Well

Chapter One - Stuff is Messed Up



"Do you need anybody? I need somebody to love. Could it be anybody? I want somebody to love…"

Stan groans, silencing his alarm clock and stretching. Of course he wouldn't be able to sleep on the night before the first day of school. He yawns and slowly drags himself out of bed. Blue jeans, white shirt, brown jacket. He sighs at his appearance in the mirror. Life is dull already, and Stan Marsh is too average to stand out in the fog.

"I called her on the phone and she touched herself. She touched herself. She touched herself..."

Kenny opens his eyes, lifting his hands before his face and closing weak fists in front of his line of sight. He flexes his arms, he wiggles his toes, he licks his lips. Pleased to find himself in one piece, he lifts himself off of the mattress on the floor, letting the song play through while he slips into a pair of orange cargo pants and lights a cigarette.

"I followed a rabbit through rows of mermaid entwined shrubbery. Oh, what marvelous things but, they are, they are, they are giving me the creeps…"

Butters eyes snap open and he pants, trying to catch his breath. "Butters? Butters, get up!" his father's voice comes ringing through the hallway. He wipes the cold beads of sweat from his forehead and clambers out of bed. "Coming, sir!"

"I'll take my time to slowly plot your end. But now I will spit bullets with my pen. And all I know is you're cute when you scream…"

Kyle scrambles for his cell phone, almost falling out of bed as he does so. He hits snooze and rolls back into the wall. He's not ready for this. Junior year is the year that your grades actually matter to colleges. Junior year is his deciding factor. Today is the beginning of the rest of his life, and he can't fuck this up. "BUBBALA!!" his mother screeches from downstairs. "TIME FOR SCHOOL."

There is silence in Cartman's bedroom. No alarm signals the first day of school, no song rips him from his heavy slumber. His chest rises and falls so slowly snow could gather undisturbed on the hilltop of his stomach.

Stan, Kenny and Kyle gather at the bus stop. Brown, orange, orange. From a distance, an outsider might believe a fire was burning against the stark background of the snow-covered pavement. South Park residents know better.

"Kenny!" Kyle smiles as the tall boy.

"Didn't think you were gonna make it!" Stan tells him. "That last round of Syphilis hit you pretty hard!"

"And miss the first day of school?" Kenny chuckles. "I gotta see if there's any new ass for me to try."

"There's not going to be," Kyle tells him dully. "We've been going to school with the same kids for eleven years. No one comes, no one goes. Except you of course."

There is a silence. Kenny leaves space between himself and Kyle for the body of a boy that will not be joining them. The bus hisses to a halt.

"We all live close enough to walk," Kyle muses as they climb the slippery steps, snow knocking off their sneakers as they do so. Mrs. Crabtree is wailing at them for getting the floor wet. She goes entirely unnoticed. "Ike walks."

"I totally have a car, dude. I could just drive us all to school," Stan points out.

The boys collapse into the last row of the bus. They are not the first ones on, but that particular row of seats is always open.

"I can't imagine not taking the bus," Kenny admits, his eyes scanning the bus full of his classmates, chattering about summer and sharing pleasantries.

"Neither can I," Stan says quietly.

"Yeah, that'd be weird. Let's stop talking about this," Kyle mutters.

The students hesitate outside of the school until the bell rings, hands shoved low in their pockets for warmth. Butters wonders why girls and guys still don't integrate in South Park. They stand separated as they always have. He sighs. Butters can imagine an easier world. A crane hangs still in air over the sign on the front of the building. SOUTH PARK HIGH.

"Only took them four years to finally change it," Stan laughs.

"I still don't get it. Where do the little kids go to school?" Token asks.

Clyde turns towards him slowly and asks, "What little kids?"

Kyle realizes with a dull shock that Clyde is right. He hasn't seen any kids younger than Ike in South Park for, well, years. Ike is starting the eighth grade today and his class is being taught in the same building as the high school students. In the same building they went through for grammar school. In the same fucking building.

