Hi, everyone. Hope you've all been doing well. To the two guests that have mentioned it, I'm from the UK, where we spell it as "practise", especially in the context of this story (rehearsing something over and over again), so I hope that clears things up.

Kyle, the Pageant King

Chapter 10

Almost a month later, he was back in Denver, at the National Elite Faces pageant. Another nameless, air-conditioned hotel full of strangers. Another weekend spent in a conference room filled with the few friends he had in this world.

Kyle bit the insides of his mouth as Tony and Sheila fussed over him, smoothing out his clothing, fiddling with his hair, touching up his makeup. Kyle balled his hands into fists in order to keep from walking away. Couldn't they just leave him alone for two seconds? His group wasn't due on for at least ten minutes anyway, so there was no need for them for them to continuously primp him.

When they had finally let up, Kyle sighed, and looked around the room, searching for a familiar face. He saw plenty of people that he knew by sight, but none of his pageant friends, and he slumped a little bit. They helped make this whole experience a little more bearable for him; even though Jake and Brianna loved competing, they, too, got frustrated with hair and makeup, and endless practising, and not being allowed to run around and let off steam. It was something his mother would never understand, no matter how much he tried to explain it to her.

"Don't go anywhere, Kyle; we can't have you disappearing," said Sheila, and Kyle nodded, on autopilot. "Besides, if you mess up your clothes or hair, we won't have enough time to fix it before you have to go on stage."

Again, Kyle nodded. Tony walked over to his chair, while Sheila remained close.

Trying his best to drown out the awful, royalty free covers of pop songs, Kyle kept absent-mindedly looking around him, not really paying attention, until he saw something – or rather, someone, that made him do a double take. No, it couldn't be...

"Cartman?" Kyle's voice was a mixture of shock and hatred as he strode over to his nemesis.

"Well, helloooo, Kahl!" Cartman beamed, but it wasn't a happy smile. No, he looked like he was planning something. "You look even ridiculous-er in real life!"

"Why are you wearing that?" Kyle looked down, his eyes widening in horror as he realised Cartman was wearing his Sunday tuxedo, and his hair was slicked back. His stomach churned as he came to the conclusion that Cartman likely wasn't here just to watch and heckle him.

"You know, Kahl, when you called me ugly the other day, it really hurt my feelings," Cartman pouted, though his eyes twinkled at the rage on Kyle's face.

"I didn't call you that!"

"I seem to recall a certain ginger Jew who said that, unlike me, he can win pageants. It's crazy how you still think you're hotter than me, so I'm here to prove you wrong."

"... How did you even know I'd be here?" was all Kyle found he could say. He definitely hadn't told anyone, and he didn't think his mother had, either. Obviously, the only other explanation was that Cartman had been spying on him again. "Did you really have to come to this one? There's little ones at the mall every weekend; you could have done that."

"Ah, but then it wouldn't be a fair competition, would it? Besides, I want to get that $10,000." Cartman waggled an irritating finger in Kyle's face, who growled and shoved it aside, too angry to tell Cartman that the biggest cash prize this pageant offered was $1,500. "Beauty," he pointed to himself, "and the Beast," he jabbed a finger in Kyle's chest, "battling it out. We'll just see who wins." Arrogantly sticking his nose in the air, Cartman strutted back to his mother, who promptly began cooing over her handsome poopsiekins.

Kyle stood there, jaw agape, trembling with rage. This couldn't be happening; it had to be some kind of crazy nightmare. Why did God hate him so much? He had half a mind to leave; he did not have the patience nor the energy to put up with Cartman's bullshit today. He shook himself slightly, trying to snap out of it. He glanced at Cartman once again, who was slouched in his chair on his phone, wrinkling his suit.

Much as Kyle tried not to be petty and vindictive, this could actually turn out rather interesting. Personal rivalries aside, Cartman was not prepared for his, and Kyle really wanted to watch this train wreck. Hey, after everything Cartman had done to him, Kyle felt that laughing at him was only fair. It didn't even come close to the tip of the iceberg, if he was honest.

The knowledge that Cartman was going to make a complete and utter fool of himself actually calmed Kyle down.

Soon enough, it was time for the boys 6 – 10 Beauty Wear round, and Kyle lined up with the rest of the unusually small division. He was so focused on what might happen that he didn't even hear Cartman laughing and making fun of his hair, saying how much "stupider it looked in person." He chanced a glance ahead of him, and saw that although Cartman was supposed to be last in the line-up, he had placed himself behind the first boy. Kyle fought to keep a smile off his face, as he realised the judges might take points off for that. A small part of him hated himself for being so mean, but the rest of him was yelling 'it's Cartman! Who cares?' That voice won out in the end.

