'Operation Kyle's notebook' this. 'Operation Kyle's notebook' that. Everyone was always mentioning the so-called 'Operation Kyle's notebook,' but it seemed no one had bothered to fill Kenny in on what exactly that was.
When Cartman drove him to school on Monday morning, Kenny asked about it, and Cartman's response had been as useless as it was ominous. "You'll know soon," he had said with a knowing, almost prideful smile. Kenny had simply assumed that he was proud of the plan and wanted it to be a big reveal, so he didn't push the subject.
Yet, here he was, the school day halfway over, and he was still unsure of what exactly was supposed to happen. Still, there wasn't much else to do other than continue with his everyday routine. He had to have lunch and then have four classes before school ended. But for now, the main objective was getting to the cafeteria. He maneuvered his way through the crowd of sweaty teenagers, trying not to get pushed into one of the myriads of ugly green lockers.
He had almost made it to the cafeteria when the loud, screechy voice of the intercom halted him in his tracks. Staticky and sputtering, the poor old speakers tried desperately to convey their message. "Leopold Stotch, Craig Tucker, and Kenny McCormick, please report to the principal's office immediately."
A cacophony of 'ooo's surrounded him as his peers turned to look in his direction. Kenny's heart skipped a few beats; he and Butters were rarely called to the principal's office, and he was certain he had done nothing to warrant it. 'Operation Kyle's Notebook' was in full effect. It had to be. Still, he found it difficult to gauge how exactly it could be useful for him to get in trouble with the school.
Nonetheless, he did as he was told and walked along the hallway, keeping his eyes trained on the floor to look out for gum and used snuff packets. Eventually, he reached a seemingly inconspicuous brown door with a nameplate that read 'Principal Meek.'
With trepidation, he opened the door and let himself in. Butters was already present, sitting on a chair in front of Mr. Meek's iconic desk. His leg bounced up and down with excessive speed. Craig sat next to him, not showing a single emotion other than perhaps slight annoyance at being stopped during lunch. Kenny didn't miss the small side-eye Craig gave him as he entered the office.
Meek himself was also present, in his chair which was far too big for him. Meek lived up to his name in most aspects; he was short, Cartman had called him a midget once, and his spinelessness only served to make him even smaller. Perhaps if he had not taught teenagers, he would seem taller.
Two other people were present as well: a young man and a middle-aged woman in uniforms, police officers. He did not recognize the woman, though the sight of the man sent shivers down his back with his dirty brown hair, massive build, and dark green eyes. For a second, Kenny made eye contact with him, and he saw how one corner of his mouth rose into a half-smile that did not reach his eyes.
Rick.
"Welcome, Kenny," Meek said softly. "Please take a seat." With clammy hands and a strong urge to run away, Kenny sat in the chair between Craig and Butters. Meek spoke again. "You boys are not in trouble. Our guests simply need you to answer some questions. Is that alright with you?"
The three boys exchanged a glance before nodding. The female cop stepped forward and started speaking. "Alright. You're all baristas at Top Pot, yes?" They nodded again.
"Good, let's start with you," The woman said, looking at Kenny with a small smile. "Walk us through how you make your coffee."
Rick would and could not do anything here. Kenny knew as much. Not when he was clearly accompanied by his senior officer here to keep him in check. Kenny was becoming more and more convinced every second that this had everything to do with 'Operation Kyle's notebook,' though he still had yet to connect the dots.
"I'm actually only a barista by title," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and hating how small his voice sounded. "I'm more of a server. So is Craig." From the corner of his eye, he could see Craig nod in agreement.
Rick's mouth tightened into a thin line as his eyebrows furrowed. His eyes remained fixed on Kenny. "What's the fucking difference?!" he hissed, startling both Butters and Kenny in the process. Though Craig seemingly remained unfazed.
"It's, uh," Kenny stammered for a response. He had not expected him to get so angry. "T-the difference..." The words escaped him, and his mouth was running dry. Oh, how he hated being interrogated.
His inability to answer immediately unfortunately only served to anger Rick even more. "Spit it out," He hissed and walked closer, and for a second, Kenny was sure he was about to be assaulted. It seemed Butters was thinking the same thing, based on how he was almost pushing his chair backward to get away.
"Kenny doesn't actually make the coffee. Neither do I. Servers serve the coffee," Craig said with his usual monotonous tone. Kenny tried to give him an appreciative smile but was met with an almost judgmental look. "It's kinda in the name."
Somehow, Craig's patronizing tone failed to calm the very emotionally charged man, who immediately turned to Butters, grabbing his collar and yanking him to his feet. "But you're a barista, eh? Tell us the fucking secret, then!"
Kenny's heart raced as he watched the arguably much too aggressive behavior towards Butters. This was absolutely not just about coffee. Butters appeared terrified; his eyes wide with fear as he stammered in response.
"I-I don't know any secrets," Butters stuttered, his voice trembling. "I just make coffee, y'know, like, grind the beans and brew it."
"Oh, yeah?" Rick yelled, with a gleeful smile that in no way matched his voice. "What else do you put in it? You fucking pushers!"
Pushers? Like drug pushers?
Once again, he looked like he was about to punch someone. But the female cop finally decided to do her job and stepped in to pull him away. Butters fell back in his chair, wearing the same expression as before.
"'Pushers'?" Craig asked, his tone was now entirely different. "The fuck you mean 'pushers'?"
The female cop sighed and lightly smacked Rick's shoulder. She hissed something at him, and he seemed to deflate. Then her attention was back on the boys. "We're here because an anonymous student found a bag called 'Top Pot Secret Ingredient' in Tweek Tweak's school locker this morning. Upon further inspection, it turned out to be full of methamphetamine. He's been taken into custody."
Holy shit. Had Cartman seriously planted meth in Tweek's locker?! That anonymous student was definitely Kyle who was 'looking for his notebook.' Those two were even worse than Stan. At least Stan was not trying to get anyone arrested!
Kenny opted to not say anything. He would surely blow it if he spoke.
"No. That can't be right," Craig said, shaking his head, once again defending Tweek to the bitter end. "Tweek would never drug his customers. That's insane."
The calm cop pinched the bridge of her nose as she looked over at Craig. "Like it or not, the meth in his locker was very real."
Craig shook his head again, getting visibly agitated. "That's not what I'm saying! I'm not gonna try to explain why he would have meth because I don't know. But I can prove that we haven't drugged any customers."
Rick crossed his arms and looked at Craig with a half-scowl-half-smile. "Then prove it, pretty-boy."
Pretty-boy? The expression sent gross jitters throughout Kenny's body. He would seriously hate being called pretty-boy. Nonetheless, Craig remained calm, turning his attention to Principal Meek.
It only took a few minutes before Meek's voice ran on the staticky intercom once again, at Craig's request this time. "Will the following students please report to the auditorium: Bebe Stevens, Clyde Donovan, Eric Cartman, Firkle Smith, Henrietta Biggle, Karen McCormick, Kevin Stoley, Kyle Broflovski, Trent Boyett, and Tricia Tucker. Please report to the auditorium immediately."
The listed students were all people Craig had seen at Top Pot that weekend. They were going to help him.
As the listed students were called to the auditorium, Kenny, Butters, and Craig were told to join them. They too had drunk the coffee at Top Pot. So, they should help as well. Craig stayed behind in the office for a few more minutes, explaining to the cops how exactly this would prove their innocence – an explanation Kenny would have loved to receive before being sent off.
Instead, he and Butters walked to the auditorium, a frankly very boring, large room with a myriad of chairs that were far from comfortable to sit in and a stage in the front with some microphones and such. Some students had already trickled in, and Kenny quickly found his place next to Cartman.
