A Serious Case of Cooties
Chapter 3: Proof
written by SqueakGirl - illustrated by Neavvs and SynnesaiRecess the next day saw slightly clearer skies and less snow than the day before; yet it was still too cold.
Stan stood next to Kyle, who had made a full recovery, with their backs against the school building. The wall blocked the whipping wind, and the sun had baked the bricks making it warm to the touch. Rubbing his shoulders against the rough wall, Stan watched the long line of his fellow male classmates occupy the front of Cartman's cardboard box. His cootie shot business was booming. Cartman had spread the news quickly that Stan had succumbed to cooties the previous day. He also took the opportunity to pin Kyle's absence yesterday as a direct result of Bebe's Ookie Mouth game. Kyle had refused to comment on the situation, but after getting caught with his sleeves rolled up while washing his hands in the bathroom, it quickly spread through Garrison's class that Kyle Broflovski had a cootie shot too. Annoyed by Cartman's crowing and sudden success with the other fourth grade boys, Kyle had dragged Stan clear across the playground the minute recess started so that they could stand in judgment of Cartman's latest scheme in peace.
Stan watched as Timmy rolled his chair up to Cartman's 'desk' with Jimmy at his side. Jimmy offered the fat boy several dollar bills. Cartman made a show of fiddling with his paints and brushes. He flourished his tools with a smugness that made Stan's stomach crawl. As Cartman painted the cootie shot on Jimmy's and Timmy's arms, Butters, who had jumped at the chance to help Eric, sat counting the money earned while placing it in a small tin can. Kenny hovered behind him, a freshly painted cootie shot on his own left forearm.
"I hate you, you know," Kyle mumbled out of the corner of his mouth fifteen minutes into recess. Stan sighed.
"I know."
"I can't believe this. If you hadn't given me that stupid shot -"
"You'd still be sick," Stan countered angrily. Kyle snapped his mouth shut.
He shook his head.
"It's a goddamn coincidence. I'll prove that!" Kyle promised more to himself than to Stan.
"You know you could say thank you…to me…for helping you out the other day," Stan pressed, glaring at his friend. Kyle avoided his eye.
"I didn't ask you to skip school, jerk ass."
Stan pushed himself off the brick wall and marched over towards the swing set. Wendy perched in one of the swings with Bebe pushing her lightly every now and then. The girls chatted, giggling. Bebe played with Wendy's hair, twisting it into braids around her fingers. When the two girls spotted the approaching boy, Bebe stopped the swing and blocked Stan's path to her friend.
"She doesn't want to talk to you," Bebe informed Stan.
"I — er — wanted to apologize for yesterday," Stan mumbled, looking at his feet.
Wendy got up and stood at Bebe's side. She put her hands on her hips, eyeing Stan coldly. Her gaze darted to the long line of boys in front of Cartman and then back to Stan.
"Why are you helping Cartman?" Wendy began slowly. Her eyes were bloodshot and her nose red from the cold. "Look at all those idiots wasting their money!"
"I think it works."
Bebe gave a harsh laugh. Wendy sniffed.
"Stan," Wendy began, her voice suddenly soft, "I told you that the cootie shot isn't real. It's something to joke around with. Girls do it all the time. Like our fortune teller game."
Stan looked uncomfortable. He glanced behind him to see Kyle now hunched against the brick wall and staring intently in Cartman's direction.
Turning back to Wendy, Stan held out his hands pleadingly.
"Wendy, you didn't see him. He was having trouble breathing, and he kept getting sick. His mom didn't know what was wrong with him," Stan explained.
Bebe exchanged a look with Wendy. Neither girl seemed convinced.
"What made you think it was cooties? It could be anything else," Bebe pointed out. "Doesn't Kyle get sick all the time? He's like the smartest kid in class, but misses the most days."
Stan clenched his fists. They hadn't seen how bad his friend had looked. All they cared about was Eric Cartman getting ahead. Wendy at times shared Kyle's obsession with Cartman. Both had fought against him and his intolerable, bigoted behavior; Wendy quite literally at times. Yet, should an old grudge keep them from noticing that Cartman had done some good? Stan wasn't sure if it was exactly cooties, but he knew the shot worked. Kyle had scared Stan. Stan never wanted to see his friend look like that again. So, if that meant he had to swallow his pride and acknowledge Cartman was right for once, Stan was willing as long as his friend was safe.
Plus, Shelley had been kind enough to offer her own money. Stan wanted to believe that his sister cared.
"I still think the cootie thing is real," Stan said through his teeth. "If you don't want to believe me, that's okay. I don't know why you're so pissed off at me."
Wendy's eyes grew round.
"You don't know why I'm mad?"
"Yeah!" Stan snapped. "You're the one being stupid!"
Bebe scoffed.
"Dumb boys," she murmured under her breath. Wendy and Stan ignored her.
Wendy blinked several times.
"I wanted to spend Valentine's Day with you, duh. And you weren't even at school! And here I was all worried you were sick, so I rushed to your house after school," she explained. "I skipped my debate team meeting for you. I wanted to see you."
Stan felt his stomach drop out.
"Oh…yeah…. I totally forgot that it was Valentine's Day. I had made you a card, but — er — Shelley ripped it up," Stan confessed pathetically. He touched the dark circle under his eye, wincing at the memory of his angry sister. He was really glad she was starting to act kinder towards him now.
"I know," Wendy said, frowning. "I wasn't expecting anything from you. I just wanted to hang out with you. But — "
Wendy caught herself and quickly shut her mouth.
"But what?"
Bebe drew forward, puffing out her chest.
"But you were with Kyle. You always hang out with him when you should be hanging out with Wendy!" the girl challenged. Stan frowned.
