((AN: In response to a Guest Review (due to its nature, I cannot respond privately), I'd like to apologize for the out-of-character writing in this story and general poor writing. I've been basing my impressions of these characters far more on other fanfictions I've read than on the show itself. For this story, it's too late to correct these cliches and predictable, lazy elements. I've already established the characters as they are in this fiction. On my next story, I'll be sure to pay greater attention to more accurate characterization. If you chose to continue reading despite these issues, thank you very much. I would greatly appreciate critical feedback if you do have the time, since I use fanfiction to try to improve my writing. Honest critical feedback just like that is very valuable to me. Thank you.))
I'm not sure why it feels so much better to have a creative skill praised than a critical one. It's not as if I'm making some great artistic impression of my soul. I had been spending the week here and there making little sketches of the people around me in hopes of showing improvement by the time I had Art Club again.
When I drew in some spare time after lunch, Cartman said I was turning into Kenny, but shittier, and Stan fidgets like crazy if I try to draw his face. But Kenny himself was positively beaming and always leaning over to give me tips. I guess it feels really good to share your interests with someone. I wonder if it would be that way if any of my friends were as into academics as I am. I've always felt a camaraderie with Wendy because we both take tests so seriously, but there's some elements of rivalry there too.
Come Monday, I'm really looking forward to Art Club, almost to the point of being nervous.
Kenny sauntered over to me at the end of sixth period, having already packed up his bag. I don't think he was taking notes properly. I packed quickly, because I didn't want to keep him waiting.
"You'd better show me your drawings this time," I teased, "You've been seeing mine all week."
"Sure, man!" Kenny replied.
Really, then? He sounded cheerful and that made me feel really cheerful.
We arrived in the quiet, peaceful classroom and sat in the same spot as last time. And just like last time, Kenny sat really close to me in that quiet, intimate space. I showed him the drawings I'd been doing of people he might not have seen yet.
"You drew me too," He said, smiling.
"Pretty much everyone in class," I said, laughing.
I'd really been drawing a lot.
"Aw," Kenny pretended to whine, "Now I don't feel special."
We drew together while we waited for the teacher, as we'd done before. My drawings turn out worlds better when Kenny helps. We drew sculpture girl again to see if I might have improved.
The sculpting girl had finished whatever she'd been working on last time. When class started, the teacher had her stand in front of the club and show it to everyone. I didn't really 'get it,' but it looked cool, and Mr. Carter heaped praise and advice on her in front of everyone until her smile seemed to split all the way across her face.
He looked through my sketchbook and praised me too.
"I'm very impressed, Kyle. This shows rapid growth. If you keep at it, I'm sure you could be a great artist someday. Right now, I think you'd benefit from learning perspective. And of course, honing your technique. That will come naturally in time. Very good."
I was positively glowing.
"Here's what I've been working on this week, sir," Said Kenny, presenting a certain page in his notebook. He didn't hide it, but I couldn't quite see what he'd been drawing.
"A different model this time," Said Mr. Carter, "It's been a while. I think it's very good you're remembering to step outside your comfort zone from time to time. It's definitely good. Your shading has once again improved. But, I feel it's not quite to the caliber of your other most recent works. Nothing is wrong in the technique... it seems a little rushed, is all. When did you start this one?"
Kenny seemed a little embarrassed. He crossed his legs under the table, bumping my knee.
"Well, that one was just today," Kenny admitted.
Since I'm new at this, it only takes less than an hour for a sketch. I understand it isn't the same for Kenny, though. I spotted the sketch – it was Red.
Mr. Carter agreed, "Don't you usually spent two or three days on a page? Did you make any others this week?"
"...A landscape," Said Kenny.
He presented a particular page.
"Good detail," Mr. Carter said, "Your sense of scale and realism are especially on point in this image. I'd even say the garbage, here, in the corner gives it a particular expression. But I would still say you did not put as much effort in as you do your usual works. This also took you a day, did it not?"
Kenny nodded. I felt a little like an interloper. It must be difficult to be admonished by a man like Mr. Carter.
"Is there a third one you did this week? One that took the normal three days?"
I would hate to be questioned by this man. There's something about the look in his eyes that would make him impossible to lie to.
Kenny nodded sheepishly and flipped back one more page.
"There," Said Mr. Carter, who now smiled, "You worked hard on this one. And it's a true to life image you drew from your head – the background makes the setting instantly recognizable and I know you weren't drawing that day. This one is particular is very good, Kenny. The pose is more alive than I've seen you work with. Very true to life. Your skill is growing, but it only shows when you put in the time. All in all, I am very impressed, Kenny."
Kenny nodded and Mr. Carter moved on.
"Let me see!" I hissed at Kenny.
"Sure, of course," Said Kenny, smiling.
He flipped to the first drawing he'd shown Mr. Carter.
Though I'd never really thought about it before, Red was really good looking. And even in black and white, she still looked distinct and alive. She showed a sideways smile to the viewer with a seductive expression. It was very Kenny to have drawn that.
"May I?" I asked, indicating the notebook.
"Sure," Said Kenny.