They made eye contact, as Kenny whispered to him. "They found meth in Tweek's locker." An unspoken inquiry; Did you plant it?
Eric nodded; his lips pressed into a thin line. "I know." Yes, he had planted it. "Kyle found them."
Soon enough, another figure seated himself on Kenny's other side: Kyle. Truly a sight to behold; his red curls stuck to his forehead, his face flushed, his green eyes dazed, his left arm in a clumsy cast, bruises littered his face like oversized, discolored freckles. He was sporting a hardcore fever and should have simply stayed in bed this morning. Yet, here he was. His head plopped down on Kenny's shoulder, and tired groaning emerged from his throat.
"Everything hurts. I wanna go home..." He whined.
Kenny opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by the screeching whine of the school's cheap mic being turned on. The cops, along with Craig, had arrived in the auditorium. The female cop stood on the stage in front of the students. The sight of her sent a wave of whispers throughout the small crowd of students.
"Hello, everyone," She said, pacing on the stage. "I'm sure you all are wondering why you're here. And I'll explain it soon enough, but first, we'll take attendance to make sure you're all present."
She began listing names, each student confirming their presence upon hearing theirs. Until attendance reached a grinding halt. "Trent Boyett." No response. "Trent Boyett." She called again. Still no response. Naturally, Kenny had pegged Trent as someone who skipped school. But this seemed slightly too serious to ditch. Maybe something really bad had happened to him?
A few rows ahead of him, Bebe raised her hand and spoke. "Trent's not at school right now. I think he has some kind of special school schedule." Special schedule?
The female cop nodded. "Alright. I suppose since everyone else is here, we can just start."
She was so, so close to explaining the situation. If she had simply been given the chance to continue speaking, they would have all been released quickly, and none of this would have been a big issue. But noooo, Rick, who was standing just beside the stage, just had to interrupt her.
"Can we though?" he asked, in a sugary sweet tone Kenny had not heard since... actually, he was not sure he had ever heard it. Surely, he was trying to get back in his senior's good graces. "I mean, he's a witness; his presence is required, right?"
It took a few minutes of back-and-forth discussion—something Kenny had never thought Rick capable of—until eventually, the one semi-competent authority figure in the room threw her hands up in defeat and mumbled something about being paid by the hour, anyway. Good for her, though.
And with that, they had to wait for Trent to show.
Seconds ticked by in slow eons as the group of students waited impatiently. Time only seemed to move slower every time Kenny turned his head to see Rick staring daggers at him. Not to mention, he doubted Trent would show up. Was he even aware of the situation?
And so, as they waited...
and waited...
and waited, the students' occasional whispers were swapped for talking and chatting. Soon enough, Kyle was groaning about the room being loud and his arm hurting. Meanwhile, Cartman was leaning forward, putting his face in his hands. He had evidently not meant for things to turn out this way. That idiot had not thought that plan through at all. He seemed so very aware of his own idiocy that Kenny felt no need to mention it to him.
Students stood, and students sat on chair rests. Suddenly, Kyle's head was off Kenny's shoulder, and he moved with the speed and grace of a one-legged rabbit. Pulling Kenny along with surprising strength, as he dragged him to Henrietta and Firkle.
"Hey, Henriii," Kyle began, smiling coyly. "You're looking especially withered today. What's the hang-up? Someone piss on your cigarette?"
Kyle leaned on Kenny, holding his non-broken arm over his shoulder and using him as a crutch. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he should have just stayed home.
"I could say the same about you," Henrietta said. Upon further inspection, Kenny could see that her eyes were a little bloodshot. "Did the stick up your ass finally give you splinters?"
Kyle leaned to the side, lost balance, and almost pulled Kenny down with him. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, holding a theatrical hand to his heart. "Lemme rephrase my question: 'Oh Henri, lady of darkness, the suffocating smog that envelops your soul is putrid far beyond the ordinary today. What hath distressed thee?'"
Henrietta let out a small laugh, which could have easily been mistaken for an offended huff were it not for the smile that crept onto her pale face.
"Fine, I actually am in an extra shitty mood today," she said, crossing her arms. "I just learned that all my favorite flowers by Stark's Pond, the Reginae Adiutor, have been picked. Every single one."
Kenny always thought she looked like a vampire or a mime. Though, he would never mention that to her.
"Oh, that's terrible," Kyle said, detangling his arm from Kenny and plopping down to sit next to her, wrapping his newly detangled arm around her shoulder. Kenny had to wonder if he was even aware of how exaggerated all his actions seemed. "Did you at least get to pick some? You know, just so you can have them?"
Henrietta moved a hand with fingerless gloves to move Kyle's arm away from her shoulder, being surprisingly gentle with him. He was obviously not himself today, and she could tell as much.
"No, I didn't get to pick any," she replied, looking at the floor. "They're all gone now. And I didn't even get to keep any."
Then and only then did Kenny realize what Kyle had been doing. Even in his battered state, he was still trying to locate those five missing flowers.
Kyle somehow lost balance despite sitting down and leaned into Henrietta. He was getting snot and sweat on her, and she was certainly aware of that.
"Well, on the bright side," he began. He was practically draped over her. "What would you even do with super poisonous flowers anyway?"
Henrietta scowled, pushing Kyle entirely off of her, all her previous gentleness entirely gone. Kyle would have fallen hard on the floor, had Kenny not caught him.
"Fuck the bright side!" she said. There was not a hint of surprise in her expression; she had evidently expected Stan to tell his friends about the flowers. "It's not about using them, it's about the fact that they're fucking cool!"
Kyle was strangely light, despite being the second tallest member of their group. He was probably the second-lightest, like a lanky stick figure. He grabbed onto Kenny's hand and clumsily hoisted himself up.
"Oh, I'm sorry, miss mood swings, I didn't realize you hated optimism so much," Kyle responded with great confidence, as though he hadn't just been halfway beaten up. "Still though, I don't really see what's so cool about some flowers. But I guess you won't tell me, since I'm a man and all."
Kenny had always thought Kyle was smart. Very smart. It seemed he always knew exactly what to say to get others to spill their guts to him. Though, he could not quite figure out why he would want to bait Henrietta into a longwinded debate about flowers.
However, two facts stood clear: Henrietta's qualms about sharing the secrets of the Reginae Adiutor with men evaporated as soon as said flowers were out of the picture. And there were a few more things to the Reginae Adiutor than what they had already been told.
The first thing was that consuming its petal did not paralyze you. It rather caused horrific cramps that kept the victim from moving. Judging from Kyle's expression, he already knew that, somehow.
The second thing was something that caused a big reaction in Kyle. At least, Kenny had thought his reaction was quite big.
"The Reginae Adiutor can't erase memories," Henrietta had declared in retort to something Kyle had said. "Well, technically it can if you consume the petals. But if you prick yourself on one of the thorns or consume it again, you'll get some of the memories back subconsciously, almost like flashbacks but mostly in dreams and nightmares."
The revelation had made Kyle pause, stunned him in a way. His arm's grip around Kenny's shoulder and neck tightened. "Coolness," he said quickly before he started clumsily dragging Kenny back to Cartman. Did he know something?
As Kenny was being dragged back to Cartman, he couldn't help but wonder about the significance of the Reginae Adiutor and its ability to recover lost memories. He knew Kyle had pricked himself on them quite a bit, but he was almost entirely sure that he had never been drugged with it, so there was a lack of memories to recover.
By the time they were back in their seats, he was still pondering. Then it struck him. According to Cartman, Trent had implied that he had been drugged with those flowers once. And then he pricked himself on one this Saturday.
Before he could draw any definitive conclusion from that newfound revelation, a pair of hands landed on his shoulders, snapping him out of his contemplation. Someone was standing behind him.
