Author's Note: See? Less than two years! Is your faith restored? XD Anyway, thank you thank you thank you to everyone who reviewed, seriously. It's always nice to know people are actually interested in reading this :P
ALL THE YOUNG DUDES
OCTOBER
Masquerading as a man with a reason
My charade is the event of the season
And if I claim to be a wise man, well
It surely means that I don't know
On a stormy sea of moving emotion
Tossed around I'm like a ship on the ocean
I set a course for winds of fortune
But I hear the voices say
Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more
Friday, October 4
"All right, Kyle what was so important that you had us meet you here? And where's Stan?" Kenny asked, looking around the abandoned school parking lot. It was four-thirty on a Friday – too late for there to be people still here after school, and too early for people to start showing up for the football game. Kyle looked around nervously.
"Look, this is the only place I can be sure he won't show up." Cartman scoffed.
"You're overestimating him, dude." This was probably true. But Kyle had rejected all of their houses, both Shakey's buildings, the library, and most other places in town as a meeting spot on the grounds that they were perfectly logical places to be on a Friday afternoon.
"Stan's birthday is coming up," Kyle told them. "Eighteen – it's important. And he said he wasn't planning on doing anything, so I think we should throw him a party." Cartman and Kenny looked skeptical.
"Maybe he doesn't want a party," Kenny suggested. "I mean if he wanted one he'd probably throw one himself." Kyle shook his head.
"This whole Wendy thing has his priorities all mixed up. Trust me, he's going to want a party, he just doesn't know it yet. Anyway, we can have it in Cartman's Shakey's and invite a bunch of people. And we can just get pizza from the real Shakey's or something. The party doesn't have to be really big."
"Yeah, but how are we going to invite people without him knowing? What if he sees an invitation?" Cartman pondered. Kyle stared.
"Last week we dumped manure all over the quarterback of the football team – and got away with it- and you think you can't handle a little surprise party? Dude." Cartman glared, and then snapped his fingers.
"Business cards."
"What?"
"Business cards. Look, they're small, and if you see one on the floor they don't look like anything special. If we do it online there's too big of a chance someone'll fuck up and post something about it so this is the best plan."
"All right, business cards it is." Kyle said. It wasn't a particularly good idea, but it was better than anything he'd come up with so far.
"We can pass them out next week to everyone we want to invite. Better not make it too many people." Kenny added. "It can be on the night of his birthday. Kyle, you can tell his parents we're planning something so they don't decide they want to do something with him."
"Why me?"
"Because, dude, you're the best at talking to parents." A valid point.
"All right, so I'll handle the Marshes, Cartman, you get the business cards – don't look at me like that, you're the one with the big-ass allowance – and Kenny you figure out how to pull off this party on no budget, you'll be good at that." Kenny flipped him off casually but nodded.
"And no one so much as mention any of this to anyone that doesn't need to know. I'm not even going to tell his parents the truth because there's no way Stan's dad will be able to keep the secret." Cartman scoffed.
"Please, like this is our first time operating in secrecy. This is going to be the easiest thing we've done all year. What should I put on the business cards? Just the time and place?" Kyle shook his head.
"No. I don't want to risk Stan getting ahold of one. Uhh… hang on." He dug around in his bag until he came up with a stack of post-it notes and a pen. It didn't really have to make sense – they would be handing out the cards in person so they would be able to explain everything on them. The cards just needed to serve as reminders of the time and place. "Okay, I've got it." He scribbled a few words onto the post-it and added a fake phone number at the bottom.
"Seriously?" Kenny said, leaning over to look at the post-it. "Isn't this taking it too far?" Cartman shrugged.
"Whatever dude, I'll get the cards. Let's just hope everyone we know isn't too stupid to understand this." Kyle nodded in agreement.
"And let's hope that Stan is."
Tuesday, October 8
Sheldon H. A. Kent - Excellent Yard Services
1-800-830-1019
(Bring drinks if possible)
Kyle looked at the business card he held in his hand and then back at Cartman. They were standing in the cold parking lot before school. It was much earlier than they would ordinarily have showed up, but they had to make sure they were there well before Stan. Kyle had even gotten his mom to drive him on the pretense of having a study group meeting. Which was true… sort of.
"What the hell, dude? 'Bring drinks if possible'? Who puts that on a business card?" Cartman waved a hand dismissively.
"Look, they're not real business cards, asshole. And if Stan sees one, well, they already don't make sense, so why would he suspect anyone? And someone might be able to get us beer," he added. Kyle sighed. They didn't have time to make new ones, so these would just have to do.
"All right," he said grudgingly. He took the stack of cards, split into thirds, pocketed one, and handed the other two to Kenny and Cartman. "Okay, so we'll hand these out over the next week whenever we can."
"And remember gentlemen – subtlety is key," said Cartman, instinctively taking over pep talk duties. "Our mission is to get as many losers as possible to this party, using any means necessary, and we-" They were interrupted by Stan's car careening into the lot, skidding slightly on some ice, and sliding smoothly into a parking space that was as far from Wendy's car as physically possible. They all hid the cards and Kenny pulled out a sheet of paper detailing Butters' demise, as planned, and they pretended to be looking over it as Stan walked up, scarf wrapped over his mouth and gloved hands pressing buttons on what looked to be some archaic handheld game.
"Well the only problem I see is where you're going to get all the cats," Cartman said, jabbing a finger at the paper. Kyle nodded in agreement, both for show and because Kenny's fake prank was just completely insane.
"I mean you'll have to have them with you beforehand, and then there's the problem of collecting them afterwards… oh hey Stan." Stan raised a hand in greeting, still looking at the screen. Kyle looked over at the game.
"Battleship? What the hell?" Stan looked up.
"My dad made me clean the attic this weekend and I found this. Pretty cool, huh?"
"Maybe in 1998," Kenny said wryly.
