I almost gave you guys Bebe's side, but then I decided you're gonna have to wait :p. Reviews... please me :).
Kyle's doodling awful stick figures in the margins of his notebook again. This one has a lumpy head. That one's right leg is like, two times as long as the left. He doesn't know what's gotten into him lately. He realizes that he can't draw for his life, and it's not even like he's drawing the stupid things for a purpose. He doesn't bother giving them little unique features to differentiate them, it's just a mess of completely standard stick people. Kyle thinks that anyone looking over his shoulder right now probably thinks he's batshit crazy. Really though, maybe he's just bored. This class is boring. Really? Do they have to teach everyone that cosine squared plus sine squared is equal to one? Just look at the unit circle and it's so obvious. Kyle wonders if he should write it down anyway to get away from the stick people. He used to love math. He used to live for it, and dream of becoming a famous mathematician. Lately, though, he hates it, and that scares him. He isn't good at anything else.
On a whim, Kyle presses his pencil down hard at the head of one of his stick figures, and the lead piles off-kilter curly cues into something kind of resembling his own hair. After analyzing the self portrait, he tugs his grass green hat down from his head, and the jumbled mess of florid curls spills out. Kyle doesn't really know why or even question it anymore, but sometimes he just likes to hold his ushanka hat in his hands. Maybe it's because the stupid thing has been with him for so long, longer than Stan, even. He cranes his neck until his eyes find the blue and red hat that is unmistakeably Stanley Marsh. Stan looks just as bored as Kyle, maybe even a little more than that, and he gives Kyle a weak smile and a small salute before going back to his habit of watching the clock tick away the time. Kyle wonders what any of them are doing here anyway. He realizes he could just walk out if he wanted to. Instead, he gives another stick figure a poof-ball hat.
Suddenly, Kyle hears something crashing down the hallway towards room 134. He sighs, who's the idiot? Sure enough, Clyde Donovan lurches through the doorway, a thoroughly embarrassed expression etched into his face. Kyle doesn't see any reason for him to act this way. Clyde Dinovan arrives 10 minutes late to class every damn day. Clyde Donovan skids into the room and take his place two seats over every damn day. Clyde Donovan resumes his staring match with the Bebe Stevens' head. Just like he does every damn day. Actually, no one in this fucking room does anything different anymore. Kyle realises that he can't even remember what happened to him yesterday, because it mattered that little. He remembers a time when every day in South Park was a new God damned adventure. He remembers when Kenny McCormick even died that one time in the hospital, and he remembers when he randomly came back to life again. Kyle steals a sideways glance at his old friend, and remembers that one time he lodged a ninja star into Butters Stotch's left eye and they turned him into a dog, and the time when Kenny went to Jewbilee with him, and they gave soap statues to Moses. Kyle wonders why things can't be more like they used to, when there was never a dull moment, ever, and all he had to do was be a kid. Kyle realizes that he misses just being a kid. He realizes that this is why he hates math so much. Math is all rules and numbers. Sure, they pan out,but where's the adventure? Math, with all its rules and numbers, is boring. He gives another stick figure what Kenny likes to call "bed head" and a hooded parka that looks a lot more like a disproportionate rectangle with flaps than a piece of clothing.
Suddenly, the teacher is calling out for a volunteer. Usually, Kyle would raise his hand after a moment. It's what everyone is expecting him to do right now. Today though, he just doesn't. Today, Kyle Broflovski, number-motherfucking-extraordinaire, doesn't even lift his arm up to reach a scratch. Their teacher has no choice but to call on someone else. His eyes search the room, ignoring the kids that seem to be focused intently on his lesson. That's a mistake, Kyle decides. He should help the kids who want to learn, not hinder them and focus on the ones who couldn't give two fucks. Oh, figures he'd pick on Craig Tucker. Craig won't give two fucks for the sheer reason that he doesn't even have one. The guy just doesn't care. Kyle watches him take years walking up to the board, and scribble down the problem in his cat scratch handwriting. Quickly solving the problem on his own, Kyle thinks he got the same answer, but he can't tell if what Craig wrote is a 4 or a 9 under the square root symbol. He slides back into his seat and goes back to sleep. Bored bored bored. Bored as hell. Bored as fuck. And the clock is ticking away the time.
Then, Kyle has an idea. He realises that he can change the routine, change it for everyone. Frantically, like he might lose the thread weaving the plan, he rips out the note-less piece of paper, and scribbles down a message addressed to Stan. Folding the paper 3 times, Kyle gives the note to his best friend with an excited smirk, and waits for him to become just as inspired as he is. They need this, and Kyle realizes that it's about time.