A/N: Holy crap. Thank you guys for all of your positive feedback! I'm truly humbled! This story is pre-written, so I'll likely post the third chapter soon. This is just a short interlude. c:

This is how her morning starts:

"Wendy."

She flinches at the vile voice. Even puberty couldn't save Cartman from sounding insufferable sometimes.

"What?" she sighs, not bothering to turn.

"I have a prop—"

"No."

"But Wendy," he coos, leaning up on the locker beside her. She firmly keeps her gaze on what's in her locker. "This one's really gonna blow you away."

She cuts a glare toward him. He smiles sweetly.

"You're single, right?"

He asks it to humiliate her (what else could she expect from a snake.) He knows all about her breakup with Stan.

"Cool," he says when she doesn't answer, "so I was thinking, what if we were friends with benefits?"

At that, she actually has to scoff. "That's really fucking original."

"I know, right?"

"Fuck off. You know what the answer is."

In her ear, he says, "You didn't say that two years ago."

She smacks him, hard, on the face, but he's gotten a little tougher since they were kids and barely flinches. "Fuck. Off. Final answer."

"Come on, Wendy—you think I'm saying this shit because I want to?"

"No," she deadpans. "You're clearly being forced to."

He smirks.

"Two years later and you're asking me this shit now, too? Because Stan's out the picture? I mean, Jesus, it's not like I don't know what you're doing."

"Well no, ho, it's more like I'm horny, you're horny and just got dumped by the gaywad, school sucks, and, as we both know from experience, we work exceptionally well together in the bedroom. It's not that hard to figure out."

"Not horny, and not interested."

He leers at her. His voice borders on a sensual threat. "I can read the signs when you're turned on. Remember?"

She stiffens, whirling around toward his smug-ass face. It feels like the same old song and dance (it kind of is), but he's extremely good at laying traps just as much as she is walking into them. "You are so—"

Coolly, he says, "Don't say that like you have another choice."

And just the way he interrupts her—so assured of himself—infuriates her more.

"Oh yes I do: I'm not obligated to let you fuck me at all, even if I made that mistake in junior year." She slams her locker. "And I won't this time, or ever."

He smiles. "Whatever you say."

"You're disgusting," she says, determined to hurt him. "I'll die before I let you touch me."

"Again," he says. And she can't help it: her cheeks warm. "Just think about what I said."

"I won't," she snarls, just as the bell rings. He's still smiling as she turns around and marches to third period, face beet red.

That night, her phone vibrates.

+1-(719)-441-823: So whatcha thinkin about

Unknown number. Midway through her AP Physics homework, she shoots back a confused text.

Wendy: Uh who is this?

+1-(719)-441-823: Don't have my number saved, ho? Shame on you.

Her stomach drops. Of course.

+1-(719)-441-823: Well, since you asked so nicely, it's Eric. Cartman. The guy you've gone to school with since like, the beginning of time

+1-(719)-441-823: Kinda hurts that you didn't know my number. You only dated one of my best friends for what, eight years?

Rolling, her eyes, she almost doesn't reply until her phone buzzes again. And again. And again.

"WHAT," she screams at it as if Cartman can hear her. Three new texts.

Cartman: And to clarify what I meant earlier, I was asking if you were thinking about the thing I told you to think about

Cartman: Which you probably weren't

Cartman: You're prolly doing your hw or snorting Adderall or doing whatever the fuck it is you straight A students do

She's midway through firing back a nasty response when he interrupts her—figures, even through text, he'd find a way.

Cartman: Unless you were touching yourself

Cartman: In which case I'm very sorry I missed it.

Wendy: LEAVE. ME. ALONE.

Cartman: Yelling at me now? Lord, I must be interrupting something very...important

Frustrated, she tosses her phone on the bed and slips her headphones back on.

It's not until after she's finished with homework that she texts him back before going to sleep.

Wendy: I have been thinking about it.

Wendy: And the answer is no, hell no, 100% no, absolutely not, fuck no, not in a million years, one billion times NO.

He doesn't text her back for the next few days, and she's thinking maybe she's gotten rid of him for good.

What a fucking pipe dream.

"Hey, Wendy." At lunch, Kenny McCormick plants himself on the bench next to her, as if it hasn't been nearly six months since they've spoken.

"Hi," she replies cautiously.

Eighteen year old Kenny McCormick—she's not afraid to admit—is very nice to look at. He might still be poor, and a predator, and not-so-secretly dealing dope to pay for the Dodge Dart he drives to school, but his blond hair glows when the sunlight hits it and his eyes are so blue and clear that every weekend, a girl forgets all about his flaws.

Not that Wendy's that girl.

"What's up?"