They file into the same classroom, sit in the same seats and stare up at the same teacher. Mr. Garrison glares down at all of them and sighs. The feeling is mutual. The morning announcements float down from the PA system, and a few students wander into the room late. It seems like Mr. Garrison doesn't even have the energy to bitch at them anymore. Tweek bursts through the door overdramatically and then sheepishly crawls to his seat, scratching at his arms and mumbling to himself. Jimmy moves slowly as well, swinging between his crutches easily. When Bebe sashays through the door, Kenny's eyes fall fixedly on her chest and he smiles to himself. Finally, every seat is filled but the one squarely in front of Kyle.

"Well, I guess he's not coming back," Butters says, frowning across the seats next to him where his friends are scattered.

Stan shrugs, pulling off his blue and red hat and dropping it on top of his backpack on the floor. It's only the beginning of Autumn, and while the rest of Colorado is just nearing the end of a hot and muggy summer, South Park seems to be stuck in an eternal Winter. The snow on the ground never melts, and the chilling winds never leave. South Park residents are doomed to red cheeks and runny noses. "I don't know why we really expected to see him here. He missed the last six months of sophomore year and I didn't see him once over summer."

"Maybe he died," Kenny pipes in, tucking long strands of sandy, uncut hair behind his ears in a way that says he's "been there, and done that."

"He didn't die!" Butters shrieks. "I've talked to him online. He just can't come to school. But he said he was working on coming back so I thought he'd be here, that's all."

"Why are we even talking about him?" Kyle whines. "The past nine months without Cartman have been the most peaceful and enjoyable months of my life."

"True story," Craig chuckles under his breath.

"You guys really haven't spoken to him once?" Butters asks quietly, studying Kyle, Stan and Kenny's faces.

"Nah."

"I don't use the internet, Butters."

"No. Fucking. Way. Why does that surprise you?"

"Well, gee, he was supposed to be one of your best friends," Butters says. "Don't you think you should... uh, at least let him know you care about him? He's been through a lot of... crap with you three."

The three boys stare back at the blonde incredulously. Butters shrinks in his seat, his face reddening as he hides behind the stiff collar of his baby blue track jacket.

"Shut up, dude," Stan says.

"Well, shit, why do I even come to school to teach then?" Mr. Garrison complains. Mr. Mackey stands before him, talking rapidly and apologizing loudly. "If we have any hope of graduating him, we need to speak to the boys today. I promise it's just this once, mmkay?"

Stan, Kyle and Kenny stare ahead expectantly. Butters grips his desk, trying to mask his hopefulness.

"Stan, Kyle, Butters, Mr. Mackey and Principal Victoria would like to speak to you."

"Yes!" Butters rejoices.

"Hey!" Kenny shouts. "What about me? I'm always a part of the shit that happens to us!"

"They probably thought you were still dead, Kenny," Mr. Garrison tells him.

"Well, can I go?"

"No."

"Hey!"

Mr. Garrison's eyes drift up to the bayonets and axes and spiked, tethered balls that hang from the ceiling above Kenny's desk. Why exactly did he make medieval weapons a class project again? They sway dangerously, and Mr. Garrison waves his hand at Kenny,

"Yeah, go. Get out of here."

The four boys trot down the hallway, thrilled to be outside of the classroom, however in no hurry to actually arrive at the principal's office.

"I was afraid there for a second," Kenny says, "it looked like school was going to be boring this year."

Stan glances at him. "We've been here for a whole fifteen minutes."

"Exactly!"

"I wonder what this is about," Butters muses, his concern fake and mixed with excitement at being involved. "Maybe we're being sent on a secret mission to another town, or state, or planet."

"I don't have time for this," Kyle sighs, running his hand through the loose red curls on his head before replacing his hat. "Yale, Harvard, Stanford. They don't give a shit if I have to deal with Manbearpig or alien invaders."

"You're not missing anything by missing Mr. Garrison's teaching," Kenny assures him. "You're better off teaching yourself."