He seemed a little unsure. Probably embarrassed again. But he said it was okay, so I was definitely looking!
The landscape was near Stark's Pond. I'd actually walked right past that spot with Stan when he made he go running. In fact, I'd seen those bottles! ...Maybe I should have picked them up. I've been lazy lately.
I started to lift the next page and Kenny suddenly looked sharply away.
"Is it okay?" I asked, just to make sure.
I shouldn't really pressure him.
"Yeah," He said, "Feel free, none of them are weird."
That was an odd thing to say. I raised an eyebrow, but lifted the next page.
It was me. Right here where we sitting. I was staring down at a half-finished drawing of sculpture girl and smiling. The pose, I guess, was good. Kenny's art was good. It looked like my hand was moving. Like you were there and witnessing me draw. But it was strange. My smile seemed so serene, it didn't seem real. I could see a hazy reflection of a silhouette in my eye.
"Oh," I said.
Kenny fidgeted and leaned back casually, like he was trying too hard to be cool.
"It's really good," I said.
I didn't really know what else to say. This wasn't 'true to life' like Mr. Carter said it was. The person was recognizable as me... but this drawing was so handsome. And the pose was so smooth.
I flipped to another page.
This one was also me. In class. Staring at the viewer and smiling, almost laughing.
I flipped the page. It was inside of Kenny's room. Another one. It was Kenny's little sister, smiling with her gap tooth.
It was me. It was someone's hand, maybe Kenny's. It was me. It was me. It was Mr. Carter. Kenny's sister. Me. Stan. Me. Kenny's sister. Kenny's mom. Me, but Stan too. Cartman. Me. Me. Me. Some puddles in front of the school. A bit more of me and this and that, and him and her, and me.
I looked up at Kenny over the top of the notebook, hiding my face a little. He simply looked back at me. What... on earth? This was very awkward.
I mean, they weren't all of me. But... that was a lot. All kinds of poses. All kinds of expressions. Me glowering at the viewer. Eating an apple. Pointing at something with Stan. Smiling, mostly.
Well, cut to the chase.
"That's a lot of me," I said.
Kenny shrugged.
"You're hot, dude," Replied Kenny, "So it's fun to draw you."
"What?" I asked, too loud.
Sculpture girl turned from her new project to look at us. I ducked my head involuntarily.
"You're hot," Kenny repeated, a bit slower, as if I just hadn't heard, "It fun to draw attractive people. That's all."
Don't say weird things like that! My face turned red and I looked away.
"I mean..." I had another look at Kenny's most recent work.
I can't help but feel it's so awkward looking.
"I'm not, though," I said, holding it up to him, "You just draw me like that."
"It is true to life," He said, "See, look at this one."
He took the notebook and found a page of me with a huge pimple. I remembered that pimple. It was so annoying, I couldn't stop picking at it and made it bleed. But I'm not sure that fact that he drew me when I had a pimple proves anything.
I wasn't sure what I was feeling. It was awkward and confusing. I certainly didn't feel flattered or anything like that. It was weird. I think he was telling the truth.
But it's no big deal if Kenny finds me attractive. Kenny finds everyone attractive! And I mean, he drew his little sister a lot too. So it's obviously not like he's into me or anything like that. I drew him earlier in the week. Loads of people!
"Okay," I said, "Yeah, cool."
Kenny nodded. He seemed... relieved?
I returned to my sketching. I had been redrawing sculpture girl. I wanted to see if I really had improved. But it felt like I'd lost my place, as if I was reading a book, and I didn't feel like I could get back into it.
"I'm going to draw you," I suddenly decided.
"Ditto," Said Kenny.
And indeed, he was already facing me with his sketchbook and pencil.
It was awkward. I kept fidgeting even though Kenny stayed mostly still while he drew.
"Can I...?" He asked and I found him reaching towards my face with his hand.
I stayed still and he turned my face towards him. It was really warm in the club room.
"Just for a moment," He said.
"Kay," I replied.
There wasn't really anywhere to look but him. His pencil scratching on the paper made a soft, pleasant sound, but I had trouble relaxing. I fidgeted again.
"Almost done," Said Kenny.
"Sorry," I replied.
"Don't worry about it," Kenny said, "It's cute when you blush."
I looked away sharply without meaning to and quickly moved my head back into position. Kenny at least had the shame to look embarrassed.
"Just kind of thinking out loud," He said.
"Sure," I replied.
"It is true, though," He said.
...How was I supposed to respond to that? Don't say weird things, Kenny.
"An artist..." Kenny says, not looking up as he draws, "Can connect to the object, but should also be able to see its aesthetic qualities for himself, without bias. A writer should be able to write a character just how they are, not to promote some idea or make some argument. It's the same with drawing.
"You get it?" He said.
No.
I nodded.
Kenny smiled.
I guess what he meant was that I made aesthetic art and therefore the fact that we were friends was irrelevant.
"Okay, I've got it. You can get back to your drawing," Kenny said.
I went back to drawing silently. But now I couldn't focus. Kenny being so still – somehow it made it worse! He only moved his hand and stared at me, looking down at his paper, then up again. I was staring at him too, to draw him, so I kept meeting his eyes by accident.
