"Dude," Kenny said Saturday. They were at the park, playing basketball. Cartman hadn't been around for a while; he had been milking his broken nose for all it was worth and still hadn't come to school. Kyle felt a little nervous about that, but pushed it out of his head. Stan had said that Kenny had told him that he had gone to Cartman's house, and, to quote, "The piece of shit was just sitting on the couch, stuffing his face with ice cream." He was a wearing a brace on his nose, and he did look "fucking stupid," but, as far as Ken could tell, he was perfectly fine.

So, Kyle concluded, Cartman wasn't actively planning his demise, and that was good, and besides, the bastard hadn't managed to kill him yet, so he probably shouldn't worry too much.

"Yeah, man, what's up?" Kyle asked. He looked over at Stan, who was trying to beat his lay-up record, like he might actually hear them or something.

Kyle had managed to avoid talking to Kenny much at all since The Incident – and it's not like they ever really talked, anyway – and he had kind of hoped he'd never have to talk to him again.

"I don't know, man, why don't you tell me?" Kenny asked, and Kyle finally met his eyes.

"Excuse me?" His palms grew sweaty and disgusting.

"Dude," Kenny lowered his voice, "what the fuck have you got?"

"I haven't got anything!" Kyle said quickly. "What, do you mean, like, some money or something?"

Kenny raised an eyebrow at him.

Kyle tried to look innocent.

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Look, asshole, just come over to my house later."

Kyle was about to ask what for, but then Stan come running over. "Fuck! I was twenty short of beating my record. Do you think I could ever make it to three hundred?"

The next day, Kyle found himself at Kenny's house. He knocked on the door, wondering what the fuck he was even doing there as he shifted awkwardly from leg to leg.

"Stuart, answer the door!"

"I answered it last time, bitch!"

Kyle began to back away slowly, but then the door flung open. It was Kenny's Mother, and she looked a bit frazzled, but she smiled when she saw him.

"Oh, hello, Kyle."

"Hello, Mrs. McCormick. Um, is Kenny here?"

"He's out back playing with his fireworks. You wanna see him?"

She led the way to the back door, and Kyle followed her, careful not to step on the many pizza boxes and beer cans that littered the floor.

"You thirsty? We don't have any clean cups," Kenny's Mother motioned to the kitchen, "but if you wanna stick your head under the faucet, you could get some water that way."

"Um, really, I'm fine. Thank you, though."

Kenny was in the backyard just like his mother had said, but "the fireworks" he was playing with was actually just a large rocket that Kyle was fairly certain was illegal in the United States. Kenny was standing over it, smoking a cigarette, and Kyle wondered if that was the stupidest thing Kenny had ever done. He decided it probably wasn't.

"Hey, Kenny," he said as he approached him.

"Here, take this," Kenny said, holding the cigarette out to him. Kyle wrinkled his nose.

"I'd rather not."

"I'm trying to figure out how to send this damn thing off without exploding anything," Kenny explained, dropping the cig to the ground and grinding it with his shoe.

"Then what's the point of having a rocket?" Kyle asked.

Kenny ignored him and dropped to his knees. He grabbed the rocket between his legs and tilted it upward. "You're good with angles and shit, right? Will it hit Tom's if I let it go like this?"

"Look, dude, I don't know, all right?" Kyle was annoyed. "Dude, just take it to the pond or something."

Kyle and Kenny had never been particularly close. Kyle couldn't remember a time they had ever hung out on their own, but they definitely weren't enemies or anything. Kenny had started talking to him all the more recently because he was anxious not to be held back a year. He told Kyle that if he wasn't in the same grade as them, he'd never come to school, and then he'd never graduate. He told Kyle that he wanted to graduate high school because he wanted to make something of himself, unlike his deadbeat father. Kyle then asked Kenny about college. Kenny laughed, and said, "College is for fucktards."

Kenny seemed pretty into the rocket. Kyle groaned. "Look, is there a reason you called me over here or something? Because seriously, dude, it's not like I have all fucking day."

Kenny chuckled, but didn't turn to him. "Where you gotta be?"

Kyle flushed. He didn't really have plans, but that was beside the point. "Why?" he spat. "So you can just invite yourself along, dickmunch?"

"Okay, okay, you've made your point." Kenny stood and reached into his pocket. He furrowed his brow as he looked for something. "Hold out your hand."

"Why the fuck should I?" Kyle said, but then he did anyway.

Kenny dropped several small, pink pills into his outstretched hand. Kyle tried not to look at the visible layers of dirt on Kenny's fingers and the black gunk under his nails.

"What's this shit?"

"Ecstasy."

"For fuck's sake, Kenny."

"It's black market antibiotics. Take two today and then one a day 'til they're gone."

Of all the things Kyle expected, it certainly wasn't that. "Dude, you're seriously giving me medicine?"

"I'm pretty sure it's medicine," Kenny said. "It could be poison. But I probably didn't get them mixed up this time."

"Thanks, man," Kyle said, staring at the pills with wonder and a little bit of something else.

"What?" Kenny asked.

"It's just … how long have they been in your pocket?"

"Why? You think they might have lint on 'em or some shit?"

"No, no … It's just … I mean … And your hands …" The thought of putting the pills in his mouth now made Kyle a little nauseous.

Kenny coughed. "Jeez, Kyle, you're a fucking control freak. No wonder you like watching men get fucked."

Or, at least, that's what Kyle thought Kenny said, but by that point Kenny was back on the ground, messing around with that damn rocket.