"No dude, it's awesome. You just like, pick numbers and-"
"Thanks, but I think we all know how to play Battleship," Kenny interrupted. "What I meant was that it's lame." Stan ignored this, but instead violently pressed a button, sinking the computer's submarine.
Cartman took his seat in government, making a mental list of who would receive a business card. If it was his party he knew that none of these assholes would have the pleasure of going, but, as he grudgingly reminded himself, this was for Stan, so he would suck it up and invite some people. But who?
Clyde was in his biology class and while he was dumb as a sack of bricks his older brother might be willing to get them beer. Token and Tweek were both in his PE class – they weren't that annoying. And he guessed he would invite Wendy, since she was in his math class, though she was all but dating Jack the jock now. Disgusting.
After the fiasco that was the debate, Cartman and Jack were, naturally, no longer sitting together. He had showed up to class the next day to find himself being ushered by the teacher to a seat in the front left of the room, while Jack was now sitting in the back right. Cartman's new desk partner was a pale, skinny boy with obviously dyed black hair and black fingernails, which looked to be the work of a sharpie. He wore all black and had a pair of ear buds slung around his neck at all times. In layman's terms, he looked like a tool.
His name was Trevor but a few glances through his things while he was in the bathroom told Cartman that his friends called him 'Nightmare', and also that he had a strange fondness for Japanese comic books. He also spoke exclusively in murmurs and spent his free time writing what looked like song lyrics or emo bullshit poetry in his notebook.
However, Trevor – or Nightmare, whatever – had one thing going for him: he wasn't Jack the jock. Because while the manure project had been a success, Jack was still able to walk around school with his head held high. He was still cool. He wasn't beaten.
And that was just unacceptable.
Kyle found the other boys sitting at their usual table during break. Cartman looked to be doing homework for once, Stan was still playing with the battleship game, and Kenny was measuring out what years of experience told Kyle was itching powder. He slid onto the bench next to Stan.
"Dude, you're still playing that?"
"Yeah, why?"
"I mean you can only sink a battleship so many times before it gets old." Stan shook his head.
"No way. This game has layers."
"He's just playing that dumb thing to take his mind off of you-know-who," Kenny said wisely, making a face at the beaker and shaking some of the dark powder back into the pouch. He was wearing a pair of latex gloves he'd no doubt lifted from one of the science classes – a must when dealing with itching powder, as they had all found out the hard way freshman year.
"What, Voldemort?" Cartman asked, not looking up from his book.
"What's the itching powder for?" Kyle asked, ignoring Cartman and his lame refrences.
"Butters," was Kenny's reply. Cartman looked up this time, slamming the book shut and stuffing it in his bag.
"Dude, I thought we said no more unauthorized pranks!"
"Look, assmaster," Kenny snapped, looking up from the beaker. "Someone's gotta keep that kid in line! And you're too busy studying or some shit, so I'm the one who has to do it. I'm being careful," he added.
"Still, we were going to lie low after the homecoming debacle," Cartman told him, lowering his voice. "Remember? Too much going on and people will start wondering what's up. I know this school is run by a bunch of dumbasses but they're not that dumb."
"I'm being careful," Kenny said irritably, sealing the beaker and putting both it and the bag back inside his backpack. He peeled off the gloves and tossed them into the garbage. "Butters hasn't even complained or anything. It's like God put him on this earth specifically for our amusement!" Kyle rolled his eyes. He had never really approved of the lengths the other boys went to in order to cause Butters pain.
"You know," he said. "One of these days you're going to end up in prison. And I am going to laugh and take pictures."
"OH SWEET JESUS! OH THAT BURNS!"
Kenny sat on the ground, back against a tree, contentedly watching Butters run around in circles. The beauty of itching powder in shoes rather than shorts was that it began gradually, as the powder worked its way through your socks. He was surprised it hadn't occurred to Butters to just take off his shoes, but, well, that was Butters for you.
"Excuse me?" Kenny looked up and saw a skinny sophomore of about fifteen standing in front of him. It was no one Kenny had seen before, but the kid looked designed to blend in – average features, untidy brown hair, glasses. "You're Kenny McCormick, aren't you?" Kenny stood up, dusting himself off, surprised that he almost towered over this kid.
"Who wants to know?"
"I'm Evan Harris," he said, sticking out his hand. Kenny ignored it – what the hell kind of teenager shook hands? "I heard about what you did last month, with the t-shirt thing." He pushed his glasses up on his nose nervously.
"That wasn't me," Kenny said automatically, "I dunno who did that. Picking on poor Butters like that." 'Poor Butters' was currently rolling around in the grass for some reason, moaning in abject misery. Kenny was beginning to wish someone would just hose him down.
"I'm not going to report you or anything," Evan said. "I actually… well, I was wondering…" Kenny motioned for him to spit it out. "How do you do it?"
"How do I do what?"
"How do you – well, prank people, and get away with it? And how do you think up stuff like that?" Kenny sighed.
"Look kid, you can't teach genius."
"It's just – no one really knows who I am," Evan said. "I'm a nobody. And I figure if I'm going to be nobody I might as well raise hell while I do it." Kenny paused. He could use an associate for some of the things he had planned, and the other boys were stuck in class during the time he and Butters had P.E. But Evan didn't know anything. He was more likely to be a liability than any kind of help.
Unless I train him.
It wouldn't be easy, but hell, it might be fun. And Kenny was always looking for new ways to entertain himself. Besides, Kenny had always thought that someday he would have to pass on his legacy to someone younger, who would carry on the tradition of being an asshole to those dumber than he was. Like Yoda, in a way. Finally he nodded.
"All right, but there are rules. Lots and lots of rules." Quick, Kenny, come up with some rules. "First, do nothing unless I tell you to. Nothing. Second, before you participate in any pranking whatsoever, you need to learn the ropes." Eric blinked.