"It's a little lopsided," He said.
"Huh?" I asked.
"My eye," He said.
"What?" I asked.
He laughed and pointed it out on my drawing.
"You made my eye super lopsided, man," He said.
I looked down at my paper. He was right. This graphite version of Kenny was a sick abomination. I'd fucked it up all over the place.
"Oh, damn it," I said, going in with the eraser to the eye.
Kenny laughed and suddenly I felt a little less tense. I laughed with him. We were still just friends, after all. And I felt like I knew Kenny a little bit better. At least I understood his feeling on art, just a little bit.
It doesn't mean that Kenny's into me. I mean, whenever he's been into someone, you can't get him to stop flirting and he's super obvious about it. I'm not dense. And it would be totally weird if Kenny liked me. So clearly he doesn't! Why would he? We're good friends.
Kenny shows me his progress on the newest drawing before the end of class. My expression looked nervous and my face was towards the viewer, but looking away.
"Looks really good," I say.
...What else am I supposed to say? Kenny seems happy with just that and smiles.
I kind of feel it would be nice if he found something else pretty, though. Just draw your sister, you weirdo!
He nudges me with his elbow as we leave class.
"We're cool?" He asks.
"Of course," I say, pushing him back.
He laughs and then we spend most of the walk to the late bus shoving each other and goofing off.
Of course we're cool.
I mean, obviously. He's not some creepy stalker. It would be kind of terrifying if he was into me and drew all of that.
-Break-
I felt, at least to some degree, that I had agreed to join Debate Club under duress. I wasn't going back there. Who knows, maybe we'd get stuck in a time loop as bad as fourth grade. I can think about college application stuff next round we have to repeat this year.
But Mr. Wright seems to be able to read my mind.
"We're all so looking forward to having in debate club again this afternoon," He says near the end of class, not even cornering me over the pretense of handing back a paper.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I won't be going. Debate really isn't for me after all," I say.
"Debate isn't for you?" He exclaims, as if shocked, "When you made our club captain and notoriously prideful Eric Cartman admit defeat?"
"It wasn't a fair topic," I replied, "The topic being so personal."
Cartman isn't in this class with me, but Kenny is. He's watching me from where our alphabetized seating has him a few rows back. I can tell, because I hear his pencil sounds. They're different than the students taking notes.
"Ah, I understand. You'd have to prove it wasn't a fluke if you ever came back. That can be difficult, I certainly understand that." Mr. Wright didn't smirk like Cartman, but he was still quickly getting under my skin.
I wondered how much the fat-ass had told him about my short temper. I was convinced they were in this together. And Mr. Wright was how Cartman had gone from simply enraging to so perfectly manipulative. He'd been taught.
I hummed in thought.
"Can you teach me to not get so mad?" I asked, not bothering to lead in or explain my train of thought, "When Cartman tricks me."
It was point blank, so the teacher stopped and considered it.
"Certainly," He said, "Debate is useful for learning self-control. But I admit, if you want to be as good as your friend Cartman, it might take a long time."
Especially since Cartman was improving too. But I was asking for a different skill than making people angry. I'm glad the teacher was honest with me, at least.
I hoped these weren't just Cartman's earlier taunts coming back to haunt me. Maybe debate really could teach me to hone my temper.
If Token hadn't agreed to be my partner last time, I definitely wouldn't have gone.
"Wasn't sure I'd see you here again," He admitted when I approached the group, "But I'm really glad. Too many people don't give debate a chance, just because of assholes like Cartman."
"Cartman could drive a cat out of a open air fish market," I said.
Token clearly hadn't heard that expression and laughed. I'd never been really close to him personally, but I'd known Token growing up. He was a solid guy I could get along with really easily. He forgets he's rich sometimes and acts a bit like an asshole, but he doesn't mean to so its fine.
"You came back!" Called Wendy, walking over.
She looked cheerful. I kind of wonder if she's back with Stan. But I'm going running with him tomorrow, so I don't see much point in questioning her right now, in public.
"As long as I don't have to partner with the fat-ass," I said.
Wendy laughed, "That's me, today."
"You?" I'm surprised.
What does Cartman have against Wendy?
Token nodded at me, "Those two pair up together all the time on partner days. They're probably the best in the class, after all – after me, of course?"
Wendy laughs. It's clearly a joke, but I know Token won his debate last time too and was apparently really good. I wonder how good Wendy is at debate. I wouldn't be surprised if she was talented at it.
"What are partner days, then?" I asked.
"Arguing in groups of four instead of two," Wendy said, "With a partner on your side. They're pretty often, but not as often as solo. Back when Cartman was more competitive, he demanded to be my partner so we could win. Now I think it's just a habit."
"Is he not competitive?" I asked, surprised.
"I just mean less so," Wendy said.
Right. I nodded, but I had a bad feeling about this. That's two potential spaces Cartman could use to fuck with me. If he's pairing with Wendy, he'd have an 'in' since Wendy and I are friends. Surely my luck isn't that terrible though, is it?