"That's half of the problem. I have to sit through school every day when I could be studying for the SATs."

Kenny shakes his head. "You need to learn to have a little fun."

"Like how? By fucking anything that moves? Not my cup of tea."

"You haven't tasted my tea," Kenny says smoothly, looping his arm around Kyle's neck and pulling him into his body.

"Arrrgh! Stop!" Kyle yelps, tearing from his grasp. He moves away from Kenny and puts himself next to an oddly quiet Stan.

"Dude, you okay?" Kyle asks.

"What? Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're just quiet."

"Am I?" Stan asks flatly, his hand falling to the brass doorknob of the administration office and tugging it open.

"Yeah, it's weird, dude."

"I guess there's just nothing left to say that hasn't been said."

"What about you, Butters?" Kenny whispers as they file into the room. "Want some of me?"

"Uh, no thanks, Kenny. I can fulfill my desires other ways," Butters stammers, pushing past him and following Kyle and Stan into Principal Victoria's room. Kenny halts in his tracks and stares at the back of Butters' head.

"Huh?"

Mr. Mackey stands behind the principal and the boys sit directly in front of her. They have been here so many times. The only thing that changed is their feet have gotten closer and closer to the ground.

"Boys, we'd like to talk to you about your friend Eric Cartman."

There is an "oh!" from Butters and an unbelieving groan of, "really? For real," from Kyle, but aside from that, there is silence. The boys wait.

"He is unfortunately still bed ridden. He just barely passed his sophomore year due to Mr. Mackey going to his home and administering some comprehension tests to show that he was at an acceptable level for promotion. I'm sure you all are aware that Junior year of high school is pivotal to the rest of your life. I called you three... err… four in here to ask you if anyone would be interested in doing Eric a great favor this year."

"Anything for Eric!" Butters chirps. The three other boys turn to glare at him slowly.

"Unfortunately, Butters, your parents already called and said no."

"Aw, gee."

"Anyway, we're looking for a student to visit Eric a couple days a week and teach him the lessons Mr. Garrison teaches you in class. A friend who can help Eric understand the concept in classes, stay with him while he takes the tests and be honorable about not helping him cheat."

"Sure, I'll help out," Kenny offers.

"Um, well, that's very thoughtful of you Kenny, but we need a student that can not only help Eric keep his grades up, but won't let his own slip either. You already have a D in Mr. Garrison's class."

"What?! It's only the first day of school!"

"Exactly," Mr. Mackey and Principal Victoria say in unison. "That leaves it up to either Kyle or Stan, mmkay?"

Kyle stares forward, his brow knotted with irritation and his mouth hanging open dumbly. Stan turns to look at him slowly, a sheepish, pleading smile on his face.

"Aw, COME ON!" Kyle cries out, pounding his fists in his lap. "You have to be fucking kidding me. You want me to help that fat nazi bastard?! You want me to be ALONE WITH HIM?!"

"Kyle, we have already spoken to the school board about your agreement to help Eric—"

"—what agreement?!"

"—and they've agreed to give you community service hours for as many hours as you spend with him this year. You will be able to label it as tutoring and emotional support of a medically struggling student—"

"—EMOTIONAL SUPPORT?!"

"—and further, the school board as agreed to match the grade Eric earns in Mr. Garrison's class this year. If he gets an A, you will get 4 extra credits on top of the grade you earn in Mr. Garrison's class. You have the potential to earn the highest GPA in South Park High history. Colleges will not be able to turn you down."

Kyle seethes in silence for a moment, his face as red as the curls that peek out from beneath the green flaps of his hat. He cannot deny the offer, as awful as the job is. Cartman may very well chop him up and make him into dinner, but at least Kyle knows he'll get into college. Plus, on the bright side, Kyle is sure he can out run a bed ridden invalid.

"Why," he starts, trying to keep his voice level, "did you even call Kenny, Stan and Butters in here if you were all going to make me do this anyway?"