"Don't you just like… draw on peoples' stuff? And tie their shoelaces together or whatever?" Damn, Kenny didn't realize anyone knew about the bleachers shoelaces incident.
"No, okay, that was a one-time thing and only because it was life or death. But there's a method. And you're going to learn it."
"Okay. So where do we start?" Kenny shook his head.
"Not here. There are eyes everywhere." There was no one around. "I'll find you when you're ready for your first lesson." There, that was ominous enough. The bell rang, and kids started filing back into the locker rooms. "May the force be with you," Kenny told him solemnly, and fled.
Kyle found Wendy towards the end of lunch, at her locker. Stan was safely back in the cafeteria, having a very long and very boring story told to him by Cartman, who, though puzzled at why Kyle wanted to deliver this particular invite, agreed that Stan needed to be distracted so he didn't see any of them talking to Wendy. In truth Kyle wanted to deliver this invitation himself because he didn't want Cartman to wreck any chance that she would actually show up, which seemed very likely to happen. And though there was something about Wendy that for some reason rubbed him the wrong way, Stan liked her, and so Kyle would do his best to make sure she was there.
"Hey Wendy," he said, standing beside her locker.
"Hi Kyle, what's up?" She grinned, looking friendly, if not a little wary. That was fair. He pulled one of their business cards out of his pocket and handed it over.
"We're throwing a surprise party for Stan," he explained. Wendy looked at the card for a minute, confused.
"Oh!" she said finally. "It's an anagram for 'Shakey's. That's really clever." Kyle grinned, feeling pleased with himself.
"And the phone number is the day and time, see? Saturday the nineteenth at eight-thirty." Wendy's face fell.
"I'm busy that night," she said, looking genuinely disappointed. "I'm hanging out with Jack." Kyle frowned.
"Could you maybe stop by anyway?" he asked. "We're trying to get as many people as we can to show up. I mean you only turn eighteen once, right?" Wendy bit her lip.
"Yeah, I mean it'll just take a second, and I'll need to drop off his present anyway." The bell rang, and the hall around them began filling with students. It was only a matter of time before Stan would be walking through here on his way to English.
"Hey," Wendy called. Kyle turned around. "You would know – what does Stan want for his birthday?"
"Uhh…" What did he want? Good question. "I dunno," Kyle said. Then, wanting to give her something, at least, "Well he's been really into Battleship lately." And then he bailed, rushing to get to his locker to get his textbooks before class, leaving a confused-looking Wendy in the hallway behind him.
Saturday, October 19
"Stan. Stan, wake up. St-Stan." Stan groaned and tried to free himself from the hand that was shaking him insistently. The hand refused to budge, however, and he was forced to open his eyes, only to find his father standing next to his bed, fully dressed. "Heyyy birthday boy." Stan looked at the clock.
"Dad it's seven in the morning. What the hell."
"That's right, and I'm taking my son out for breakfast." Stan had no desire for breakfast. In fact he had no desire to do anything but roll over and go back to sleep for two or three more hours. But years of humoring his father overpowered his laziness and so he found himself dressed and in the car in a matter of minutes. It was a silent drive over to Country Kitchen Buffet (the only restaurant open this early) with Randy humming to himself and Stan half asleep in the passenger's seat.
Country Kitchen was already packed with old people, but Stan and Randy found a table near the back. For all that it was called Country Kitchen Buffet, it was not in fact a buffet, so they perused their menus while waiting for their waitress to bring them coffee.
"Dad, why didn't we bring mom with us?" Stan asked, as much for something to say as anything else.
"Because, Stanley, I wanted to talk with you. Man to man."
"Oh Jesus." Randy put down his menu.
"That's right, son. Now you're a man, and so there are certain things you need to know." Stan wondered if anyone would notice if he killed himself with the butter knife.
"You know, dad, I really don't think that's-"
"Condoms," Randy said loudly, "Are only ninety-eight percent effective."
"HOLY SHIT WHY."
"I know, it's shocking, isn't it? But it's the truth."
This is hell. I must have died in my sleep and now I am in hell. Stan tried to hide behind his menu while he looked for a way out. He checked his phone – no birthday texts yet. But that was understandable; anyone who wasn't being cruelly tortured by their father would still be asleep. He tried another tactic.
"Look, dad." He said weakly, "They actually covered all this in health class like three years ago so… I'm actually good, but uh, thanks – thanks for the heads-up."
"Oh," Randy said, blinking in surprise. "Well in that case – income taxes. Son, do you know what itemized deduction is?" Stan slumped low in his chair -it was going to be a long morning.
As agreed, Kenny had figured out a way to get decorations for Stan's party on no budget at all.
As usual, his plan was very, very illegal.
He and Cartman stood outside South Park's one and only party supply store, staring in through the windows. It was just after noon, and the only person working was a kid that they recognized from school. He had graduated two years ago, and wasn't the smartest crayon in the box. Or something like that.
"So how did Kyle react when you told him you were going to steal everything for the party?" Cartman asked.
"Yeah I didn't tell him that part." Cartman snorted.
"How are you going to explain where you got everything, genius?"
"I figure by now he knows my methods well enough that a 'don't ask don't tell' policy will be just fine with him." Kenny said, opening the door to the shop. "Come on, we have to get everything back to Shakey's so we can decorate."
A bell above the door jingled slightly as they casually slipped into the store. It was empty, which was just going to make this whole endeavor more complicated. And even more annoyingly, all the birthday themed stuff was towards the front of the store, in plain view of the register. Luckily, Kenny had been prepared for this eventuality, and they had a plan. While Kenny went to go look at the Halloween decorations nearest to the birthday things, Cartman went up to the front desk to distract and mislead the clerk.
"Hello," he said innocently, "I'm looking for some decorations for my grandparents' golden anniversary. Could you show me where those are?" The guy put down his comic book and stood up.