"Should the school institute uniforms?" Token read out loud, "I've done this one before."
"Boring!" Says Cartman, putting his hands behind his head, "We should make up our own topic then. I don't want Token to get an advantage. Rich fuck already has plenty of those."
Token crumples the paper in his hand and I feel a sense of Deja Vu.
"Actually, returning to topics can be really interesting," Wendy said, "It's a good way to test your improvement."
"But the topic itself is still boring," Cartman started, "What about-"
"Let's not spent all of our debate time arguing about the topic," I interjected, "It's fine, so let's get started."
Cartman waved his hands through the air, as if acquiescing to some greedy demand.
"Fine. As you wish."
Token and I were somewhat lucky. Cartman and Wendy took the more difficult side of 'should the school introduce uniforms'. Wendy, at least, would prefer the more difficult side of a debate so she can grow.
It's slower paced than my argument with Cartman last time. We almost move in turns, each making a point or expanding on something our partner said. Despite our much easier topic, the evil pair of Cartman and Wendy make solid opponents. Token's good, but I'm still terrible.
"I disagree," I said to Cartman, "Uniforms don't always give a school a better impression. We should take into account the kinds of students our school would be appealing to. Not just from a monetary sense, either. In South Park, people care a lot about their particular look. In just this group, me, Wendy, and you, Cartman, are all wearing the same style of hat as we did when we were children."
Wendy unconsciously touched her lilac beret. It's a good point I just made. I felt fairly satisfied and leaned back in my chair.
"I completely agree," Said Cartman – I hate that, because he says it when he's about to say something rude, "But the student's preferences are all the more reason to institute a uniform. Token, wouldn't you like to see pretty girls like Wendy and Kyle walking down the hall in short plaid skirts?"
Token was startled and opened his eyes wide.
Both Wendy and I were furious and exclaimed at the same time:
"Cartman!"
"Just lightening the mood," He chuckled.
I'm at a loss to decide if that was a good move or not. He's gotten me good and mad, but Wendy, his partner, is mad too. On the other hand, I'm a lot worse at thinking and speaking when I'm angry and Wendy seems to do all right, only suffering a little.
Cartman has made a calculated loss.
"Can we stay on topic, please?" I huffed.
"Don't make jokes like that, Cartman," Wendy said.
It was certainly more offensive to me than Wendy, but I appreciate her outrage on my behalf.
I noticed Token looking a little distressed and having trouble getting back into the debate. Don't think about weird things, Token! He's clearly picturing something weird. That makes me uncomfortable. And that makes me angry. Not with him.
Fucking Cartman.
I strengthened my point.
"I believe strongly in the individuality of the students here – not just for the sake of fashion. You can pick each and every one of us out based on our profile. Everyone has a specific shape to their hat or their hair – I can see a person miles down the street, in the middle of thick crowd and recognize them instantly."
"If they're black, that is," Cartman interjected, but no one paid him much attention.
"We've been going to school here a long time – as students, it's our opinion that matters, not our parents. And South Park High isn't a school people decide to go to. It's the only school we have! Whether or not we have uniforms isn't going to affect people attending. So all that matters is the people here right now. And I far more strongly value my ability to pick people out of a crowd than not having to decide what to wear in the morning – fuck knows I wear the same thing anyway."
I shouldn't have cursed – we're lucky the teacher wasn't watching us at that moment – but I still felt I'd gotten my point across.
"I have to agree with that point," Wendy said, raising her hands in defeat, "Kyle makes a good argument here. We only have a minute left, don't we? "
"Of course," Says Token, still not fully recovered.
"Yes, yes, of course," Says Cartman, "I can see how important it would be for a midget to notice people – no one's ever going to be able to spot him."
I'm seeing red. Why does he always go for the personal attack?
Wendy scolds him, "Cartman!"
"Would you stop that already!" I snap, "All club, you keep going off topic and making 'jokes'. The rest of us are trying to be serious here!"
"I am being serious, Kahl," Said Cartman, "It's a legitimate strategy, so long as no one important catches you."
"We have less than a minute left," I say, "Why can't you give up on dumb shit like that? You're so annoying."
"Kyle," Token warned, "That's... a little off topic, too."
Cartman leaned forward, but I didn't lean back. I had plenty enough of losing that way last time.
"It's only fair," Said Cartman, "Believe it or not, I do approve of the idea of uniforms. You'd have to stop hiding your ginger-ness from all the innocents, who so wrongfully assume you're a normal person. Of course, when you spend half the class shaking like a dog, it starts to spill out anyway."
He quickly raises a hand and flicks a loose lock of curls that had slipped out of my hat without my knowledge.
"Oh, will you fuck off, Cartman!" I snap, slapping his hand.
The bell rings. Debate is over.
Cartman leaned back with the same satisfied smirk.
So apparently we won again, but I still felt as if I had lost.
Everyone is again pleased that Cartman so readily admits defeat. And I know everyone is seeing me red-faced and shivering again too.
"So far, a good track record, Broflovski," Said Mr. Wright.
I shook my head.