Kyle continued to watch as the first boy left the stage, and the emcee announced the next contestant,

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, please give a nice round of applause to contestant number two – William Omar!"

Before the name had left the emcee's mouth, Cartman had already stepped up onto the stage. "Uh, hang on one second, folks, I think we've got a little mixed up." The emcee grinned at the judges, before lowering his microphone and discretely shooing Cartman off the stage. "Get in numerical order!" he whispered, before turning back to the crowd as Cartman got off stage. "Sorry about that, guys. Anyway, contestant number two: William Omar!"

Unfortunately, though Kyle tried to keep his expression neutral, Cartman caught sight of him trying not to smile.

"Think that's funny, Princess?" he sneered, standing right beside Kyle.

"No," said Kyle lightly.

"You do! You think you're sooo cool because your mom bribes the judges so you can win. You wait; I'll beat you!" With that, he stomped off to the back of the line.

As Kyle waited for his turn, he did his best to ignore what Cartman had said, but it was like the words were burrowing into his brain. Were the judges being bribed? Would Sheila go that far? Sure, she wanted him to win, but she wanted him to win honestly, right? It had taken him ages to actually win a proper title; maybe his mother had just got sick of waiting, and had offered the judges a little bribe to help move things along. In his mind, it didn't seem too out of the ordinary for her.

His gaze flitted to the ground, suddenly feeling like everyone's eyes were on him. Kyle swore he could hear them sniggering at his hair, pointing out his nose, making fun of his clothes.

Those thoughts were still swimming around in his head when his name was called. Trying to shake himself out of it, Kyle did his best to make sure his smile was in place before stepping onto the stage. It was very hard to concentrate when he could hear Cartman laughing at him, and Kyle could see Cartman out of the corner of his eye, pointing mockingly at him, and he took a deep breath, trying to relax. It didn't work, and Kyle had to actively remind himself not to ball his hands into fists. His smile was strained and he knew it, and he was walking a bit faster than he was supposed to, but what else could he do? Gritting his teeth was the only thing stopping him from leaping off the stage and kicking the crap out of Cartman again.

As he reached the end of the runway, he caught sight of his mother behind the judges. She was frowning at him, and when he caught her eye, she pointed at her cheeks, and mouthed 'relax!'

Taking another deep breath, Kyle tried to do so, breathing heavily through his nose, but found that he couldn't. He was clenching his teeth so hard that the muscles in his neck were straining, and his hands kept curling into fists unless he consciously remembered to keep them relaxed.

"What is he doing?" Sheila muttered to Tony, shaking her head.

"I don't know," said Tony, who could tell that something was annoying Kyle.

"His smile looks strained; he needs to stop. The judges will take points off." She cast a disapproving look at him as Kyle stepped off the stage, and she went over to meet him. "What was that?" she said as Kyle looked up at her, working his jaw. She moved them a bit further down the room, away from the judges table. "You looked like you were really struggling up there; what happened?"

"Cartman is here!" he snapped, gesturing to what was left of the boys line up. "He came here to make fun of me!"

Sheila looked over and saw Cartman standing there, and she glanced back at her son.

"Are you sure he came to make fun of you, bubbe? Because it seems to me, that if he did, he wouldn't be competing."

"Trust me, Mom, he's here to make fun of me. It's all he ever does." Kyle growled and clenched his fists once again to prevent himself from having it out with Cartman right there and then.

"Well, bubbe, even if he is here to make fun of you, you should be the bigger person and ignore it. He can only get to you if you let him. Besides, you need to learn to deal with distractions."

"Distractions?" Was she actually serious? "Mom, Eric Cartman is not a distraction; he's a racist psychopath and a pain in my ass!"

"Keep your voice down," she ordered, for people were turning to look at them, "and watch your language."

"Fine." Kyle marched back over to his chair, resisting the urge to tear his hair out. He turned away from the stage as the contest continued, muttering angrily to himself, and Tony leaned forward in his chair.

"What's the matter?" he asked, being sure to keep his voice low, as Sheila approached.

"Nothing!" Kyle hissed, glaring at the empty chair in front of him with such fury he was surprised he didn't burn a hole into it.

"Something's clearly bothering you. What is it?"

Before Kyle could say anything, his mother spoke.