"I don't really know," she admits. "We've just always done it that way."

The boys wander back into the hallway when they're released, once again in no hurry to arrive at their destination. Butters has vanished, but it is accepted easily. He's always either under their feet or nowhere to be found.

"Can you believe this?" Kyle moans, leaning up against a wall in the hallway and burying his face in his hands. "I have to tutor Cartman. FOR A YEAR. I have to make sure he passes. I have to sit with his sick ass in his bedroom and teach him."

"Stop PMSing, Kyle," Stan sighs, reading over the posters pinned to the bulletin board where they're loitering against the wall. "When did this bulletin board get here?" he asks.

"It's always been there, Stan," Kyle tells him, studying his face while Stan stares thoughtfully.

"I didn't know our school had a guitar club," Stan says, tugging a golden flier off the cork.

"That's my brother's club. He just started it this year. I saw him printing out those fliers this morning."

"Ike plays guitar?'

"Mhm."

"Speaking of music," Kenny butts in, grabbing the front of Kyle's orange jacket and pulling him away from the wall. "I have an extra ticket to a concert in Denver next month. I was going to take Bebe, but I changed my mind. I want you to come with me."

"What? Why?"

"After a month with Cartman, you're going to need it."

Kyle stares up into Kenny's face and his blue, slightly sunken eyes, hiding beneath sunny, uncut hair. He's never really looked at Kenny before, his face so often hidden beneath his hood. In the fluorescent lighting of the hallway, he looks beautiful and scary.

"What band?"

"Senses Fail and Say Anything."

"Oh," Kyle says. "I like them."

"So you'll come?"

"Sure."

Kenny smiles brightly down at Kyle, dazzling him. He drags an affectionate hand down his chest before releasing him and Kyle feels woozy and uncertain. Half an hour ago, he rejected Kenny's advances. How come now he's suddenly flushed and fluttery? He glances back at Stan for his reaction, but Stan is still staring down at the goldenrod in his hand with an empty gaze. When he turns back, Kenny is gone. Kyle clenches his jaw, frustrated with himself.

"I didn't know Ike played guitar."

"There's a lot of things we don't know about him, dude. He's Canadian."

Simultaneously, the two friends turn back towards Mr. Garrison's classroom. Stan slips the flier into his back pocket but Kyle does not notice his off behavior, too overwhelmed by Kenny's flirtatious tendencies and the fact that he is now officially a tutor to Eric Fucking Cartman. Might as well slip into a pair of striped pajamas now. You can pin a pink triangle next to his yellow star.

When they enter the classroom, Kenny is in his seat, aimlessly drumming his fingers against the desktop. Kyle is too busy trying to figure out what the fuck happened in the hallway to notice Butters, head down on his desk, sound asleep.

The day passes in lurches and lulls. Stan does not talk at lunch, and neither does Kyle. Kyle stares at Kenny. Stan stares at his hand. Butters, however, seems back to normal. He talks animatedly, laughing and smiling at Jimmy's jokes and conversing easily with Token and Clyde.

Stan is able to adjust Mr. Garrison's grating voice to translate as a dull roar in his head. He tries to pay attention in class but he seems unable to do so. He is bothered by something. He is bothered by doing the same thing every day year after year. Nothing has changed. The monotony is screaming. The guitar club poster in his back pocket burns. He wants to pull it out and look at it again, but he refrains.

Kyle fidgets in his seat. A few times during class, he tries to turn around and look at Kenny, but he refuses to give Kenny the satisfaction of successfully messing with his head. For all he knows, Kenny is playing another game to entertain himself between deaths.

Upon being dismissed for the afternoon, Kyle realizes that he didn't listen to a single thing Mr. Garrison said today. So much for starting his Junior year out right. He sighs. At least he doesn't have a reason to spend any more time than necessary at Cartman's house today. He can stop by, drop off the syllabus and go the fuck home.