"We got the easier side of the topic. And if I'm being honest, I'm certain we would have lost had we been debating anyone but Cartman. He wasn't being serious."
"What?" Cartman replied, "You're being far too humble, Kahl. You and Token won that debate fair and square."
"You're setting me up to fail," I snapped at him.
The moment I get paired with someone who cares more about winning than making me angry, I'm done for. Maybe more importantly, I don't have an excuse to avoid Mr. Wright.
There's no debate to witness today. We're instructed to debate in the same groups again, but switch our teams around. I pair with Wendy this time. I think I'd actually prefer to pair with Cartman. That would at least stop him from being able to refute my every point.
"That was fun, wasn't it?" Cartman starts, "I must say Kahl, I am very impressed."
"Shut up and read the topic, fat-ass," I replied.
It's been a while since I called him fat. His eye twitched.
"Those are two mutually exclusive orders, but fine, I know what you mean," Cartman said.
He glances down at the paper in his hand, then suddenly rips it up in front of us. Wendy is annoyed.
"Boring!" Cartman said, singsong, "We should make up our own topic!"
"What did it say, Cartman?" Wendy asked.
I know asking that is useless. Cartman can make up whatever he wants. There's nothing to make him be truthful about it.
"Gay marriage," Said Cartman.
Oh, I really don't like that one. Religious or ethical questions are the worst. Someone would have to be the bad side and I'd feel like junk. Cartman knows that. And he'd spend the whole time finding new and inventive ways to call me gay. Cartman made that up, I'm certain.
"What do you have in mind?" I asked, "You've had all club to think about it."
Cartman smiled indulgently at me. My foot started to tap.
"We could do a boring, normal topic," He starts, looking at each of us one by one, "If we did something to spice it up."
"Cartman, we're not allowed to make bets," Wendy said, crossing her arms.
"Like that's ever stopped you before, Windy," Said Cartman, smirking.
Wendy gets a little red. We haven't even started.
"You have to take back what you said about my Dad last week," Said Token, "In front of homeroom."
I wasn't aware of the incident.
"Deal," Said Cartman, "Wait, we're on the same side, Token!"
"Admit to Mr. Wright that you cheated with your phone that one time," Said Wendy.
"Deal," Said Cartman.
"Promise to not try to debate me next week," I said, "Just leave me alone for the whole club. Two clubs in a row."
Cartman hesitated for a moment, then smiled.
"Deal," He said "Kiss me."
The three of us here who heard him are silent.
"What?" I asked flatly.
I can't even follow this line of reasoning enough to get mad. I'm just confused.
"If Token and I win, you have to kiss me," He said.
"Why?" I ask, raising an eyebrow and leaning back in my chair, stretching away from him.
He has an ulterior motive. Like the time he made the town believe we were gay. He did that twice, actually, now that I think about it. Getting Token together with Nicole and... I don't want to think about that again.
"Why aren't you all debating?" Mr. Wright ambled over to our group, who have been noticeably silent in our stunned state.
"Just finding the first point, Mr. Wright," Said Cartman.
"Well, hurry up and get started," The teacher said, "You won't learn anything sitting there."
"Fine," I snapped.
I'm looking at Cartman.
I'm not scared of you, I tried to make my eyes say.
"Kyle," Token says, showing his palms, as if trying to warn me or calm me down.
I reach out my hand and Cartman reaches out his own to shake, but I'm not reaching for him. He's surprised. I reach out my hand to Token.
Token is also surprised, but then understands, smiles and nods, shaking my hand.
"Three versus one?" Asks Wendy, who also gets the implication.
She might not normally approve of removing this challenge, but she has a chip in this game and we are friends.
"That's cheating!" Cartman cries out.
"You already agreed to a deal with me, didn't you?" Token mocked.
Cartman fumed for a moment, but shrugged. He's completely full of himself if he thinks he can win three-on-one, especially against people like Wendy and Token.
But the debate is still surprisingly intense. Cartman isn't giving up, even three to one. I guess that's because he has three separate bets he stands to lose. Maybe it's just because he's angry.
"In fact, democracy itself would prevent that kind of law from being passed!" Wendy declared.
We debated over the fairness of equal party representation in government vs population based representation. I prefer that topic.
Cartman gets annoyed as the debate goes on. When Mr. Wright came by, Token pretended to be on Cartman's side again for a little while, but he didn't make any good points during it. Cartman is obviously losing. I start feeling a little full of myself. Haughtiness isn't a good look on me.
Cartman's eye started twitching a lot and I couldn't help smiling. Maybe I'm even smirking. I bet I looked just like him, but I'm too proud to care right now. While Wendy makes another solid point, Cartman stares at me, narrow eyes, taking in my pleased expression.
And then Cartman seems to switch gears. He isn't insulting us anymore. He gets directly in all kinds of political points. Brings up precedents – Wendy decided this topic, so how can he have researched? And he's talking fast. Three of us versus one, but it's suddenly hard to get a word in edgewise. We flowed past the timer, not acknowledging any of us had heard it. Mr. Wright comes over to observe.