"Hey Kenny," Bebe's voice said. He looked up and behind, Bebe was indeed standing right there. "I don't think Trent even knows he's supposed to be here. Could you call him?"
"Why me?" he replied, in an almost accusatory manner. Of course, he did not mind calling Trent, but calling him twice in 24 hours seemed desperate, in a way.
"You're the only one here with his contact info. I know you called him to walk you home last night," she replied matter-of-factly. Hopefully, she didn't notice the way his face heated up. He was not entirely sure why he had started blushing like this, but he didn't want Bebe to get the wrong idea.
"I-I didn't call him to walk me home," he replied, trying not to sound defensive. He was only technically lying, since Trent did, in fact, walk him home. "I called him so he could come get his jacket back."
Bebe just giggled at him, as if he had said the funniest joke she had ever heard. "Aww, Trent said that too!" she said, clasping her hands together. "Seriously though, Kenny, it's perfectly valid that you wanted Trent there. I mean, he could probably scare just about anyone off." She was getting off-topic; it seemed Kenny had to bring her back on track.
He sighed reluctantly. "Alright, I'll call him," he said, as he stood up, moving to keep some distance from the others while he scooped his beat-up phone out of his pocket.
It was an old iPhone he had bought from Tolkien a few years ago, when the screen cracked and his parents got him a new one. He dialed the number on the fractured screen, feeling his fingers shake, not with fear, but anticipation. Trent had told him only to call if he really needed help, and Kenny would be lying if he said he wasn't interested in seeing how he would react now.
The mechanical sound of the ringing phone filled the space around him, letting him know that the other line had yet to be picked up. The rhythm of it continued in a soft, electric symphony until it abruptly ended.
"Hello?" He heard Trent's voice, mingling with a calm background cacophony of jazz music. "What's up?"
Flying away like birds, Kenny's words escaped him. "I, uhh," His tongue was tying itself in knots before he even gave it a chance to speak. "You're, uhm," He did not feel afraid, yet his voice remained silent, stuck in his throat.
"I'm what?" Trent inquired, somehow his voice seemed to have dropped an octave. "What's wrong?"
"You're late," Kenny squeezed out, finally. "For a meeting. In the auditorium. At school."
A symphony of stillness graced the moment, as Kenny awaited Trent's response. "A meeting?" he asked. "Well, tell them I can't come."
"Trent, please," Kenny began, not possessing the same persuasive skills that Kyle and Cartman had spent the good part of a decade honing. But he still had a chance. "It's really important. We can't start without you."
Trent let out a small chuckle, which mixed well with the soft jazz in the background. "Aww, you can't start without me? Cute," he said. "Seriously though, I'm at work and I can't just leave. Sorry, toots."
Kenny's eyes rolled, fully aware that Trent couldn't see him. He lowered his voice even more, almost just a whisper. "Trent, Rick's here." As if on cue, there was a loud screeching sound on the other end, and the gentle jazz symphony ended abruptly. The vinyl's needle had been forcibly pushed onto the disk.
After Kenny's revelation, a heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the distant sound of Trent grumbling some colorful words while fixing whatever he had done to that vinyl. Kenny could hear the rapid beating of his own heart as he waited for a proper response, unsure of how Trent would react.
Finally, Trent's voice, now devoid of its previous casualness, crackled through the phone. "He's at the school?"
Kenny gulped, his throat dry. His eyes darted behind him, ensuring distance between himself and his peers. His eyes landed on Rick, leaning against a wall, still staring at him. His hand covered his mouth as he quietly whispered into the old mic.
"Someone, I think you can guess who, planted meth in Tweek's locker. In a bag that says 'Top Pot Secret Ingredient,'" he squeaked, almost hoping Trent couldn't hear it. "And Rick's here to investigate because he's a cop-in-training."
"Jesus Christ," Trent breathed out. "That's a fucking crime. What were you thinki-"
"I-I wasn't in on it," Kenny interrupted him almost immediately. It seemed stupid, at least it did to Kenny, but he really wanted Trent to at least think a little highly of him. "I didn't even know anything!"
Trent's lack of immediate response once again invited the silence to grace them with its presence, a partly unwanted third wheel, hovering over Kenny's shoulders with promises of bad reactions and angry yelling.
"Okay…" Trent said, sounding a little stunned. "I believe you."
Kenny let out a relieved breath he never realized he had been holding. His hands released the tight grip they had on his phone; it would be pretty dumb to crack the screen even more.
"Thank you." He almost sighed the words, and his voice sounded so small. "Do you think you can find some way to get out of work? We really need you here."
Trent sighed on the other end of the line. "Sure, I'll try. See you at school, Ken doll."
Of course, this was not the first time Trent had called him 'Ken doll,' yet for some reason, this time caused his face to heat up to an excessive degree.
"Y-yeah, I'll see you at school. And thanks." He responded, feeling the flames lick at his face. His finger hovered over the end call button on his phone's damaged screen. He should by all means hang up, but he had something he wanted to know. "Uhm, Trent, are you on some special needs schedule?"
Trent's voice on the other end of the line held a note of confusion. "Special needs?"
Kenny hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should press further. "It's just that Bebe said you had some special schedule, and I was just curious."
There was a pause, and Kenny could almost picture Trent furrowing his brow on the other end. "Oh, yeah. I did tell her that." It came out rushed, like he really wanted Kenny to know that he did not have anything 'wrong' with him. "I was just skipping."
Kenny could hear Trent shuffle around with something on the other end of the line. "You skipped class so you could go to work?" He tried not to sound jealous.
"Yeah, pretty much. I kinda need money." Trent responded in a snarky tone.
"Oh yeah? What kind of place would hire you?" It sort of just slipped out, maybe he got too comfortable and forgot who he was talking to. That was certainly something he could ask Cartman, not Trent. He knew fully well that he should keep from angering Trent, for the sake of safety. But still, it was hard to fear someone who had willingly put himself in harm's way to protect Kyle of all people and also babysat little girls.
"Oh, ha ha. You're soooo funny." Trent said dryly, but in a way that almost made it sound unironic. "My weird old lady neighbor, who thinks she can see the future, is the one who hired me. I didn't even apply, she just told me to show up and I did. She owns this little antique shop thing."
Kenny snorted, while trying to recover from his previous slip-up. "Is she also the one who asked you to feed the crows?"
"Yep." Trent said as he continued shuffling around with something on the other end of the line. "I asked her to read my future, 'cause I thought it would be really funny. And she was, like, really poetic about it. I think I wrote it down." There were some more sounds, then Trent had found what he was looking for. "She told me to 'Embrace the impending tempest of profound agony.' And then refused to elaborate."
Kenny couldn't help but chuckle at Trent's description of his weird neighbor. "Embrace the impending tempest of profound agony, huh? Sounds like she's got a future in writing fortune cookies."
Trent laughed lightly on the other end in a way that seemed to dissipate the earlier tension. "Yeah, she could make some real money. Anyway, I'll try to wrap up here and get to school. See you there, pretty-boy."
Pretty-boy? That nickname, from Trent of all people, had no business causing his face to flush the way it did.
Trent had hung up before Kenny could respond. Nonetheless, he turned back to Bebe. She was relatively far away and certainly did not hear anything they talked about, though he was positive she could detect the red tint on his face. He gave her a thumbs-up to which she responded with a thumbs-up as well.
As he walked back to his seat, he was painfully aware of a pair of dark green eyes stalking him. He had hopefully not noticed how red his face had been.
Upon arriving back at his chair, he found that Kyle had taken the liberty of stealing it. He was almost leaning into Cartman, whispering about something here and there. If Kenny had to guess, he would say they were conversing about the new info Henrietta had given him about the Reginae Adiutor.