"Nothin'." He examines his dirty fingernails, a portrait of forced nonchalance.

It's around this time that Wendy starts to go on high alert, because she remembers that while Kenny started to roll with a bad crowd in junior year, this did not isolate him from Eric Cartman. If anything, they got closer.

"Sooo…" His grin is sleazy when he looks at her. "I heard someone wants to hook up with Cartman?"

"What," Wendy squawks. His smile deepens.

"Hey, it's none of my business. Just wondering."

"That makes no sense, first of all, 'cause if it wasn't your business you wouldn't be asking—" She stops herself at the blank look on his face, changing tact to something that will make sense to him. "And when the fuck did he say that? Why are you even here, Kenny?"

"Whoa," he says. "Like I said, just wondering, that's all. No need to freak out."

"What, did you come by 'cause you figured it your friend lied about me putting out, I'd do it for you, too?"

He screws up his face (to his credit, no one ever said he was smart.) "Oh shit, he lied?"

"Looks like," she says, then shoves him hard.

Wendy: Who the fuck do you think you are?! Seriously? Telling your sleazy best friend that I came to YOU?

Wendy: You better PRAY Kenny is making shit up. Or you're DEAD

Cartman: It's so cute when hoes get angry

Cartman: I'm smoking out behind the bleachers, if you wanna throw down. I have a free fifth, so take your time. I got all fucking day ;)

Wendy decides it's worth skipping fifth period if she can put him in his fucking place.

"Ah, I hear angry footsteps," his singsong voice says as she approaches. "My bitch approacheth."

He's as smug as ever and veiled in cigarette smoke, so she does the only thing she can think of—she snatches the lit Camel from his mouth and stomps on it. Hard.

He glances down at it, cool as a cucumber. "Temper," he chides, popping another in his mouth. "Lucky for you I got a whole pack."

"Did you tell him?" she fumes.

He sighs out a plume of smoke. "Clarify the 'him' and the 'what.'"

"Did you tell Kenny that I'm putting out for you? When it's the other fucking way around?"

"Hell no—as much as I wish you would. You know how Kenny is, though. Boy's on every drug known to man." Cartman exhales. "He probably saw something on my phone and made some shit up in his broken-ass brain."

"So it's a coincidence that he chose me to be the girl pining after your micoprick?"

He flinches. "Ouch. First of all, ho, not micro. Second of all, I guess so, 'cause I'm not stupid enough to spread rumors about you...let alone to Kenny McCormick."

Wendy trembles. "Just tell him to stay the fuck away from me. Same to you, while you're at it."

He eyes her like she's sprouted a second head. "You cold or something?"

She rubs her arms through her paper-thin sweater. "Whatever. I'm going back inside, anyways."

"Here." He shrugs out of his jacket. "Take this. The last thing I need is you dying of hypothermia weighing on me."

She ignores his outstretched arm. "Hypothermia is only from water, you idiot."

"Blah blah blah, technical nerd shit." He rolls his eyes. "Take the fucking jacket."

Her teeth choose the wrong moment to chatter. "P-pass."

"Jesus, Wendy, your mouth is going blue and, since you won't let me warm it up with mine just yet—"

"Never," she interrupts.

"—just let go of your pride before you freeze to death. Christ."

She glares at him for a minute before, albeit very reluctantly and avoiding all eye contact, slips the jacket on over her shoulders.

And—okay. She'll confess: it's nice and warm.

He breathes out more smoke. "Better?"

She nods.

"See?" he says gently. "Not too hard to accept help once and a while."

"Aren't you cold now?" He was only wearing a henley underneath.

He shrugs. "Yeah, but it's no problem. Kenny and I are probably gonna go boost from the mall so I can just get another coat there."

She scoffs. "Shoplifting. Nice hobby."

He grins at her. "Hey, it makes me richer than any other dude in this school."

"And I'm just supposed to keep your jacket and wear it around?"

"Well, hey..." He shrugs, but the look on his face is suggestive. With a sigh, she closes her eyes.

"The answer's still no, Cartman."

"It's cool," he says, flicking his spent cigarette to the ground. "I'll find another way to thaw that icy heart of yours."

+1-(719)-260-8043: hey, jus wanted to say sorry for that shit i said to you earlier

+1-(719)-260-8043: cartman bout kicked my ass for it

Wendy: It's fine. I went to him and he explained everything

Wendy: This is Kenny, correct?

Kenny: yep

Kenny: told me he gave you his jacket tho? the fucks up with that, that motherfuker let me freeze my ASS OFF when we were kids then turns around and loans you his nicest jacket all cuz you started shaking a lil?

Kenny: lucky i got some shit at cherry creek or i'd be fuckin DEAD by now