"Yeah they're just towards the back of the store, over here." As he walked Cartman over, Kenny grabbed several rolls of blue and white crepe paper and a couple bags of balloons, and stuffed them under his shirt and sweater. He looked fat, but not particularly suspicious. Next he grabbed a few 'happy birthday' banners and stuffed them down the sides of his jeans, the tops secured in his waistband. And then a few more bags of balloons for good measure.
"Hmmm this gold is a little gaudy, do you maybe have anything in platinum, or silver?" came Cartman's voice from the back.
"Uhhh, no," the shop attendant replied. "The golden anniversary… well most of the decorations are gold." Kenny looked around, and then he spotted it. It was beautiful - his great white whale, the shoplifting Holy Grail. There was a tank of helium sitting behind the counter, and Kenny was going to steal it. He coughed three times, a signal to Cartman that he needed more time.
"Well all right," Cartman said to the assistant. "So which type of paper plates will look best with this lovely confetti – plain, or the ones with the little scallops?"
"Uhhh…"
Kenny glanced behind him – he could see the tops of their heads over the walls of decorations. As quietly as possible he snuck over behind the counter, eyeing the tank. It was probably about half Kenny's size and, sweet merciful heavens it was on wheels. This was going to be a cinch. Carefully he undid the length of bungee cord that bound the tank to one of the drawer handles in the counter – this store really needed better security – and then stuffed a couple spools of ribbon in his pockets.
"Look kid, I'm not some kind of interior decorator or something, I just work here because they let me read comic books if it's not busy."
"Oh I know," Cartman improvised. "I just was wondering your opinion. You see my gran, she's … she's very sick." His voice broke and Kenny prayed that he wouldn't get too carried away with this act. He rolled the tank about a foot, and one of the wheels let out a very distinct squeak. Damn. Wrapping both arms around the tank he lifted it up, and crept towards the door.
"I'm sorry," the assistant said quickly. "The scallops – the scallops look better." Kenny set the tank down outside, and then quickly leaned his head back into the store and made a bird call – the signal to bail out.
"You have such an eye for decoration," Cartman told him. "But uh," Kenny heard a click as Cartman snapped his phone open. "Oh look at that, Gran's dead, looks like I won't be needing this stuff after all. Thanks for your help, have a nice day!" And Cartman fled the store, running slightly to catch up with Kenny, who was already wheeling the tank down the street.
"That went well," Kenny said mildly. Cartman looked at the tank in surprise and admiration.
"Is that a fucking helium tank? Well played, Kenny. Well played."
"Okay, I think that might be the last of it." Kyle jammed the staple gun into the wall and stepped back, admiring the crepe paper that draped across the walls. It wasn't perfect, and they didn't have a ladder so it wasn't really very high up on the walls, but it was up, and it looked festive, and that was all that counted.
"The balloons are done too," Kenny said, tying one more to a string and releasing it to hang out on the ceiling with the others. Kyle still had no idea where or how they'd gotten the helium tank, but the balloons somehow made his crepe paper look less cheap and crappy. Cartman was on the phone in the corner, ordering pizzas from the real Shakey's.
"… and I'll need them to be ready by eight-thirty," he was saying in the worst fake voice imaginable. "Yes my name is … Mitch Connor, gotta go, see you then." He hung up quickly.
"Okay," Kyle said. "Setup's done." He checked his watch – it was five-thirty. "In an hour or so I'll text Stan and ask him if he wants to go to Raisins at eight-thirty. I'll go meet him at his place, and you two stay here and welcome the guests. We should get here around eight forty-five." Cartman nodded.
"At which time we will make everyone shut the fuck up and we'll turn off the lights," he supplied.
"Exactly."
Everything was turning out perfectly and Stan didn't have a clue as to what he was in for. Kyle was feeling pretty pleased with himself as he plopped down in a booth and put his feet up on the table. Now to text everyone to remind them to park over by the real Shakey's, and everything would be set.
Bzzt bzzt bzzt
Stan looked up from his Battleship game as his phone vibrated, signaling that he'd gotten text message. This was the first one he'd gotten all day. He put down the game and picked up his phone, snapping it open.
Hey Stan, happy birthday. Wanna celebrate at Raisins tonight with the guys?
Stan felt irrationally pissed off. It was already almost seven and he hadn't heard from any of them, and now they wanted to go out with him? What if he'd already had plans, or was going to do something with his parents? Those assholes.
Thanks dude. Sure, when?
At least the Raisins girls were always friendly, and the wings were awesome. And hey, since it was his birthday he would probably get free cake or something. Stan's stomach growled and he remembered that he'd skipped lunch out of spite.
We can leave at like 830. Can I bum a ride?
Typical. But it only made sense – he was only a few houses over, while Cartman and Kenny were in the same general area – despite the fact that their parents were in very different income brackets.
Yeah, just meet me here then.
He sat up, stretching, and then went to go take a shower and change out of his pajamas.
Kyle was ringing his doorbell at eight-thirty on the dot, and Stan charged downstairs, ready to get the hell out of this house. His parents were in the sitting room watching TV and sipping wine.
"Going out?" Sharon asked, watching as he buttoned up his coat and wrapped his scarf securely around his neck.
"Yeah, with Kyle. Is that cool with you guys?"
"Well you-" Randy began, but Sharon shot him a look and he shut up. That was… weird.
"It's fine, Stanley. Have fun!" she said brightly, and went back to watching Waste of Space or Your Kitchen Looks Like Shit or whatever dumb home improvement show they were watching. Saturdays were DIY Network day at the Marsh house and apparently his birthday was no exception.
"Okay," he said, still not sure what was going on. "Bye." He grabbed his keys off the nail by the door and slipped outside, tugging on his gloves. Kyle was leaning against his car, texting someone. "Hey dude," he said, and Kyle looked up, stuffing his phone in his pocket.
"Hey, happy birthday."
"Thanks." Kyle stood up, rubbing his hands together briskly.