Once he got closer, standing right behind Cartman, he could hear him whisper something back: "…I just don't see how it matters to the plan. We don't even know what happened to him. And we don't need to know."
It was quickly becoming rather apparent that they had yet to realize Kenny was there. Either that, or they simply saw nothing wrong with him hearing their conversation.
Kyle hissed in a whisper. "Of course, it matters! We need to know if it'll stop him from fighting!"
To which Cartman hissed back. "You're not gonna get shit out of psychoanalyzing him! It doesn't fucking matter! He can fight. It's none of our business. Done."
Kyle let out a dramatic huff and said: "No, 'cus he said that Rick reminded him of the gua-" For a mere second, his sharp eyes wandered from Cartman's face and fell on Kenny, stopping his mouth dead in its tracks. With seemingly nothing else to say, he just stared at Kenny with wide eyes.
Cartman turned as well and matched Kyle's deer-in-headlights expression. Though, it did not take long for him to put on the fakest smile Kenny had ever seen him use and say: "Shit Kenny, we should put a bell on you. Fuck me, dude."
"Yeah, fuck you, dude." Kenny said, knowing fully that Cartman knew he didn't actually mean it. He smiled, trying to return the fakeness. "Watchu guys talking about?" He tilted his head to the side a bit.
Kenny was not stupid. He heard the words "fight" and "Rick", those two dots were rather easy to connect. But who was the "he", they were talking about? He had a gut feeling it was Trent or maybe Tweek. They were the only two who could actually survive getting in a real fight with him.
No, it was not Tweek. Cartman mentioned the plan, so it would be pretty counterproductive to make Tweek fight Rick. Craig would probably be super into it. But on the other hand, Trent had promised to back off, and he had seemed really hellbent on keeping that promise.
"Nothing much," Kyle said far too fast. "Nothing of value at all."
Cartman was nodding along as they smiled and stared at Kenny with empty eyes.
"Oh, sorry, I thought I heard you mention the plan…" Kenny said, trying to sound at least a bit condescending and slightly stern. "And it would be really nice to actually know what's going on with that." He specifically looked at Cartman,
Cartman and Kyle exchanged a knowing glance and turned back to look at Kenny, entirely unfazed. "It doesn't concern you at all," Cartman said, sounding much too stern to actually sound like himself. "It's not about the plan at all."
"Not at all," Kyle reiterated.
"I literally heard you say 'the plan,'" Kenny said, keeping calm but getting increasingly agitated. "What other plans do you have?"
Judging from their body language, Kenny was not the only one who was becoming agitated. With gritted teeth and furrowed eyebrows, Kyle looked like he was about to say something until Cartman grabbed him. Like, physically grabbed him, holding his hand over his mouth so he couldn't speak. The grip was rather gentle; Kyle, though angry and fighting back a bit, certainly didn't seem to be in too much pain.
Almost as fast as he had grabbed Kyle, Cartman turned his attention back to Kenny. He was smiling with his teeth. "Yeah, you're right, Ken. We do have a plan." The smile was quite charming; just about anyone else would have bought it. "But we can't tell you what it is because, frankly, you're a terrible actor. And you'll probably out us on accident."
He released his grip on Kyle, who nodded in agreement. It was so fake. It was all so fake. Did they seriously think Kenny bought that?
"I'm not a bad actor," he stated, taking the bait.
Cartman's shoulders relaxed, his expression softened, and his smile—fake as it was—fell and formed a much less glaring curve. "Yes, you are," he said, much softer than before. "And listen, pretty much all our plans are busted at this point; lifeguarding was stupid and way too slow, 'Operation Kyle's notebook' was not thought through at all, and Stan's little idea about pretending that Tweek's into you isn't terrible, but it might be too long term. So, we're saying fourth time's a charm, but we can't have you ruin it with your bad acting."
Ouch. That kind of hurt. In a way. Cartman sounded way too sincere. Was he telling the truth? Did they seriously doubt his abilities so much that they wouldn't even let him in on the plan?
"Okay," he said, in a small voice. Well, he didn't want to risk jeopardizing whatever plan his friends had concocted, even if they didn't trust his acting abilities. So, he nodded in agreement and gave them a half-hearted smile, trying to convey that he understood their concerns. Even still, he felt a very strong urge to not be here anymore. "I think… I think I'll go grab some water. I'll be right back."
He left the auditorium quickly without bothering to find out why both Cartman and Kyle looked so apprehensive about him leaving. He ignored a few half-hearted protests from the pair.
Cartman really had a way with words. He had not even said anything mean, yet he still managed to make Kenny feel incredibly stupid for intruding. He stepped out of the auditorium and into the dimly lit hallway. There were few to no students around because class was in session. Even still, he could feel eyes boring into him as he walked and hear footsteps matching his pace.
He went to his locker to find a bottle. Though, he still could not shake that awful, nagging feeling that he was being followed. Then it struck him, right as he had finally found the bottle, why Cartman and Kyle wanted him to stay. Rick was here. At school. How had he been stupid enough to not think about it? He had been so dumb.
His heartbeat started picking up. This was not only a really dumb situation, but potentially dangerous as well. He jumped in surprise when something hit the locker hard next to him. But he dared not turn to look. He already knew what it was.
A man's hand, connected to the sleeve of a police uniform, had been slammed into the locker right next to his head. It effectively caged him in.
"Kenny, sweetheart," Rick's very recognizable, deep voice said behind him. He was using the same fake, sugary sweet tone that he had earlier. "Who gave you permission to leave the auditorium?"
Kenny's heartbeat sped up to a rapid gallop as he felt Rick's intrusive presence behind him. His fingers clenched the empty bottle tightly, hearing the pop and crackle of the soft plastic.
Slowly, he began turning around, finding great interest in staring at Rick's shoes. They were black and a part of his uniform. He would have looked really good in that uniform had his personality not ruined the look.
"I, I…" He stammered, knowing fully well that nothing of value could come out of his mouth at this moment. "I didn't think-"
"Aww, now it makes sense," Rick said condescendingly, still continuing with the sugary voice. "You didn't think. That's okay, honey. After all…" His hand, the one that had not been slammed into the locker, went to Kenny's face and gently lifted his chin to look at it. "Thinking was never really your strong suit."
It seemed as though his words were fading away as he spoke them. His eyes landed on something near Kenny's mouth, seemingly stealing all his attention. Kenny knew he had to say something, but the words kept escaping him before he could think of something. His legs were trembling, while hopefully not visible, but he could never really tell. He was so painfully aware of his lack of escape options; he had even left his phone in the auditorium.
Rick's eyes were wide and mesmerized. "How…" He began. "Who gave you that bruise?"
His thumb found its way to the bruise, caressing it with an uncharacteristic gentleness. The bruise had faded a lot; Kenny had not been hit that hard. It actually surprised him that Rick had noticed.
"I fell," Kenny responded, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Always so clumsy," Rick mumbled as his finger continued tracing the bruise on Kenny's face. It took quite a few seconds before he spoke again. "You know, I've been thinking." The grip on his face tightened shortly, then released a bit. "I'm willing to take you back."
Kenny would be lying if he said he had never thought about getting back together with Rick. Not that he wanted to, but at least it would make Rick stop terrorizing him and his friends. He could finally walk home alone without needing to inconvenience his friends or potentially put them in harm's way. But he had stupidly mentioned the idea to Cartman, who had promptly called him suicidal and slapped some sense into him.
Rick could almost certainly hear Kenny's heartbeat. He was way too close not to. And he was probably deriving some sick form of satisfaction from it. Though he seemed strangely docile today.