"He's just annoyed that one of his friends is competing here, as well."

"He's not my friend!" Kyle turned around, scowling. He deliberately kept his gaze away from the stage, knowing he wouldn't be able to handle Cartman laughing at him again.

"Kyle, keep your voice down; you're making a scene," was all Sheila said in response, and Kyle growled and turned away, digging his nails into his palms.

"And now, please welcome your last contestant in the Boys 6 – 10 Beauty Wear – Eric Cartman!"

Try as he might, Kyle couldn't help but watch as Cartman strutted onto the stage. Cartman completely ignored the first X, and strode into the centre and began preening.

Kyle could only watch in a kind of shocked amusement and a hint of pity as Cartman posed dramatically, looking more like he was in a junior body building competition than a beauty pageant. He flexed his muscles, he didn't hit any of his marks, he didn't turn properly, and – Kyle had to cover his mouth to stifle his laughter – Cartman had started doing his Britney Spears dancing.

Kyle wanted to look at the audience and see what they were making of this mess, but it was like watching a car crash; he couldn't look away. It appeared that no matter how much he watched "Toddlers and Tiaras", Cartman was even more clueless than Kyle had imagined.

Cartman finished his routine by posing, flexing his muscles, and screaming "beefcake!" before stepping off the stage, to polite yet scattered applause. As he and his mother began to leave the room, perhaps to give him an aura of mystique, Cartman caught Kyle's eye and smirked triumphantly. Kyle, feeling much happier than he had for the past hour, grinned widely back at him. He was actually looking forward to seeing what else Cartman had prepared.

Not a lot, apparently; Cartman had only entered the main categories – Formal Wear, Casual Wear, and Outfit of Choice. His Casual Wear outfit was his old Metrosexual outfit. He didn't have a routine, but he didn't need one, swaggering confidently around the stage, his jacket over his shoulder. Seeing that lowered Kyle's spirits a little bit; Cartman was definitely hamming it up, and the judges were enjoying it.

However, Kyle brightened when he saw Cartman's Outfit of Choice – his Coon costume. There was no way in hell that that was going to go down well with the judges, especially since he insisted on being introduced as "The Coon."

Focusing on the train wreck that was Cartman helped to take Kyle's mind off of his own abysmal routines, however. Every single time Kyle had stepped on stage, Cartman had laughed non-stop and made loud jokes. It was really affecting his concentration, along with his routines, and Sheila was not happy with him.

"What is he doing?" Kyle muttered, standing with the rest of his age group, who were all watching Cartman with amusement.

"Wow, he didn't even prepare, did he?" asked William Omar.

"I actually think he did," said Kyle, shaking his at Cartman. "I know him; he watches "Toddlers and Tiaras" all the time; he was probably taking notes."

"Really? I don't think he watched many episodes!" William quipped, and Kyle had to laugh. He was surprised Cartman was doing as bad as he was, but then, he'd never really been one to follow the rules.

As Cartman finished his final routine, he confidently stepped off the stage. Immediately spotting Kyle, he headed right over to him.

"Well, Kahl, still think you're better than me?" he demanded.

"Oh, I think the judges are gonna remember you for a long time," Kyle grinned, feeling even better when Cartman didn't pick up on his sarcasm. "How much "Toddlers and Tiaras" did you watch to prepare for this?"

"A lot," he said, and Kyle nodded, smiling brightly. "But I gave it a bit of my own style, you know? None of that boring stuff you do."

"Uh-huh. I see. Well, good luck tonight."

"So, we'll just see who wins, huh, Princess?" Cartman's mean little eyes gleamed, certain his charm had won him the highest title.

"We'll see," Kyle repeated, before heading back to his seat. He wouldn't miss this for the world.

Later that evening, Kyle, Cartman, and the rest of the boys were standing on stage, ready for crowning.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kyle could see that Cartman kept posing and his smile became genuine. It was nice to see Cartman make such a fool out of himself. He kept a smile on his face, avoiding eye contact with his mother. Thanks to Cartman, Kyle had performed terribly, and he knew he wasn't going to win big. Still, at least he wasn't going to do as bad as Cartman, and that was what consoled him.

One of the previous year's winners came up on stage, and placed a small participation trophy in front of every contestant.

"Okay, we will first award our Optional titles for the 6 – 10 Boys," began the emcee, looking down at the results on the sheet of paper in front of him.

Kyle was given medals for "Best Attire" and "Photogenic." He didn't expect anything higher, given how disastrous his performances had been.