Cartman grew more and more passionate and deliberate. He stood up from his seat, his height and girth towering over the three of us sitting – and the rest of the class watching our feeble protests.
"Lack of support for the minor colonies is what caused the split off from Great Britain in the first place! Representation isn't only about the majority, the very opposite! I think every American would argue the same. The existence of gerrymandering is simple proof that these ideals don't hold true in the real world! We are no democracy either – we are a democratic republic! True fairness is achieved through a system representing the minority parties with the same distinctions as the majority!"
"That's the spirit, Cartman," Mr. Wright praised, even clapping his hands, "That's exactly the spirit – I'm so glad you've got back your drive. Not a single direct insult. And don't think I didn't notice Black's side switching there. Wanted a greater challenge did you, Cartman? And we have Broflovski here to thank for it, do we?"
"Huh?" I toned.
I was shell-shocked.
"My very favorite student had lost his drive. That – right there – is why Cartman has such a reputation."
Cartman leans back, putting his 'acting' face on again. That almost innocent face and voice he uses around all the teachers.
"Arguing with my childhood friend, the way we used to bicker like kids has finally inspired me again, Mr. Wright," Cartman said to Mr. Wright.
Lying sack of shit. What inspired him was fear of losing and the possibility of torturing somebody.
"Broflovski was a fantastic idea," Mutters Mr. Wright as he prepares to move on.
Now that we're finished making an embarrassing scene, everyone is able to go through their winners. We can't even lie about who won, everyone saw the end of the debate. Cartman is gloating. Wendy and Token gave me sheepish, shameful looks.
Well, it's not to say I haven't borne humiliation at the hands of Cartman before. It's going to be gay jokes for the next five months, maybe longer.
The class started to disperse, except for our group. I'm still shell shocked.
"Well, Kahl?" Cartman stood over me, a dark shadow that obscures the sun.
"Fuck off, Cartman," Said Wendy, leaning forward so she's slightly in front of me, "That kind of bet isn't okay, even if Kyle agreed."
I ignore her.
"Fine," I say, standing up and glowering at him.
He's full of himself!
Token almost puts his hand on his shoulder, as if to pull me away. Everyone does that. And even if I hate Cartman the most, it still irritates me. There's something more than my size that keeps making this happen. Keeps making people want to decide things for me. Wendy and Token here. But Stan was like that. Kenny started this whole thing having me go to Art Club. There's something... something...
But I don't have time to think about it right now. I'm not giving Cartman time to take charge of this situation. Once he started leaning down, I stood on my toes. Quickly – no one besides us four will see – I nudged the side of his face with my lips. Nothing to it. Then it's grab my bag and march out before my face gets even redder.
"What?" Cartman cries out, "Kahl, I didn't say the cheek!"
"You didn't say the lips, either," I reply over my shoulder.
Fuck off.
I've run into this problem before. Down the halls, I take a left and then a second left – directly away from bus pickup, but his long strides catch up to me immediately, so he isn't shaken by my direction – and like he has before, he grabs my arm and stops me short, painfully yanking at my shoulder.
"You knew what I meant. That's cheating," He says.
"Fuck off!" I reply.
Loudly. There's no one left in this hall but us, so I can curse to my heart's content.
"You always try to cheat in bets," Cartman hisses, tightening his fist, "Even back when we were kids. Just kiss me, you pussy! "
"I didn't -" I start to say.
But Cartman has put his lips over mine. He still holds my arm tightly in his, but his other hand has grabbed the side of my head. A sort of panic sets in. I'm not even thinking in terms of anger or disgust. It's an automatic reaction to push myself backwards and push Cartman off of me. But he steps forward again before my instinct can help me anymore. So I step backwards again.
"Cartman!" I say.
Don't. He pushes me back against the wall. He has one hand on either side of my head. I push at his arms, but he's stronger than I am. His mouth is over mine again and he's pressing into me in a way that makes it difficult to keep my mouth closed. I manage.
I kick and hit him with my arms. I'm not a total cripple. There's no way my scrabbling feet don't hurt. But he doesn't move. Then he does.
I gasp for air, because I hadn't been breathing.
"Now we're fair," Cartman says. His tone is indecipherable. Haughty? Irritated?
And he leaves down the hall.
My limbs are shaking, but not the way they do when I'm just angry. Honestly, I feel a little afraid. Just shocked from being cornered, I guess. Things aren't like when we were kids.
"Should I... tell a teacher?" A voice asks.
I look up. I'd been under the impression we were alone.
Clyde is standing in a doorway nook, face lit in blue from his phone. He would have been easy to miss.
"What are you doing here, Clyde?" I hiss, heading over to him.
My voice is low. I don't want anyone to know about this. I can't have anyone know about this.
"I missed the first bus, so I have to wait for the late one," He said.
I don't know why, but I'm absolutely fuming with him. When I get defensive, I get angry.
"Look man, I saw Cartman-" He started to say.
"You didn't see anything!" I reply, getting up close to him.
"Whoa, don't go getting pissed at me," He said, "That was kind of fucked up. I thought Cartman had been more chill the last four years. You should tell... Mr. Mackey or someone. I'll witness."