His heart raced as Rick's fingers continued their unsettling exploration of his bruised face. A shiver of fear and revulsion ran down his spine, and he had to wonder what had prompted this sudden change in Rick's demeanor. He looked around for a moment and found the answer much too easily. Pretty far away, halfway around a corner, stood two students chatting. Two pairs of eyes to witness anything Rick might feel like doing.
"Why?" Kenny asked. It came out slightly too skeptical for his liking.
Rick's eyes narrowed at the skeptical tone, and he withdrew his hand from Kenny's face. The sudden absence of his touch felt like a relief, but Kenny knew better than to let his guard down. "Why?" Rick repeated, his voice taking on a colder edge. "Because, Kenny, we had something special, so many good times. The two of us."
It was always hard to tell whether Rick was lying or telling what he thought was the truth. Who knew what was going on in that man's head? He needed a mental institution. And Kenny meant that in a very non-derogatory way. But there was something special about the two of them together. Just not in a good way.
"Good times? Like what?" Kenny asked. Naturally, he wished either Cartman or Kyle had followed him out here. Mostly because either of them could help him out of this situation, but also because they could witness how nicely he had made his question sound non-confrontational. If that didn't mean good acting skills, then Kenny didn't know what it meant.
Rick leaned back a bit, so he was no longer towering over him. "Like… when I went out of my way to drive you all the way to Denver. You remember that, right?"
Yes, Kenny remembered that. But it was not what he would classify as a good time. "Yeah, how could I forget? Do you remember why I needed to go to Denver?"
Rick's expression changed, his brow furrowing slightly as if he were trying to recall the details of that trip. "You wanted to visit someone."
"Yeah," Kenny responded. His hands were still trembling around his plastic water bottle, and his knees felt weak. He knew fully well that he was just buying time at this point, grasping at straws to keep the dangerous dance of their conversation from escalating. "I wanted to visit Cartman in juvenile hall."
Rick's face contorted into a look of slight irritation and impatience. "Like I said. Good time. I even let you visit a friend." Looking at Rick was a little sad; he could have been incredibly handsome, were it not for his nicotine-stained teeth and terrible personality.
"You broke my arm that day," Kenny said. He knew he was getting a little too confrontational, but the memories were too painful to ignore, and the presence of those two other students was giving him confidence. "You just got so mad over something. And you broke my arm."
Of course, Kenny knew why Rick had gotten angry back then. He and Cartman had apparently been too happy talking to each other, and Rick got jealous. Funnily enough, the reason they were so happy was that Cartman had not been put in the same detention center as Trent. They had been celebrating.
Kenny had found it interesting at the time. He would have never pegged Cartman as someone who could intimidate Rick. Though, he supposed Rick was not used to hitting people his own size, even if they were Cartman, who had developed like a teddy bear.
Rick's eyes furrowed, and he leaned closer to Kenny, towering over him. His breath smelled like cigarettes. "You're so damn pessimistic. Lighten up, slut." He hissed through gritted teeth, grabbing Kenny's collar with the hand that had previously examined his face so gently. "You know, you move on way too fucking quickly! I mean, I knew you were a fucking whore, but goddamn, you've already started fucking a new guy!"
Kenny's heart pounded even harder as Rick's anger flared, and he could feel the violent tension in the air. "N-new guy?" He stammered. As if for a sense of safety, he looked to where he had seen the other two students.
Gone.
They were gone.
He was alone with Rick.
It was hard to breathe. Very hard. He needed to puke, and every little sound felt like gunshots roaring around and slamming themselves into his eardrums. His poor, abused plastic bottle crackled and popped beneath the pressure of his trembling finger. He needed to get away. His eyes darted around, looking for any possible exit, any possible escape.
Then something caught his eye; Rick's uniform was slightly undone, and his shirt collar was open, revealing most of his collarbone. He had a blank ink tattoo of a bird, beaten and battered with a broken wing. What a sad tattoo to have. It was almost mocking, in a way.
Rick smiled down at him, though his eyes did not match the gesture. "You always looked so much prettier with bruises," he hissed; venom dripped from his every word. "You should be fucking grateful, bitch!"
Kenny felt like he was being choked, like there was something stuck in his throat that was stopping him from breathing. Rick was holding him by the collar, forcing him to stand on tiptoes. At least, it kept him from falling, which was a very real possibility given how dizzy he had become.
With no one around to witness anything, Rick peeled his hand off of the locker, which it had been so roughly planted on. No witnesses, no problem.
As Rick's hand swung forward, poised to strike, the tension in the air reached its peak. The world seemed to slow down, as Kenny braced himself for the impact, his eyes tightly shut in anticipation of the pain.
But just as Rick's hand was about to make contact, a sudden, powerful grip caught his wrist, halting his violent motion. The force behind the grip was so strong that it caused Rick to wince in pain. Kenny's eyes snapped open, and he turned his gaze toward his unexpected savior.
Standing between Kenny and Rick was none other than Trent Boyett, his grip on Rick's wrist unyielding. Trent's expression was stony and intense but kind of hard to read, his eyes locked onto Rick with what can only be described as a look of incredible annoyance.
"Do you have no integrity?" Trent spoke to Rick in a way that made it seem like he was trying to sound nonchalant, but only partly managed to do so. "I had pegged you for a kinda good fighter, but it seems you only pick on people who are way smaller than you."
Rick's hand was inches away from Kenny's face, suspended in the air.
"You little shit," Rick hissed at Trent. His face had contorted into a look of pure, undeniable rage. His grip on Kenny's collar released slightly, though he still held on. "Goddamn, you've been nothing but a fucking nuisance since you came! Nobody fucking wants you here! Why don't you just crawl back into that shithole you came from and let the rest of us live our fucking lives without a dog like you bothering us!?"
His grip on Kenny's collar tightened again, and he flung him across the floor. Kenny fell, landing hard on his back against the dirty floor of the school hallway. Right as he was about to get up, debilitating pain shot through his ankle and up his leg; he had twisted it on the way down.
Throwing him seemed to be a rather smart strategic move, as it caused Trent to momentarily let go of Rick, who immediately grabbed Trent's collar and slammed him hard against one of the many green lockers.
Rick's fighting style was far from refined, Kenny knew as much from experience, and this was a perfect example of that statement, as Rick kept slamming Trent into the locker over and over again. The hallway echoed with the thuds of the impact, as Rick continued his relentless assault. Despite the loud thuds, the hallway remained eerily quiet.
Unrefined as it was, Rick's technique was effective and always left the victim winded, disoriented, and in a lot of pain. Usually, the victim would try to fight back, try to get out of his iron grip and eventually tire themselves out, leaving Rick able to do whatever he wanted afterwards. But this was different; Trent was not fighting back at all.
As Rick continued his relentless assault on Trent, slamming him against the locker with brutal force, the atmosphere in the dimly lit school hallway became increasingly tense. The thuds of impact echoed off the walls, and Kenny could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to get up despite the pain in his twisted ankle.
Trent, for his part, remained eerily calm despite the onslaught. His face was stoic, and his eyes, though locked in a fierce glare, held a hint of resignation. He made no attempt to fight back, as his hand held onto Rick's wrists in a way that made it look like it was purely for the sake of having somewhere to put his hands.
For a small moment, it looked like Rick was about to stop his onslaught. But, of course, that was not the case. He stopped, but only so he could move his hands from Trent's collar to his throat, suffocating him while still slamming him into the locker.
Rick's face contorted with anger, and he leaned in closer to Trent, his fingers digging into the other's throat as he choked him. The locker rattled with each impact, and Trent's body sagged against it. It was a horrifying sight.