But, to his shock, he was crowned "King," and he stepped forward, while the other boys applauded, along with the audience. Kyle couldn't believe it; apparently, he hadn't done as badly as he had thought, but he knew his mother would be displeased.

As he stepped off stage with the rest of the boys, Kyle walked over to Sheila and Tony, hoping she wouldn't be too annoyed; he'd done a lot better than they'd all expected. Though Tony wished him a hearty congratulations, Sheila only said "well done", her tone slightly irritated.

Removing his crown and sash, Kyle sat down, and the three of them continued to watch the crowning ceremony. He kept sneaking glances at Cartman, who was hanging around near the stage, smiling widely, waiting eagerly for his name to be called.

As the evening went on and on, Cartman's smile began to dim. Kyle couldn't help but feel sorry for him; he'd been in that position before, and it sucked. He wondered briefly whether or not he ought to go over there, and tell Cartman that he most likely wouldn't get anything else, but thought better of it. Cartman probably wouldn't believe him, so Kyle just decided to sit back, relax, and watch it all unfold.

After what felt like hours, the Ultimate Grand Supreme was crowned, and Cartman's face fell. He looked so disappointed, that Kyle once again felt like going over to him and comforting him. He stood up and stretched, before moving away from his chair. That soon changed when a look of pure and utter fury crossed Cartman's face.

"What the fuck?!" he snapped, causing many people to stare at him in shock. "What the actual fuck?!" His eyes scanned the room, before they landed on Kyle, and he stamped over to him. "Really, Kahl, whose dick did you have to suck to get first place?!"

Kyle blinked, his brows furrowing.

"What?!"

"You heard me, you sneaky Jew! Who'd you have to bribe?!"

"I didn't bribe anyone, fatass!" Kyle snapped, ignoring the aside glances from fellow audience members. "And I didn't even win first place!"

"Oh, sure. How else could you have won?!"

"Fine, you take it, then!" Kyle snapped, picking up his crown and sash and shoving them at Cartman.

"Kyle, what are you doing?" asked Sheila, and both boys whipped around to face her.

"J-just trying to promote good sportsmanship, Ma," he said nervously. Cartman heard that, and promptly looked sad.

"I'm very proud of you for sharing, bubbe," she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Cartman smugly placed the crown on his head, and draped the sash over his shoulder.

"Well, thank you, Kahl," Cartman grinned sweetly, using just enough sarcasm that Kyle would look like the bad guy if he retaliated, a tactic that Cartman had perfected over the years.

Kyle scowled at him as Sheila walked away. "Well, look at that; I won and you didn't – that means I'm better looking than you!" he smirked.

"Fuck you, you didn't win anything!" Kyle snapped.

"Then why do I have a crown and you don't?"

Kyle ground his teeth and clenched his fists.

"Fine. Fine, all right? You won and I didn't. You happy now?" was all he said before he marched away.

The following day, back at school, Cartman was parading around the playground, wearing the sash and crown, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

On the one hand, Kyle had to admire his blatant lack of embarrassment; it couldn't be denied that Cartman had confidence.

On the other hand, Kyle hated the fact that no one made fun of Cartman for taking part in a pageant, while they were content to do it to him. Was it the confidence thing? Should he just start trying to own it? Maybe if he did, they would see that their taunting seemingly didn't bother him, and finally leave him alone.

Before he could this whole 'confidence' thing a try, Cartman, who was surrounded by a small group of bemused yet interested onlookers, looked over at him.

"Can you imagine; me, without any practise, and on my first try, managed to beat Kahl, who practises every day! Guess I just have what it takes. I don't know why Kahl says it's hard. I'm hotter than him!"

Kyle was furious as Cartman strode back and forth in front of him, moving his head so his crown sparkled in the light. He sensed Stan coming to stand beside him, and he breathed deeply. Sheila was unhappy with him; giving away his crown had meant one less award in the trophy room. All Kyle could do was say that he would work hard to win next time, something he was well accustomed to saying by now.

As Cartman continued to taunt him, Kyle ground his teeth so hard he was surprised they didn't break, as yet another headache came upon him.

"Fuck you!" he seethed, before turning around and heading inside, Stan following him.

Muttering angrily to himself, Kyle went straight to the nurse's office.

"Back again?" Nurse Gollum said sympathetically when she saw him. "Headache?" she asked, and Kyle nodded, sitting down, looking annoyed. Pursing her lips, she gave him some pain relievers and a glass of water. He took them, before pulling his hat down low, as the darkness helped.