I'm shaking again.
"No one is going to know! You want me to be humiliated in front of everyone? If you tell anyone about that," I say, voice getting lower and lower, "I will personally ruin you, Clyde!"
"Geez, dude!" Says Clyde, his hands up, "Okay!"
I nod sharply and turn away, hurrying for the late bus. The whole ride, I can see Cartman in front of me, staring out the window. He keeps smiling and then frowning and fidgeting with his gloves.
I can feel Clyde's eyes on the back of my head. I turn around and give him the stink eye. He puts his hands up in surrender and I nod at him again.
I can't stop thinking about what happened. What the fuck is wrong with Cartman? Are we just supposed to go back to normal?
He's done more terrible things to me. Loads of times. But things are different now because we aren't little kids anymore.
I mean, I guess I understand it. Cartman obviously hates me. He did that to embarrass me and... freak me out. Well, he succeeded, didn't he? I wish I could wash out my mouth. I have to wait for a full bus ride.
Should I tell Stan? All he'd do is beat the crap out of Cartman and get in trouble.
It's gross. I'm gross right now.
And he'd probably end up telling the whole school. The last thing I want is for anyone to think Cartman actually likes me. He obviously hates my guts. The thought of someone like Cartman being into me is legitimately terrifying.
-Break-
I make a point of ignoring Cartman at every turn the next two days. I even spend lunch in the library. The guys know something is up, but I'm not budging. I'm not planning to do this forever. I just can't deal with his stupid face yet. He keeps making jokes at my expense, trying to get a rise out of me. And just looking weird. I can't stand this horrible pit in my stomach, making me so uncomfortable. It's my recklessness that let this happen. So I feel, anyway.
I'm actually looking forward to running Saturday morning. Pity it had to sleet.
The weather is miserable. Heavy sheets of sleet slide down off the roof passed my window. I sit at my desk and watch it. But then a figure in a raincoat walked up the drive.
I smiled. Stan would know I'd still be feeling moody. I get up to greet him as he comes inside.
"Hey, Ike," I heard him call.
"Kyle's upstairs," Is all Ike says in greeting.
My little brother can be kind of rude sometimes. But Stan doesn't mind. He's difficult to piss off. The opposite of me, but that just makes us better friends.
"Hey," I said as I got downstairs, "Here to play video games?"
Stan shook his head as he worked off his boots.
"There's lots of exercise we can do inside," He said, "It's no big deal."
"Ooh, exercise," Calls Ike from the kitchen, where he's working on homework.
"Shut up, Ike," I called back, smiling.
Stan followed me upstairs to my room, as usual.
"What did Cartman do?" He asked as we walked.
He's direct, but that's fine.
"Don't worry about it," I said, "I'm over it."
I kind of am. I don't know why, I'm just feeling cheerful right now. Stan shrugs.
We both took off our jackets and threw them over the back of my computer chair.
"So, sit-ups and stuff, like in PE?" I asked.
Stan nodded, "We'll stretch first, but yeah."
It's not the most fun activity, but being stronger would be good for me. My mind flashed back to when I couldn't push Cartman off of me and how scary that was. I shake the thought out of my head. I'm going to keep this good mood, so fuck off, Cartman!
Stan teaches me some stretches and we go through them together. Then sit-ups, which are fine if they hurt a little. Push-ups... I can't really do push-ups.
"Keep your arms against your body," Stan says, "Your elbows are sticking out."
I try that.
"It's way harder," I whined.
"You were doing it wrong," He said, "It's not a workout if you do it that way. And you can screw up your shoulders like that too."
So I've been doing push-ups wrong my whole life. I can't even do fake push-ups. That's great.
We take a break and have some water.
"Why do you like this so much?" I asked him.
Stan shrugged.
"It's so boring," I said, swirling my water in my cup.
"It's not always boring," Stan said, "Football's really fun, and wrestling. You just have to do this part so the fun part is more fun."
I'm not convinced. It must show on my face, because Stan laughed at me. I pouted for a moment, but can't help laughing with him.
"Want to try wrestling?" He asked.
I'm not sure. Stan takes my silence as a maybe.
"It is really fun!" He says, "Here, help me lay out something soft."
Sure, sure. We take the fluffy comforter from my bed and lay it down on the floor.
"It's not as thick as a weight pad, but it should be fine," Stan said.
"Okay," I replied.
I don't know the first thing about wrestling. Even when I watch Stan's meets, it just looks like a bunch of grunting and moving.
"Don't worry about holds and stuff yet," Stan said, "We'll use kid rules. You just have to hold the other person on the mat for three seconds."
"I'm only going to lose!" I protested, "You're like, five times my size!"
Stan laughed.
"I know, I know," He said, "So I'll have one hand behind my back, like this."
It looks uncomfortable to hold his arm behind him like that, but it makes a good handicap. Taking out his balance could be just as useful as shorting him an arm. I still really doubted that would enough for the person I'd become in high school to actually beat the school sports star at his second favorite game. My expression was amused rather than annoyed and Stan smiled and rolled his eyes.