Just when it seemed like Trent might lose consciousness from the choking, Rick abruptly released his grip and shoved Trent away, causing him to stumble backward and crash to the ground. Rick's heavy breaths filled the hallway as he glared down at Trent, his chest heaving with rage.
"Get in my way again, and I swear I'll fucking kill you, Boyett," Rick seethed, his voice low and dangerous. With those words, he turned and walked away, leaving Trent on the floor, gasping for air.
Trent coughed a bit, but eventually croaked out, "Noted," more to himself than to Rick, who had already left. He turned his head toward Kenny and smiled. "I got off work early," he said like it was some great piece of news. "You okay?"
He slowly pushed himself off the floor, rubbing his shoulders, the back of his head, and his throat. He was obviously in pain, way more pain than Kenny.
"Am I okay?" Kenny repeated, still sitting on the floor, unsure if his ankle could even hold his body. "What about you?"
"I live," Trent responded with incredible nonchalance. "You?"
Kenny hesitated for a moment, still unsure about his own condition. Gingerly, he tested his ankle, attempting to put weight on it. A sharp pain shot through his leg, causing him to wince.
"I think I might've twisted my ankle," Kenny finally admitted, his voice tinged with discomfort.
Trent crouched down in front of him, taking a look at the injured ankle. "Damn, it's already swollen. That honestly seems excessive," he said, taking hold of Kenny's hand and helping him stand up. Trent's touch was surprisingly gentle, but at no point did it feel like he would drop him. "Can I carry you?"
"Sure." The question had caught Kenny off guard, and he had answered hastily, not entirely aware of what he was even consenting to.
In one swift motion, that by no means should have come as a surprise to Kenny, Trent effortlessly scooped him up and carried him in his arms. Kenny had to forcibly stop himself from pushing himself out of Trent's arms. He had said yes to this; it would look really dumb if he jumped out. Nonetheless, he was heating up a lot.
Trent had begun walking somewhere, in a direction that was not to the auditorium. "Where're we going?" Kenny asked.
"The nurse's office," Trent said matter-of-factly, as he continued walking. His hands were really warm, and it felt nice to know that they were being used to support him rather than against him. "Those assholes have already waited for so long; they can wait a little longer."
Kenny simply nodded, and as they continued on in silence, Kenny found himself torn between wanting to thank Trent for defending him and wanting to cuss him out for not even attempting to defend himself. Naturally, he also strongly wanted to push himself off of Trent and walk on his own, but that mostly stemmed from a general sense of insecurity that Trent could drop him at any moment. But he stayed put; after all, his ankle could definitely not hold the weight of his body, and Trent did not seem to strain in the slightest while holding him.
So, he let Trent carry him. No other reasons.
It would really suck if he had actually sprained his ankle. He had no other words to describe it. It would suck really, atrociously, ferociously bad.
He knew theoretically, and probably also optimally, that if his ankle turned out to be sprained, he should avoid putting weight on it for at least a week or two. But that was not a possibility, not when he wanted to, no, needed to go to work and make money. Maybe he could just tough it out; the sprain was probably not that bad.
But it was that bad.
At least, that was what the school nurse said when she saw it. She even had the audacity to tell him to go to the hospital and have it x-rayed. Kenny had scoffed at that, as if he could afford an impromptu hospital visit without health insurance. No, he would just tough it out.
"You're being a hypocrite," he had said to Trent when the audacious asshole had started siding with the nurse.
"How am I being a hypocrite?" Trent asked, a perfectly valid question in all honesty. "I actually went to the hospital to fix my broken wrist."
Kenny was sitting on that weird half-bed-half-chair thing that all nurses seem to love having in their offices. His feet were dangling by the edge, he had made sure his injured ankle was not propped up in any way; it would seem serious if it was.
He was sitting with his arms crossed and pouting. He knew fully well how childish he looked, but he could not be bothered to fix anything.
"That's not what it's about, Trent," Kenny said. The actual nurse had left to find something a few minutes ago, and he was alone with Trent again. "You're being a hypocrite because I just watched you get slammed into a locker, like, fifty times, and you're acting like it didn't even happen. Doesn't it hurt?"
Trent was leaning against a wall. It was very obvious that he was trying to avoid leaning too hard on his back.
"Well, not anymore, it doesn't," Trent said. His words lacked conviction.
"Liar," Kenny quickly stated, not bothering to back his argument up with anything. "Tell me where it hurts."
He was trying to sound assertive, and it worked quite well, based on how taken aback Trent looked. "Don't order me around," he said, lacking bite in his voice. He was a little hoarse, evidently from being choked. It somehow made him sound husky more than anything. But he smiled a playful, mischievous smile. There was something undeniably charming about it.
"I'm not ordering you around," Kenny replied, his tone softening as he leaned closer to Trent. "I just want to make sure you're okay. You took quite a beating for me back there."
Trent's smile faded, and he seemed to consider Kenny's words for a moment. His gaze dropped to the floor before he finally sighed in reluctant admission. "Okay, maybe it does hurt a bit."
Kenny couldn't help but smirk triumphantly. "I knew it. So, where does it hurt, tough guy?"
Trent let out a small chuckle, his eyes meeting Kenny's. "Alright," he admitted. "It's mostly my back and shoulders that hurt. A little bit. But it's not a big deal."
Kenny raised an eyebrow, his concern not diminishing. "Not a big deal? You got slammed into a locker like a ragdoll, Trent. That's gotta hurt more than 'a bit.'"
Trent's smile returned, and he shrugged. "I've tried worse," he said. "Pain is relative and all that junk. It's just another bruise to add to my collection." He gestured to the dark bruise that had formed on one side of his face. While the redness of his eye was dulling, the rest of the bruise only seemed to get darker.
"Can I see?" Kenny asked.
Once again, he had caught Trent off guard, and he looked at him perplexed. "See what…?"
Kenny's face flushed at his own boldness; he was talking to Trent after all, and he had to keep that in mind. The request felt a bit too intimate. "Nevermind. Forget I asked."
Suddenly, Trent seemed to catch what he meant, and he smirked slyly. "Damn, are you asking me to take my shirt off?"
Kenny's face turned an even deeper shade of red, and he stammered, "No, that's not what I meant at all!" He crossed his arms and looked away from Trent. He was not prudish by any means, quite the opposite actually. But something about Trent saying it made him feel really flustered. "Well, yes, but only so we can put an ice pack on or something." He gestured to the small stack of not-yet-activated ice packs the nurse had piled next to him. "Besides, I've already seen you shirtless. I'm not that desperate."
Trent chuckled lightly. "Have you though?"
"Uh, yeah," Kenny replied, his voice wavering slightly. "When we went swimming, remember? Literally two days ago."
Trent's smirk widened, and he seemed to enjoy Kenny's flustered state. "Right, but you didn't look at me at all. So, it doesn't count." He paused for a moment, his gaze locking onto Kenny's, as he seemingly contemplated whether to continue speaking. "In fact, you were specifically avoiding me."
"I wasn't avoiding you," Kenny said, still trying to cool his face back down. He was lying, of course; he had, in fact, been avoiding Trent. Partly because he was really afraid of him and partly because he did not want to be caught looking.
Trent shrugged, very clearly not believing Kenny. "Whatever you wanna say, toots." What followed were a few moments of silence which Trent decided to break. "Anyway, do you want the shirt off or not?" He once again wore the same teasing smile.
The shirt in question was a white button-up. It did not look like something Trent would pick out himself; in fact, it looked like an old lady had told him to wear it. Albeit, a very fashionably inclined old lady. Then Kenny realized something: that shirt was a part of Trent's uniform. He had come directly from work.
"Sure," Kenny said, trying not to seem the least bit excited. "It'll make it easier to check for injuries."