"Here, I'll drive." Stan paused – Kyle had never asked to drive before. He didn't even think he knew how.
"You don't have a license."
"Yeah but I know how to drive a car. Besides, it's not like Barbrady's going to arrest me, the guy is all but comatose." He had a point – officer Barbrady was a little dim in the attic and generally spent his weekends haunting popular hangout places and harassing kids, asking them why they weren't in school. And anyway, it was his birthday, why the hell not. He tossed Kyle the keys. Kyle caught them easily and headed over to the driver's side of the car, getting in and adjusting the seat to fit his longer legs. Stan climbed into the passenger's seat and buckled himself in.
"Just don't hit anything," he warned, and Kyle snorted, started the engine, and pulled out of the driveway smoothly – and probably a lot more slowly than Stan would have.
"Please, like you're one to talk – you drive like a bat out of hell."
"But I never hit anything."
"Wendy Testaburger."
"Dude, weak!"
"Sorry. Hey d'you mind if we stop by Shakey's? I forgot your present there earlier." Ooh presents. Stan had already gotten some clothes, a few video games, and
"Yeah no problem. It had better be good though." Kyle grinned.
"Oh, it is."
Kyle was a surprisingly good driver, if incredibly slow. They got to Shakey's around eight forty-five. Surprisingly the other Shakey's looked really busy – the parking lot was packed. Kyle parked in the empty dirt lot next to Cartman's Shakey's and pulled out his phone and made a face.
"It's my mom," he explained, and quickly tapped out a message before stuffing his phone into the pocket of his forest-green coat.
"Should I just wait in the car?" Stan asked. Kyle shook his head.
"Nah, it might take me a while to find it, and it's freezing out here." Stan shrugged and followed Kyle into the dark building. Kyle flipped the light switch, and the room was illuminated.
"Surprise!" At least twenty people jumped out at him. Stan yelled and jumped before realizing that this was a surprise party – the room was filled with people from school and the air smelled like Shakey's pizza. There were streamers all over the walls, and a bunch of balloons clustered at the ceiling.
"Holy shit!" He exclaimed, looking at Kyle. "We're not really going to Raisins are we?" Kyle grinned again and passed him a beer.
"Hit the music, Kenny."
Stan was thoroughly enjoying his party.
There wasn't an excessive amount of people there – maybe thirty, all crammed towards the back of the Shakey's. But there was music playing loudly, and people talking and eating and someone had even produced beers from somewhere. Stan was making the rounds, edging around the room thanking people for showing up, a habit ingrained in him from a very young age. He glanced up, feeling a draft as the door opened, and noticed Wendy, standing nervously by the door, looking unfairly cute in her jeans, boots, and oversized sweater. She was clutching a gift bag and chewing on her lip. Stan extricated himself from the group of people he was standing with and walked across the room to her.
"Hey Wendy," Good. Normal. Keep that up.
"Hi," She said, smiling and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It looked so smooth. His fingers twitched. "Happy birthday! Did you like your surprise?"
"Yeah, I totally wasn't expecting anything like this." He glanced back towards Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny, all of whom were standing at the back, by the stereo they had unearthed from somewhere. By pure stroke of luck, Kenny happened to look over and catch his eye. He broke into a wide grin, gave Stan a thumbs-up, and reached over to turn the music up a couple of notches. "It's kind of loud in here," He said, thanking all the gods for Kenny, "Do you want to go outside?" She nodded, and he followed her out the door, breathing deeply, praying he wasn't about to make an idiot of himself. Again.
It was only October but already it was cold at night. The air stung Stan's face, and Wendy stuffed her hands into her pockets.
"Oh, I almost forgot – I came to bring you this," She said, handing over the bag. Stan took it and stuck his hand inside, pulling out a large glossy book called 'The History of Battleships in the U.S. Navy'. He looked at it for a moment, baffled. "Kyle told me you liked them." She said, shrugging. "I had no idea you were into stuff like that but I figured he would know best." Son of a bitch, Kyle. He fought down a laugh and looked up, grinning.
"It's perfect," He told her, "I definitely don't have this one. Thanks, Wendy." She smiled, looking relieved.
"Good, I was worried you would. Since when are you interested in boats?"
"It's kind of a new development." He confessed. He really was going to have to read this now. This was Wendy – she'd probably read it in line in the bookstore. She would ask him about it. But she was looking at him and smiling and her cheeks and nose had turned pink from the cold and somehow he found he didn't mind. "Are you sure you can't stay?" He asked, jerking his head towards the door. "We have pizza and music and – well that's kind of it, but it's warm in there, at least." She shook her head, looking genuinely remorseful.
"I can't – I have to go. Jack's waiting for me," She said, almost apologetically.
"Jack? Jack's here?" Stan said, looking around, as though the gorilla-shaped boy might be lurking along the side of the building.
"Next door, in the real Shakey's," she explained. "It seems like a fun party though."
"Well… I'll see you in class on Monday." She stepped forward and hugged him briefly, before turning and disappearing through the doors of the other Shakey's.
It was past midnight, and everyone else had gone. In the world of Saturday nights it was still relatively early, but everyone had other, cooler parties to attend, and the boys had happily watched them go. Finally it was just the four of them, sitting in their booth in Shakey's among the crepe paper and balloons, with four beers Kenny had snuck into the back to save for them. They were slightly warm, but they tasted of satisfaction. Kyle sipped at his and made a face – beer wasn't the best-tasting stuff in the world but he supposed as a red-blooded American male he'd have to learn to enjoy it. He was seated next to Stan, with Cartman and Kenny sitting across from them. For some reason a thick shiny book on battleships was sitting in front of Stan. Every once in a while he would run his hand over the cover, smiling to himself. Kyle decided he must be actually losing it.
"Good birthday, then?" He asked, grinning at Stan.
"Yeah man it was excellent." Another secret smile at the book, what the hell. "I can't believe you went to all the trouble to pull this off."