He and Stan sat there in silence, while they waited for the pills to take effect. "I have a little trick that might help," said the nurse, and Kyle lifted his hat and looked at her. "Press down above the bridge of your nose, between your eyebrows; it helps ease the pain."

Desperate to try anything, Kyle tried it, pushing a touch harder than he normally would, and to his surprise and relief, the pressure in his head instantly dissipated.

"Wow, thanks!" It was doing wonders for him.

"Try that whenever you feel a headache coming on; you might be able to stop it before it starts," she told him, and pushed a small jar into his hands. "That's Tiger Balm. When you get a headache, rub some of it on your forehead, and it will help. I swear by it."

Kyle looked down at the tiny jar that appeared to be full of Vaseline. It looked like some all-natural remedy, which naturally made him a bit wary of it. But he was willing to try anything. He dipped his finger into the pot, and massaged the cream into his forehead. The smell of Camphor and Menthol made his eyes water, but after a while, he began to feel his headache disappear.

"It worked!"

"Keep it," she told him.

"Oh, thanks," he smiled.

Thanks to the balm, his headache had cleared up amazingly, and Kyle felt well enough to actually go back outside without any more issues.

He arrived home, feeling more refreshed than he had in ages; he was definitely going to get some more of that balm. Perhaps it was that feeling that gave him a bit of an energy boost.

"Right, Kyle, it's time to practise," said Sheila after dinner, while they were all still sat at the table.

"What?"

"What do you mean, what? You practise every night after dinner, what's so difficult to understand?"

"Nothing, but.. I don't wanna practise tonight," said Kyle. He decided it was time to start being a little bit more assertive. Looking back over the past year and a half, Kyle realised how passive he had become, and he didn't like it. "We don't have anything coming up, so I don't need to practise."

"You have one next month."

"So I don't need to start practising for a couple of weeks, right?" Kyle looked calm, though his palms were sweating slightly; he couldn't remember the last time he'd outright defied her.

Gerald and Ike were watching the back and forth, their heads swivelling left and right as though they were watching a tennis match.

"Kyle, bubbe, try to understand," Sheila began, her tone sweet, "if you don't practise, you won't win. I thought you'd know this by now; you've been doing it for long enough. I don't want you getting rusty."

"I won't get rusty," Kyle insisted, "I know what I'm doing."

"If you did, then you'd know that you need to practise every day!"

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Gerald properly looked at Kyle. He didn't know how Sheila couldn't see the dark circles under their son's eyes, or the fact that he was clearly asking for a break, and he shook his head. Kyle was actually arguing with Sheila; when did that ever happen? That was how Gerald knew he must be really fed up.

"Why don't you both take a break for a week or two?" he suggested, causing them to both look over at him. "Just relax, and then you can get back into it. A little break won't hurt."

"Gerald, you have no idea what you're talking about. If Kyle doesn't practise, it will be like throwing our hard work down the drain. He cannot afford to get rusty."

"Like I said, taking one week off isn't gonna do any damage," Gerald said. "Really, what's the worst that can happen?"

"He forgot his routine last time, and it cost us. So he needs to practise."

Gerald sighed and closed his eyes.

"Does it really matter if he misses a few days of practise?"

"I thought we agreed that you would keep your nose out?"

"Not when you're literally working him to the bone."

Sheila narrowed her eyes at him.

"Boys, go upstairs," she said.

"Why?" asked Kyle.

"Because I said so, now do as I say!"

The tone in her voice was enough to make both kids quickly hop down from the table. As they climbed the stairs, listening to their parents voices grow louder, Kyle glanced over at Ike. Ike threw his brother as a best a withering look a three year could manage before disappearing into his room.

Correctly anticipating a headache, Kyle pressed down on his forehead, just above the bridge of his nose, as the arguing from downstairs became louder. He felt terrible because they were arguing about him, and there didn't appear to be anything he could do about it. If he went back on what he'd said, he risked annoying his dad, and if he doubled down and insisted on a break, his mother would be unhappy.

It didn't look as though he and Ike would be going back downstairs any time soon, so Kyle pulled on his pyjamas and laid on his bed. He played on his phone while occasionally texting Stan, wincing at the stomach ache coming on, and so he climbed under the covers and tried to get some sleep.

~ X ~

Once again, I'd like to thank you for reading. I know this chapter is a little short (by my standards), but I hope you enjoyed it.