Trent grinned mischievously as he unbuttoned his white button-up shirt, revealing a well-defined chest and six-pack coupled with a collection of various tattoos that adorned his skin. He undid each button with deliberate, almost exaggerated slowness. He was very obviously aware that Kenny was stealing quick glances.
By the time the shirt was discarded on the floor, Kenny found himself noticing something that he probably should have made a point not to notice: the happy trail running from Trent's belly button into his pants. Some, not Kenny (he would never), would even dare note that the carpet did not match the drapes.
It took Kenny an embarrassingly long time to realize that Trent had caught him staring, as it seemed his face had not yet reached its limit for how heated it could get. "Alright," he said, half-covering his face with his hand. "Take a seat, and let me see your back."
Obediently, Trent grabbed an unoccupied office chair nearby, moving it so he could sit in front of Kenny. He leaned forward slightly, his back exposed, and his distinct muscles glistening in the dim light of the nurse's office. Despite his embarrassment, Kenny couldn't help but appreciate the sight before him.
Among all the freshly forming bruises, something caught his eye: a beautiful, intricate tattoo on Trent's shoulder. It showed a bird flying freely in the air. It was so similar to, yet so different from, the bird tattoo Rick had on his collarbone.
"I like your tattoo," Kenny said as he reached over to grab an ice pack. He activated it quickly and gently placed it on one of the clearer bruises. He half-expected Trent to wince in pain, but he made not a single sound.
"Hm?" Trent responded. "Which tattoo?"
With trepidation, Kenny placed his finger near the bird tattoo, tracing the edges of it. "This one up here, with the bird." He let his fingers trace the lines of the tattoo. The act felt just a smidge too intimate, but Trent had yet to stop him, nor did he flinch or shy away. "Is there a story behind it?"
There was a tension in Trent's shoulders that seemed to release, and his entire demeanor softened. "Yeah, it's my newest one," he said. "I had it done when I was released from juvie. It's a sort of promise to never go back there or to adult prison."
Kenny continued to trace the tattoo with his fingers, his touch gentle and cautious. He found the idea of Trent making a promise to himself through ink on his skin strangely touching. "And how's that going?" he asked softly.
Something in Trent's demeanor changed again as his shoulder tensed, and the muscles beneath Kenny's fingers felt like they hardened. Trent had his back toward Kenny, so his face was not visible, thus unreadable.
It took a few moments before he finally admitted, "Well, it's going pretty bad, if I had to judge." His voice was still calm, and he did not appear angry. "I'm honestly impressed that Stan hasn't reported me for punching him like that. Not yet, at least."
Still tracing the tattoo, Kenny's fingers moved a little further down Trent's back until he noticed something: he could feel his heartbeat.
"You should apologize to him, then," Kenny said. He placed his hand flat on Trent's back, right by his heart. "He probably won't report you either way, though. So, I don't think you'll have to worry about that."
"Yeah, okay, I'm not doing that. Cute idea, though," Trent said, quickly.
"Suit yourself," Kenny responded. His attention had been entirely diverted to the heartbeat beneath his fingers. "You know, Rick has a bird tattoo too."
Trent's heartbeat seemed to quicken slightly at the mention of Rick's tattoo, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "He does?" he asked, his voice tinged with unease.
"Yeah," Kenny said, trying to figure out how the revelation could make Trent react like that. "On his collarbo-"
Before he could finish his sentence, the high-pitched sound of a phone ringing caught both his and Trent's attention. The sudden interruption made Kenny jump slightly, and he quickly pulled his hand away from Trent's back. Trent glanced at the source of the ringing sound and walked to his discarded shirt to retrieve his phone. He looked at the caller ID for a few moments before he answered the call with a hushed tone.
"When I gave you my number, I didn't actually want you to use it," he said, half-hissing as he spoke. "What do you want?"
There was an unmistakable tension in Trent's body language, but Kenny doubted that it had anything to do with the call. He could hear the caller to an extent; not what they said, but their tone of voice. It was a young man who spoke in a panicked, almost yelling tone.
The young man kept talking and talking, not even giving Trent a chance to say something, as he was too busy with his hysterical rant. It kept going like that for a few minutes. In the meantime, Kenny watched as Trent's expression slowly transitioned from annoyed to agitated to almost sympathetic and back to annoyed when he couldn't get a word in.
Soon enough, Trent finally turned the one-way conversation into a regular conversation. "Well, if you'd kindly shut up for a sec, I can tell you exactly where he is," he said, leaning against the wall, listening to the panicked guy on the other end say something. "He's right here."
Wait, the panicked guy was asking about Kenny? Trent handed the phone to him, who took it while giving him a confused look. "Hello?" he said into the mic.
"Oh God! Oh, thank God! Kenny, you asshole!" It was Stan, speaking much louder than a concussed guy should ever feel inclined to. It was honestly really jarring; it had been years since he had seen or heard Stan show so much emotion. He was out of breath too. "Dude, Cartman texted me that you just left! You can't just do that! We thought Rick had murdered you and left you in a ditch or something!"
Kenny blinked. How long had it been? "You couldn't find me, so you called Trent?"
Stan let out an almost offended scoff. "No, no, I called like twenty other people who hadn't seen you. Then I called Trent. Where are you?" He spoke very fast, and Kenny almost did not catch what he was saying.
"We're in the nurse's office," Kenny explained. He really did not want Stan to hear about his ankle. He, and the rest of the guys, would probably make some big fuss about making him get it checked. "Trent got beat up."
He could see Trent give him a look, but he remained silent as he simply put his shirt back on.
"Cool, cool, I'll see you there," Stan said. It sounded like he was already on his way. "Jesus, dude, you almost gave me, like, six heart attacks." His tone had softened a bit, and at this point, it merely sounded like he wanted to chit-chat. Sure, Kenny would indulge him. "Like, I was just chilling in class, doing my work when I got a text from Cartman, who said that he and Kyle couldn't find you. And that they ran into Rick, who looked really pissed off. And he made them go back to the auditorium. But you still weren't there." He stopped talking for a few seconds to catch his breath. "But did you run into Rick?"
Impressive. Stan really had a way with speed talking when he needed it. "Yeah, I did. How else do you think Trent got beaten up?"
Kenny had to admit it was fun to watch Trent get a little annoyed every time he mentioned him being beaten up. It was true though. Rick beat him up. He had gotten up and was looking around the nurse's office, trying to kill his boredom, while Kenny occupied his phone.
"Ugh, so he's really hung up on that 'I promised not to fight him' thing, huh?" Stan asked.
"Yeah, that's probably it," Kenny said. "It's kinda dumb; I hadn't even thought about that before."
Stan's voice came through the phone with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Kenny, did you get hurt in the confrontation with Rick? You sound... okay, but I just want to make sure you're all right."
Kenny glanced down at his ankle, which was still throbbing with pain and had swollen quite a bit since he twisted it. It did look pretty bad; the foot even seemed to point in a new direction. "Yeah, I'm fine. Nothing major. It was a close call though; I almost got sucker-punched."
Trent, who had been listening to Kenny's side of the conversation, raised an eyebrow. He had put his shirt back on but still looked curious about the call.
Stan let out a relieved sigh and said something that Kenny did not quite catch. Why did he not catch it? Well, the answer's simple: Trent had moved up next to him, placed a hand on his knee, and said, "Can I have my phone back? I need to talk to you," into his ear. Really, it was the hand on his knee that had taken him out.
Kenny had almost immediately said his 'goodbye's and 'see you later's to Stan and handed the phone back to Trent, all while trying to stay casual about that hand. It had simply caught him off guard. Nothing more.
Trent took the phone and pocketed it quickly. Looking straight into Kenny's eyes, he spoke. "What do you think is wrong with your ankle?"