"Well the night isn't over yet," Cartman said, pushing a badly-wrapped box towards Stan. "Go on, open your present."
Cartman, having a huge allowance and a mother who just bought him shit for no reason, had only recently grasped the concept of the best presents not necessarily being the biggest and most expensive. Since then, however, he had always given the best presents, every year without fail. And so Kyle was surprised that when Stan opened the box, there was only a lone slip of paper inside. Stan, puzzled, picked it up.
"'A man only comes of age once'," he read. " 'And your present will happen to you when you least expect it. You're welcome.' Dude, I don't think I want this," Stan said, folding up the paper.
"Oh trust me," Cartman said, "You will." This was kind of ominous and frankly a little frightening coming from Cartman, but Kenny pushed his present forward and Stan began digging around in the bag. Kenny's presents, contrary to Cartman's, were usually stolen and usually stupid.
"It's… condoms." Stan said bleakly, pulling out handfuls. "A shit-ton of condoms."
"Lifted them from the Planned Parenthood van when it visited school one day," Kenny said. "Go on, there's more in there." Stan upended the bag, dumping the contents on the table. Condoms flew everywhere, along with bottles of lube, some porn magazines, and a pair of handcuffs. Stan laughed, and started gathering it all up and stuffing it back into the bag.
"Thanks Kenny, how thoughtful and disgusting of you."
"Laugh now but you never know when this might come in handy. Particularly the porn."
Kyle slid his present over to Stan – a box wrapped in blue paper covered in driedels – it was the only wrapping paper they'd had at home and he was rushing before he left for the party. Kyle was less present-intuitive than Cartman and less funny than Kenny but he did have the advantage of a steady allowance and being the person who knew Stan the best.
"Here you go, dude." Stan ripped the paper off the box in the most childish way possible, grabbing chunks of paper and pulling, rather than starting at the flaps on the side.
Inside the box was a Denver Broncos jersey, ordered from a specialty website Kyle had found back in September. Stan pulled it out reverently, sliding his fingers over the silky fabric, a look of wonder on his face.
"Where did you-"
"Turn it around." Stan did, and saw that above the '09' on the back was his last name, 'Marsh', printed out across the shoulders.
"Whoa," Stan said, stunned. For a second he was silent. Kyle understood. "Thanks," he said finally. He put a hand on Kyle's shoulder, and Kyle took a swig of beer. The alcohol felt pleasantly warm in his stomach and his head felt light. Kenny was already leafing through one of the porn magazines and Cartman was yawning and texting someone. Stan grinned, and Kyle smiled back.
"Happy birthday, Stan."
Thursday, October 24
Wendy sat quietly next to Cartman in math. She'd already finished all the homework for the day and was now reading – or rather pretending to read while actually texting , her phone concealed by her backpack, which she'd left on the desk. Jack kept texting her, and deciphering his texts was much more difficult than the half-dozen math problems she'd just finished.
hay bb u lkn 4wrd 2 r d8 2mrw? ;)
Chimps were more literate. She looked uneasily at the word 'date' (or rather, 'd8'). She herself had never used that word, and had always called it 'hanging out'. She guessed in high-school terms she and Jack were technically dating. She closed her phone with an audible 'snap', causing Cartman to look over at her.
Cartman wasn't having the easy time in this class that Wendy was. It was advanced – probably too advanced for him – but his mother had insisted that he take it. She said it would look good for college, as though Cartman would be going anywhere other than a junior college. He was still working on the assignment – only too problems in, to boot, but refused to ask her for help.
"Texting Jock?" he asked.
"That's really not any of your business," she said loftily, going back to her book.
"So that's a yes? Tell me, how does it feel to know you're committing bestiality with a yeti?" She bent her head, over her book so that her black hair fell over her face, concealing it from view.
"Shut up."
"Some anthropologists would kill for the privilege. Jane Goodall would love to be in your shoes." Her shoulders shook slightly and he thought he heard a very undignified snort.
"I said shut up." Was she seriously laughing at this? Since when did Wendy grow any kind of sense of humor? Just a few years ago she'd hit him for less than this.
"Isn't this how AIDS got started?" he asked, testing the waters again. "Someone had sex with a monkey or some shit? Don't be that guy, Wendy, who knows what he could be carrying."
"Oh God," she said, lifting her head from the book. She was grinning. "He does kind of look like a monkey. Especially when he's thinking."
"Good thing that almost never happens. How the hell are you dating him without killing yourself?" Wendy groaned and buried her face in her hands.
"I don't know. I didn't think we were dating but apparently he thinks we are." Cartman's ears perked up. This was relevant information. "He's nice, he's just so, so…"
"Retarded? Primordial? Hairy?" Cartman supplied, mentally taking notes. He still had to arrange Stan's birthday present and this was important field research.
"Simple," Wendy said. Cartman knew this was just a pretentious way of saying he was dumb as a rock and half as good-looking but before he could tell Wendy the bell rang, and she was quickly gathering up her things and rushing out of the classroom.
Kenny paced in front of the whiteboard, hands behind his back.
He and Evan had broken into an empty classroom at the beginning of lunch (a quick lesson in lock-picking – the locks on the doors at school were mere child's play and therefore perfect for beginners). Evan was sitting front row and center, an open notebook in the desk and a pen in his hand, which he was chewing thoughtfully – or nervously; the kid was so damn jumpy. He was going to have to get over that.
"The first thing to remember," Kenny said, "Is that planning is key. Never make something up on the fly unless you have to. Always stick to the plan."
"Really?" Evan asked, "I kind of thought you were more spontaneous." Kenny turned and stared him down, his steely blue gaze making Evan shudder.