"Hey, Stan," Kyle says, moving over to his desk. "I gotta run by Cartman's, so I'll just talk to you later? See you in the morning?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, cool. Later, dude," Stan drawls, lifting himself out of his seat and walking out into the hallway. Kyle stares after him, dumbstruck.

"What the fuck is happening around here?"

Stan wanders through the hallway, getting a few things out of his locker before leaving campus. His eyes are unfocused and untrained, staring straight ahead of himself as he walks. He does not notice Wendy and Red glaring at him from a nearby water fountain.

He stops at the front door to shove his hat on his head and slip his fingers into a pair of gloves. It looks like it's starting to snow outside. He watches snowflakes gather on the sill of the large windows of the door. Early September. This town fucking sucks.

"Hey, Stan," a familiar voice passes him. Stan's head jerks awkwardly to find the speaker. Ike is almost out the door.

"Oh, whoa! Ike, wait!"

"Yeah?"

"You… play guitar, right?" Stan drags the crumpled xerox from his back pocket. "Kyle said this is your club."

"Yep."

Not only is Ike's face constantly stoic and blanket, but his words are also devoid of emotion. It makes Stan nervous, despite being four years older than the boy.

"If I… come to it, will you teach me how to play?"

"Do you have a guitar?"

"Yes. Well, my dad does. I'm sure I can borrow it."

"For sure," Ike agrees, the wide, flat line of his mouth turning up into the subtlest of smiles. "We meet Wednesdays afterschool on the playground. Or, concrete football field, whatever this dumb school calls it. You down?"

"Yeah! Awesome!" Stan says. He waves as Ike turns to leave, suddenly too sick to his stomach to speak a farewell.

The walk to Cartman's house is quick, but it feels slow and painful as an unexpected wind carries the snowdrift beneath Kyle's hat and up his pant legs. He groans. He could be on the bus home right now. Thoughts of Stanford, in warm and beautiful California, keep his feet moving in the direction of a house that is probably colder than this weather.

Kyle has not seen Cartman in nine months, and he knows it's going to be awkward when he does. As he rings the doorbell, he takes solace in the fact that Cartman cannot even get out of bed to answer the call. s

Leann is the one that does, just cracking the door enough to see who is there. She smiles when she recognizes Kyle and swings the door open wide. She is wet. Her clothes are soaked through, a towel hanging over one shoulder and a bucket of soapy water in her hand.

"Are you who decided to help Eric out this semester?"

Kyle is about to speak when a grating voice calls out from inside the house. "Maaaaaaaaahm, you left shampoo in my hair!"

No. No, way. Kyle stares up at her in horror. "Yes," he answers softly.

"Well, would you like to come in and visit? Eric is downstairs now, it made me too tired to climb the stairs every time he needed something. His bed is set up in the living room!"

"Who's there? Is that Kyle? Seriously? I heard him. That's Kyle!"

"Oh, no, that's alright. I just came to drop off the syllabus. I, uh, think there might be a blizzard coming and I don't want to be too far from home when it hits."

"They sent the Jew to teach me?!"

"Oh, I understand dear."

"Here's his syllabus," Kyle mumbles, fumbling for it in his backpack, regretting not having it pulled out earlier.

"The fucking JEW?!"

"So, Principal Victoria said you'd be visiting us Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, is that correct?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess so."

"You fucking jew-rat better come in here right now!"

"Wonderful, Kyle. You're doing Eric a wonderful service."

"I've got to go," Kyle blurts out, turning on his heels and practically running for the street. The sound of Cartman's voice has his heart pounding and his hands shaking. Why is he suddenly so scared of the other boy? He knows that Cartman cannot hurt him, and he knows that his anti-semetic slurs are hollow threats, and yet, Kyle finds himself on rocky ground. Nine months away from Cartman has rid Kyle of his tough skin to the other boy's brutality. How the Hell is he going to do this? As soon as he's out of sight of Leann, Kyle breaks out into a run, his lungs protesting the temperature of the air he is breathing and his hurry to get home.