyway, even though Tweek's gaze was interrupted by occasional spasms.
Kenny rolled his eyes and surveyed the scene for a few moments, considering his options. There were only a few minutes left of lunch, so he'd have to make it quick. Eventually he settled on Token as a likely candidate and scooted a couple spaces down the hard plastic bench, crowding into his space. His sweater smelled almost oppressively of weed. Token, apparently unaffected by this invasion of boundaries, continuing to eat his sandwich like nothing was happening.
"Token," said Kenny. "Token, dude. Did I ever tell you that I love you?"
"Once or twice," said Token placidly, finishing his sandwich and closely examining the plastic wrap that it came in.
"You know what else I love? Parties. So you should totally have one, right?" Kenny continued, praying that in Token's brain that would somehow make sense. Token was quiet for a few moments, considering the proposition.
"Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah, my parents are out of town this weekend. Can you get some booze?"
"Done," Kenny promised gleefully. The main problem with convincing Christophe to come to a party and hang out was that there had been no party, and now that that was done with Kenny felt as though anything was possible.
--- --- ---
The next day went by agonizingly slowly. Kenny spent the majority of his classes either sleeping or doodling pictures of all his different teachers dying in imaginative and highly graphic ways, mostly taken from personal experience. When the lunch bell finally rang Kenny stumbled out of his Spanish class, yawning. He didn't even bother going to his lunch table, instead squinting blearily down at the miniscule buttons on his shitty prepaid phone as he sent Stan a heavily misspelled text saying that he wouldn't be there today. Confident that there wouldn't be any interruptions reminiscent of yesterday, Kenny walked down to the tree that Christophe had been standing by the other day.
Christophe himself wasn't there yet, so Kenny just sort of lurked around for a while waiting for him. Eventually he came sloping up, giving Kenny a startled sort of look when he was close enough to recognize him. He glanced around quickly like he wasn't sure whether he should just flee or if resistance was futile. To let him know that it was definitely the latter, Kenny waved cheerily.
"Did you change your mind about the party yet?" Kenny asked brightly when Christophe was close enough to hear him, offering up a cigarette that was again courtesy of Tweek.
Christophe took the cigarette, maybe not quite as warily as last time. Kenny considered this great progress. "I did not," he said, sounding almost amused.
"You totally should," said Kenny, undeterred. "There'll probably be pot. It's at Token's."
Christophe nodded, looking disinterested. Kenny frowned. People in South Park usually showed up looking hopeful if someone in the area even thought about trying to get some pot.
"Do you like anything?" Kenny wondered out loud, not really expecting an answer. However, Christophe looked like he was actually considering the question.
"Firearms," he said at last. "Digging. Not guard dogs."
Kenny blinked in surprise. That was probably the most words that Christophe had ever said to him at once. "Token doesn't have guard dogs. He does have a nice backyard, though. Perfect for digging." He peered into Christophe's face for signs of surrender. None were forthcoming.
"So whaddya say?" Kenny asked, after leaving a suitable amount of time for Christophe to be tempted by the idea of Token's guard-dogless backyard.
Christophe paused. Kenny began to gather up all his begging power, expecting him to refuse yet again.
"Maybe, then," he said issuing a cloud of smoke along with the words. Kenny had to actively stop himself from doing some kind of stupid victory dance. By this point he'd given up wondering why this was such a big deal to him.
Christophe rolled his eyes at Kenny's ill-disguised glee, and Kenny spent the rest of lunch valiantly struggling to change Christophe's maybe to a yes. Finally, when Kenny thought that a maybe was really going to be the best that he could get, Christophe sighed long-sufferingly.
"Yes, fine," he said, looking straight at Kenny. "I'll go."
"Awesome," said Kenny, beaming. "It's on Saturday at nine." The bell rang as Kenny spoke so he repeated the information louder, not about to give Christophe any excuses not to show up.
"We'll see," said Christophe, but he smiled fleetingly at Kenny before he left. Kenny watched him go. He was sort of starting to get that punched-in-the-stomach feeling again. Fucking weird.
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