"We are not some ragtag group of pranksters who are content to spend our lives placing whoopee cushions on chairs, kid. This is an art." Evan nodded, looking too afraid to speak. "Now," he began. "Planning. When planning an elaborate prank, each step must be outlined carefully, including prep work. This was you know exactly who is supposed to be where, and when." Evan was scribbling away in the notebook and Kenny grinned. God it felt good to be in charge for once. "It's also important to make sure you have all the materials you need." He pointed to the whiteboard, where he had carefully and lovingly outlined his next attack on Butters.
"But where would you get all those cats?" Evan asked.
"Now you begin to see the level of dedication that is required of you," Kenny said sagely. Evan pushed his glasses back on his nose, biting his lip thoughtfully.
"Though I guess if you could get the cats you could just keep them in carriers. You'd need an enclosed space, though, so they couldn't run off after. A small space, and it wouldn't be too hard to collect them again. And I mean they would have to have all their shots." Kenny nodded, though shots for the cats was not really a priority of his.
"Now you're beginning to think critically," he said. The kid showed promise. "But you're not thinking in terms of resources. What do we have at our disposal?" He was really hoping Evan would figure it out. Please let this kid be good for something he thought. I deserve a sidekick.
"I've got it!" Evan said happily, for the first time looking like he wasn't ready to bolt. "I know where we'd get the cats!"
Friday, October 31
It was almost ten o clock on Halloween, and Cartman was standing on a street corner dressed as Batman. He had left the house feeling confident and cool, much like Batman would, but after seeing no less than four Batmans on his way here, three of which were under than age of ten, he was beginning to rethink this costume choice. Cartman always went as whatever was coolest that year, but he had forgotten that Batman wasn't necessarily the most grown-up costume in the world.
And as he was planning to crash a college party tonight, maturity was key.
Finally he spotted Stan, Kyle, and Kenny walking towards him. Kenny had spiked his hair up but was otherwise dressed pretty normally, though more formal than usual. He looked like he had a dusting of glitter, or some shimmery powder over his skin. Stan was wearing a long black coat and had his hair slicked back from his face. He was wearing black trousers and a blue vest, with the top few buttons undone on his white shirt. Kyle's costume was the only one Cartman recognized – khaki shirt, dark brown pants, vest, bullwhip and that hat – he was obviously Indiana Jones. Regardless, he greeted them all the same.
"What the hell are you assholes supposed to be?"
"I'm Indiana Jones, fatass." Kyle offered cheerfully.
"I am a chick magnet." Kenny said proudly, and Cartman noticed that he was wearing fake fangs over his incisors. He still didn't get it.
"Dude you're dressed like a nerd and you're sparkling. What the fuck is attractive about that?"
"I'm Edward Cullen!" Kenny snapped. The other three just looked at him. "You know, from those books all the girls are shitting themselves over. He's like a vampire but he sparkles and he's Mormon – laugh all you want but I guarantee the ladies are going to love it."
"I'm Mr. Darcy." Stan volunteered, a touch of bitterness and self-loathing in his voice. This was at least a name Cartman was familiar with. "Pride and Prejudice is Wendy's favorite book, according to her Myspace."
"That's weak." Cartman informed him, but Stan looked like he already knew that. A lot. But regardless of how gay Kenny and Stan were being, they all had business to attend to. "Gentlemen, the reason I have asked you to meet me on this particular street corner is because it's approximately a block away from a sweet college party I heard about last week."
"Heard about from whom?" Kyle asked curiously.
"Clyde." Cartman answered smoothly. The truth was that he had overheard Clyde talking to someone else about it, but the other guys didn't need to know that. "Anyway, there's going to be alcohol and college girls and it's going to be totally kickass. Are you guys down?"
"I thought we were going to one of the high school parties, dude," Stan complained, "That's the only reason I'm dressed like some 19th-century asshole!"
"Come on, do the math. If Clyde is there, Bebe will be there, and if Bebe's there, a certain know-it-all whose hair you burned off will be too," Cartman told him. Once the Wendy situation was settled, the four of them walked down the block up to a one-story house with several cars in front. The windows were open, as was the door, and light spilled out, as well as some kind of electronic dance music. Cartman double-checked the house number, and they walked inside.
There was a table set up with various types of alcohol, and a few cases of beer beside it in the entryway, and beyond that was a crowd of people dancing with drinks in their hands. Cartman grabbed four beers and passed them out just as another Batman walked up to the table, accompanied by a girl in a black cat suit, a pair of dangerous-looking heels, and a headband with furry black ears attached. The girl turned to look at them and Cartman didn't need Stan's gurgle of anguish to tell him who it was.
"Hey Wendy." She was wearing very dark eye makeup and had drawn whiskers on herself but she was still easily recognizable, particularly when she grinned at them.
"Hi guys!" She said brightly, "Let me guess, you're obviously Batman," she told Cartman. "And you're Indiana Jones. Kenny are you supposed to be someone from Twilight?" Kenny nodded grinning but far from looking entranced, Wendy just rolled her eyes and turned to Stan. "And you're… someone … going to a funeral?" she guessed.
"I'm supposed to be Mr. Darcy," he muttered, and the expression on Wendy's face changed completely.
"Oh," she said. "I love that book. That's a great costume, Stan." He ventured a grin and she smiled back and for a moment Cartman thought Stan might actually do something smart like ask her to dance or offer to get her a drink but in the next moment the other Batman moved to stand next to her, putting a possessive hand around her waist.
"Hey guys," he grunted, and Cartman nearly vomited in rage. Jack the Jock, the incredible albino gorilla-man, was wearing the exact same Batman costume he was. This was unthinkable. This was unforgivable. "Oh, you're here," he had obviously spotted Cartman. "Come on Wendy, let's go dance." Wendy gave a little wave and then disappeared into the crowd with Jack.
"Oh my Christ," was all he could manage to say.
"Dude, that's weak," Kenny said, patting him on the shoulder sympathetically. A girl dressed as a slutty nurse walked up to the drink table. "That's my cue," he said, and sauntered over. To Cartman's shock and horror the girl seemed to know what Kenny was immediately, and led him into the middle of the crowd, giggling.