"I, uh," Kenny swallowed some spit. "I think I sprained it."
Trent shook his head, leaning back a bit so he wasn't so close to Kenny. But his hand was still resting on Kenny's knee. "Liar," Trent said. "What do you really think it is?"
Kenny hesitated for a moment, his mind racing to come up with an answer. He didn't want to admit how much his ankle hurt or how worried he was about it. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. It's probably nothing."
Kenny's attempt to downplay his ankle injury didn't go unnoticed by Trent, who continued to regard him with a skeptical look. Kenny's initial response was to brush off the seriousness of the situation, but the pain and swelling in his ankle were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
Trent, still keeping his hand on Kenny's knee, leaned a little closer to his face and asked. "Can I see?" It almost sounded like he was trying to be seductive, but Kenny was probably just misinterpreting things.
"Eh… no?" Kenny said, not entirely sure that answer would fly. If Trent looked at his ankle, he would definitely see that it was far from nothing.
"Oh, come on. I literally stripped just because you asked me to," Trent retorted.
He felt a little cornered by Trent's argument. He had a point. With a sigh, Kenny reluctantly agreed, "Okay, fine. But don't make a big deal out of it." He supposed it was only fair if he showed. "And don't tell anyone."
Trent nodded in agreement, his expression maintaining its mischievous charm. "Deal," he said, giving Kenny's knee a gentle squeeze.
With that, Kenny gingerly lifted his pant leg to get better access to his shoe, which he started carefully removing. That endeavor was quickly cut short as he winced in pain, pulling his hands away; he had put too much pressure on his poor ankle.
Trent watched Kenny's struggle with his ankle, his expression shifting from mischievous to concerned. He leaned in closer, his hand still resting on Kenny's knee. "Easy there," he said softly, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Lemme do it."
Without waiting for Kenny's response, Trent knelt down in front of him and carefully removed Kenny's shoe and sock, revealing the swollen and discolored ankle. Kenny couldn't help but wince as Trent examined it closely. It looked way worse than he had hoped.
"Damn," was all the insightful commentary Trent had to make, as his finger lightly grazed over the bruised area. "That's definitely not just a sprain."
Kenny huffed a bit. He had already realized it was worse than a sprain, probably even a fracture, but he also knew he could not take it to the hospital. "Why'd you even want to see it anyway?" he asked, still huffing a bit. "Do you just wanna play nurse or something?"
Trent made some noise that sounded like a mix of an offended huff and an amused chuckle as he stood back up and made his way toward one of the nurse's many cabinets. "Wow, you're really trying to call me out on playing nurse?" He looked like he was looking for something in the cabinet, then almost as if he had just thought of some great comeback, he turned around and spoke. "Oh, did you want me to take my shirt back off? You know, I think I have a little bruise on my knee. Do you want my pants off too?"
Kenny let out a half-embarrassed laugh. "Okay, okay, fine, you win." He would get back at him. He would definitely make Trent feel embarrassed about something. Anything.
Trent quickly found what he had been looking for: a small bottle of painkillers and one of those ankle braces that can be kept under the wearer's sock. Trent went back to Kenny, knelt down in front of him, and gently began putting the brace on his foot.
Despite his uncannily gentle touch, it still hurt like a bitch every time Trent moved that brace, and Kenny found himself wincing and trying not to make too much noise.
"You know what, Trent?" Kenny said between winces. It was time for payback. "I never really imagined I'd see you on your knees in front of me like this."
Trent paused for a moment, looking up at Kenny with a mixture of surprise and amusement. He chuckled before continuing to secure the brace on Kenny's ankle. "Damn, I really should've kept my shirt off. Would've added to the appeal."
"Yep, missed opportunity there," Kenny said, chuckling. He had really hoped Trent would at least blush in embarrassment, but he supposed a lighthearted joke was worth it. Trent finished placing the brace and secured it tightly around Kenny's ankle, making it so he could not move it. "You were right, though; I was avoiding you when we went swimming."
Trent finished securing the brace on Kenny's ankle and stood up. "Yeah, I'd avoid me too," he simply stated, clearly not fazed by Kenny's comment. "Avoiding me, yet letting me get this close to your fucked up ankle. You're a complicated guy, Ken doll. A short one too."
"Nuh uh," Kenny retorted; a very great argument if he had to say so himself. No one could disagree with 'Nuh uh'. "You're the one who's complicated. And I'm not short, I'm just a few inches below average height. "
"Below average is short." Trent said, giving Kenny a half-confused smile as he watched him put his sock and shoe back on. "And also, you're the one who went from halfway shitting your pants every time I was near to ordering me to strip in a nurse's office. You even molested my tattoo."
"Nuh uh," there he went again with his irrefutable argument. "You're the one who suddenly turned out to be the kind of guy who babysits your neighbor's kids and lends people your jacket when they're cold, and actually tries to keep promises. That sort of stuff."
Trent's face turned completely red, and he broke eye contact, looking off somewhere. "Whatever," he mumbled, as he finally handed Kenny that bottle of painkillers. "I'm not…" he paused for a moment, looking at Kenny's shoes dangling off the edge of the half-bed. "I'm not a medical professional. You should get that looked at."
Kenny was not entirely sure what gave him the idea, but he was pretty sure that that was not what Trent originally wanted to say. It was jarring; he had only seen Trent look so unsure when he suggested therapy.
Before Kenny could respond to Trent's sudden discomfort, the door to the nurse's office swung open, and in walked Stan, looking both relieved and concerned. He rushed over to Kenny, his expression filled with worry.
"You asshole, Kenny," Stan said, enveloping him in a tight hug and making it hard to breathe. "Don't fucking do that again."
Kenny hugged Stan back as best he could when he was being suffocated. "Sorry," he croaked out, still trying to breathe. Stan was a lot stronger than he looked. "Can't breathe."
With a mostly apologetic look, Stan released Kenny from his death grip, and Kenny made a big show out of gulping in as much air as possible. But then Stan grabbed him again, holding him even tighter. "I'm serious, don't you do it again."
"I won't," Kenny croaked, still trying desperately to just breathe. "Please, have mercy…"
Finally, Stan released him, and he took another myriad of deep breaths. He didn't make a big show out of it this time either; this time, he was just trying to oxygenize his brain. He looked around only to find that Trent had already left. Though he did not get time to dwell on it, as Stan quickly grabbed his face and examined him.
"Are you sure you're fine?" He asked skeptically, and Kenny nodded a lot, hoping that Stan would leave it be quickly. It took a little while, but he eventually managed to convince Stan that he was not hurt. "Good," Stan had said. "Come on, we should get to the auditorium. The others are waiting for you."
And, of course, with surprising strength once again, Stan practically dragged Kenny off the half-bed, where he landed on his poor, abused ankle. The brace was definitely just there to make sure he didn't move it too much. It didn't actually take any weight off the ankle.
Kenny let out a sharp hiss of pain as he landed on it, and Stan immediately realized his mistake. He helped Kenny back onto his feet as gently as possible, and Kenny gritted his teeth to hide the pain.
"Shit, dude, sorry," Stan said, confusion written all over his face. "I thought you said you weren't injured?"
"I'm not!" Kenny said quickly, too quickly. "It's just a very mild sprain."
It was definitely a fracture; his foot pointed a few degrees in an off direction, the ankle was discolored, the whole thing was swollen.
Once he got paid for the month, Kenny would get it checked out at the hospital eventually. What day was it? Monday, September 6th. And he would get paid on September 30th. This month was gonna suck.
"Huh," Stan stated. "Maybe you should get a doctor's note or something, so you won't have to join in P.E."
Right, for the first time since senior year started, they would have P.E in the morning.
Fuck.