"Do you have to be so competitive?" He asked.
Me? Competitive? Stan's the competitive one, he's the one who plays sports!
"If I can get you on the ground at all, say I won," I tell him.
"Sure," He said.
I plan to make him regret that. It's necessary to use roguery to win here. We stand apart from each other and Stan counts to three. The moment the game starts, I jump back and head for the door.
"What?" Stan cries, "Where are you going?"
"You said there was only one rule!" I laughed back at him.
"Staying on the mat is kind of implied!" Stan replied.
While he was still flabbergasted at my not-cheating, I took the chance to run, taking the stairs three at a time. With one hand behind his back, he'll be a little slower too. All I needed to do is get Stan on the ground. I took a sharp right downstairs and hide right around the corner in the kitchen. I held my breath and tried to still myself.
Ike raised his eyebrows at me.
"What are you...?" He starts to ask.
I put a finger over my mouth and shook my head.
I could hear Stan hurrying down stairs. He briefly pauses in the living room, but when he doesn't spot me, starts walking towards the kitchen. Thankfully, today Ike apparently considers himself above ratting me out.
"Ike," Stan starts to say as he steps in, "Did Kyle just run past-"
I've stuck my foot out to trip him. I caught his leg, but he doesn't go completely down. There's no way I'd be able to outrun him or try this again. I needed to press my advantage! Before Stan could recover, I shoved him with all my might.
"Are you guys having a fight?" Ike asked.
I was too elated to really respond to him.
"I won!" I declared.
"You cheated!" Responds Stan.
"Nope!" I responded, "There was only one rule and I-"
But Stan interrupted my gloating by taking my hat and ruffling up my hair. It's rough housing, like we used to do when we were kids. We were on a lot more equal footing back then, physically. I wonder if it's good our group diversified like we did. I feel like I have a lot I could learn from all of my friends. Everyone I'm close to has a talent I really lack.
"We're going to do that again properly," Stan says, "So I can show you what wrestling actually is."
I gave a wave to Ike, then Stan and I headed back upstairs.
"You're such a shithead, man," Stan complained.
His tone is good-natured, though.
Back in my room, Stan adds a new rule. No leaving the mat – that is, my bedspread on the floor here. I can't win like this. I'm well aware of that. But I think it's only fair to lose after pulling... not-cheating like that, so I agree.
With his arm behind his back again, Stan faces me down and counts. I hope he isn't actually annoyed. He does look a little bit peeved.
On three, he jumped at me, reaching with his free right arm. I make my own jump in response, over towards the left. We circle each other in this way for a just a moment, but there isn't a lot of mat for me to escape on. Stan grabs my shoulder, but like a snake, I shrug out of my jacket.
"It's more fun than I thought!" I joked at him.
"You do nothing but cheat!" Stan protested, tossing the jacket aside.
I really can't help it. It's fun teasing my friend like this. Staying on his left is the only way to make this last longer, but Stan is definitely a little annoyed with me, even if we are having fun. I can tell, because he gets serious. In only a moment, he's grabbed my shoulder again and pushed me on to the ground, falling with me to his knees. I twisted on instinct and broke his grip. Still, that didn't even last long enough for me to get up again. With his right hand, Stan pushed my shoulder down against the comforter and leaned over me, smiling almost proudly.
I grabbed his arm and tried to push him away, but he wasn't going anywhere. I didn't want to give up yet, though. I kicked at his knee with my feet and gained enough leverage to sit up slightly. He lifted the knee and set it down over my thighs, pushing the rest of my body down. No struggling would get him off.
There was no choice but to admit defeat, so I stopped and stared up at him, waiting for Stan to gloat over his victory like I had earlier. But the look on Stan's face was strange. He looked unhappy, almost like he was in pain. He stared right into my eyes, frowning. It made me nervous.
"Hey," I said, "Are you okay?"
The moment was really odd and tense. He didn't say anything. Didn't move a muscle. I wasn't really sure what to do or say.
"Three," He said.
Then he let go of me and sat back, leaning against the bed.
...It was definitely longer than three seconds, though. I sat up and looked at him. He was smiling now, but it didn't really reach his eyes. My shirt sleeve was really damp with sweat where his palm had gripped my shoulder. Our faces are both red from exercise.
It's not like he didn't hear me ask if he was okay. I don't feel like I should ask him again. Stan looks away from me – I guess I was staring – and scratches his face.
"We should do our homework, I think," He says.
I hesitate for half a second.
"Sure."
It's awkward until Stan goes home. I can't really bring myself to ask again if he's all right. But this reaction is similar to the one Stan had when he lent me his jacket, before. His face looked just like that.
The thoughts that ran through my head really needed to shut up. But I can't stop thinking that Stan was blushing. He seemed too red. And this is kind of like what happened with Cartman – I can't stop thinking that either. With Stan, it's different. I'm sure if he'd freaked me out and realized, he'd be up and off of me in seconds.
That weird face, though. Oh, it's stupid – we always used to rough house and nothing has truly changed. I can't face thoughts like my most trusted, best friend being... into me. That would be terrifying, terrifying, more than anything else!