There was a very good chance tonight was going to totally suck balls.
A few hours later, Cartman stood in the corner, nursing a beer and fuming. Jock was wearing the exact same costume he was, there weren't very many college kids at this so-called college party, and his beer was warm. Kenny was chatting up the only attractive girl in the room, and Kyle and Stan were off 'smoking' on the balcony, which in their cases meant holding a lit cigarette, pretending to take a drag every now and then, and coughing a lot. Clyde and Bebe careened by, both looking absolutely wasted, and Clyde's elbow hit Cartman's causing him to nearly spill his beer.
"God dammit, Cyle, watch where you're going or I'll make you eat your parents!" He shouted after them as they disappeared into the next room. He turned around just in time to see Wendy walk over, teetering a little in her massive heels. She looked, surprisingly, a little drunk, though it was much more likely that Bebe had roofied her.
"There you are!" she said, and Cartman's eyebrows shot up. "I've been looking all over for you! This's a good party, right?" She was definitely a little drunk, what the hell. She stood in front of him, one arm draped over his shoulder for balance. "I want to tell you something." She paused to take a sip from whatever was in the red plastic cup she was clutching, as if to steel herself. "It's okay with me if we're dating." What the fuck? But she wasn't done. "I'm totally fine with it." She paused, and then nodded again, as though assuring herself. "Yeah, totally fine." She draped the arm holding the cup across his other shoulder, and looked up at him expectantly and Cartman realized what was going on.
She thought he was Jack.
Of all the fucking things to happen tonight, now he was getting mistaken for that asshole. They were of similar height and build, though Cartman was not as broad-shouldered or beefy, and nowhere near as blond. The batman costume hid that though, and the alcohol Wendy had obviously been consuming had done the rest.
He was just opening his mouth to call her a drunken bitch when she leaned forward and kissed him.
Kyle stood on the balcony holding his cigarette and trying not to cough. It was burning itself down, slowly but surely, and he was pretending to take a drag every now and then, and everyone but Stan – who was doing the same thing he was – was too drunk to notice. They were all college kids from the local community college. Stan and Kyle even knew some of them from high school.
"Dude, where's Johnson got to?" one of them asked.
"I dunno, we were supposed to get blazed later. Hey you know where we should go?"
"Where?"
"Taco Bell!"
"Dude that's like, poetic."
"I feel like I've seen my future," Stan muttered, and Kyle grinned. He wasn't sure yet where he was going to school but he knew it wouldn't be BYU, and he knew it wouldn't be anywhere out of state. There were a few options, but he was seriously considering junior college at this point, if only to give himself time to figure out what he wanted before he decided where to go. Applications were due in next month. Time was running out. He took another drink.
It was only a few seconds before the shock wore off and he grabbed her by the upper arms, pushing her off but making sure she wouldn't topple over completely, though he wasn't sure why he cared. Her black bob was slightly mussed, and one side of her drawn-on whiskers was smudged slightly. It was strange seeing Wendy like this, seeing her not just outside of school but outside of her beret hats and pleated skirts and minimal makeup. And it was even more jarring seeing her acting like this, like anything other than her carefully-controlled, uptight self.
Maybe she wasn't like that all the time, though. Maybe there was more to her than he had thought.
"I think I'm going to go sit down," she informed him, and teetered off in the direction of the front room. Cartman put his beer down on the table next to him and yanked off his Batman hood, running a hand through his hair in confusion.
This was Wendy, who was apparently now able to laugh at herself. Who suddenly thought he was funny. Who didn't hate him anymore, was good at math and bad at Spanish, and was reading something different every time he saw her. He didn't know how he knew all this. He didn't even know he had been paying attention.
"Oh shit."
The smokers had all cleared off the patio, leaving Stan and Kyle to their own devices. They put out their cigarettes and stood leaning over the metal fence that divided concrete and lawn, sipping their beers and listening to the sounds of the party behind them. Someone was puking noisily in the bushes, but overall it was pretty peaceful.
"Happy Halloween, Kyle," Stan said, holding his still mostly-full beer out.
"Happy Halloween." Kyle echoed, clinking his bottle against Stan's. "I thought college parties would be more exciting." Stan shrugged.
"They probably are when they're not full of high school kids." He pulled his coat closer around him. The clothes and the way he had his hair slicked back made him look older, his cheekbones more prominent without his shaggy hair getting in the way, the planes of his face sharper than Kyle remembered. Kyle shook himself slightly and put down the beer. That was enough of that. "At least I got to see Wendy in that cat suit though," he said, grinning. He cleared his throat. "So this is kind of belated, but uh, I know that the whole surprise party thing was your idea. Cartman and Kenny are both smart enough to pull it off but we both know they're kind of assholes."
"Yeah they are. They helped though." He said, wondering why Stan was bringing this up now.
"Well anyway, thanks," he said. "I was having kind of a crappy day before you texted and… just thanks." Kyle lifted his bottle again and took a sip, just for something to do with his hands.
"I'm expecting a full circus for my birthday," he informed Stan. "With elephants and dancing girls and shit." Stan leaned over and draped an arm across Kyle's shoulders, squeezing slightly.
"Thy will be done," he intoned, and straightened up. "I'm going to go see how the whole book character thing is working out for Kenny." And with that, he made his way back into the house, leaving Kyle alone on the patio, with flushed cheeks and a strange feeling in his stomach. Only it wasn't strange. He wished it was strange, but he knew exactly what this feeling was. Just like he knew exactly why he had been feeling less than charitable towards Wendy lately and why he looked forward to the drive to school in the morning.
Kyle's beer toppled over the railing to land with a soft thud in the grass.
Oh shit.
Author's Note Again: Hope you enjoyed it. Review, please, and you'll make me happy!