"Wait a minute," Stan began, glancing at Wendy, who continued to stare him down. "Dude, he's my best friend. And he was sick! I had to make sure he was okay." This seemed extremely obvious to Stan, who was totally oblivious as to why the girls didn't understand.
Wendy pushed Bebe away and stepped closer to Stan. The boy felt his back press up against the poles of the swing set.
"That's true," Wendy said in a level voice, her eyes continuing to bore into Stan's. "He's your best friend, and you care about him…more than you care about me. And…that's okay."
Stan's eyes grew wide.
"Wait! No! I didn't mean that…I mean. I like you a lot, Wendy. Honest I do," Stan stammered out, not sure why he needed to convince her of this. A small part in the back of Stan's mind felt like there was a hidden implication to Wendy's words. What that was, Stan couldn't say.
"But not as much as Kyle," Wendy stated. Bebe crossed her arms over her chest. Stan pointed to her.
"Well, you like Bebe more than me 'cause she's your best friend, right?" Stan argued. Bebe rolled her eyes. Wendy glanced over her shoulder at the blonde girl. She examined her as if she were seeing her for the first time.
"Maybe…," she admitted finally. She turned back to Stan. "I'll have to think about that."
Stan shut his mouth. He hadn't expected her to be so calm. Wendy at times acted like a female version of Kyle; angry and ill tempered, ready to prove her beliefs and opinions right should a challenge appear. Yet for some reason she seemed a bit defeated. Her voice was softer and her stance not as bold. For once she seemed unsure of herself. Bebe fidgeted behind her as if aware of the change. Stan felt his hands shake.
"I think we should break up…."
Stan closed his eyes.
"I don't see why you're so mad," Stan tried to challenge, but his own heart wasn't in it anymore. He whispered, "I do like you more than Kyle."
Wendy shook her head.
"Don't lie, Stan. You've never been good at it."
The girl turned to go, but Stan jumped forward and caught her hand. Tears leaked in the corner of his eyes.
"I'm sorry I forgot Valentine's Day. I'm sorry I didn't spend the day with you." He rushed out. Bebe made to pull the boy off her friend, but stopped when she saw Wendy kiss Stan's forehead. Both the boy and blonde girl stared.
With her eyes on the ground, Wendy said, "Over the summer, Stan, I had fallen into a muddy creek bed. I didn't think much of it at the time. I cleaned myself off and joined up with the rest of my Girl Scout troop. I spent the whole day hiking with damp clothes. The next day I came down with a fever."
Bebe stirred behind her friend.
"I remember that. You got an ear infection too!"
Wendy nodded.
"You came to visit me, Stan. You gave me a nice card and some flowers," the girl continued.
Stan's face brightened. "Yeah, I remember that. You were really sick. See I came to visit you!"
"And you brought Kyle."
Stan flinched.
"And he sat in the corner, reading as you talked with me. Every now and then I caught you glancing at him. It was a nice day out, and I knew you didn't want to spend it all cooped up with me. And eventually a half hour later you left."
Stan let go of the girl's hand.
Wendy sighed.
"It's not like I hate you for it…at first I think I did, but I'm just tired of you pretending you like me more, when you clearly don't."
Bebe suddenly started as a small group of their male classmates sidled up to the swings. Craig reached them first, but continued on past until he reached the swings. He took a seat in the swing Wendy had unoccupied. Tweek scurried up behind him with Token, Clyde, and Jimmy. The boys stared at the girls for a minute, waiting.
"Can we help you?"
"We want Bebe to spit in Tweek's mouth to see if the cootie shots actually work," Craig said in a dull voice. He seemed rather bored. Token and Clyde nodded encouragement.
"GAH!" Tweek shouted.
"We all got shots," Token informed, rolling up his sleeve to reveal his circles and dots. "But just to be safe, we're going to test it."
Stan pointed to himself.
"I already told you it worked."
"B-but S-Stan, you hang out with W-Wendy all the time," Jimmy said, "you m-might have built up an im-immunity."
"Yeah," agreed Clyde. "So, Bebe, spit in Tweek's mouth."
"GAH!" Tweek repeated.
Bebe scowled.
"I don't want to."
"Aw, come on! You did it for Kyle," Clyde whined. "Do it for Tweek."
"Why not you?" Bebe said, picking at her fingernails.
Clyde blushed.
"Er…cause Tweek volunteered."
"Jesus I didn't!"
"Shut up, Tweek. Yes you did," Craig said. He kicked off from the ground and swung a bit.
Bebe flipped her hair back.
"I'm not spitting in anyone's mouth. I did it for the hell of it yesterday. I don't have to do it today. And besides, you idiots believe Cartman was right."
Tweek pointed across the schoolyard at Kyle, who had approached Kenny and Butters. The two had left Cartman's cardboard box and were making their way towards the sandbox instead. Kenny plopped down in the sand and Kyle began pestering him. Butters pulled out a pail and shovel in order to dig.
"GAH, b-but Kyle — ngh — got sick. Yesterday he wasn't at school. Neither was S-Stan," Tweek said, gritting his teeth as his eye twitched.
"I wasn't sick," Stan said quietly, looking at Wendy.
"But Kyle was," noted Craig. "And it's because Bebe spit in his mouth and gave him cooties. He even has the shot. So he used it to get better?"
Stan hesitated to answer. He glanced at Wendy. The girl's long hair hid her eyes from view.
"…I gave it to him," Stan confessed. "It was strange. Not more than an hour later his fever broke and he could eat again."
When Stan looked back at Wendy, she was gone. She and Bebe were already heading towards the jungle gym halfway across the playground. Stan felt his stomach drop into a bottomless pit. Craig frowned.
"Lame. Oh well looks like no one's spitting in Tweek's mouth."
"Oh thank Jesus," Tweek exclaimed.
Not sure what to do with himself, Stan wandered back to the only person he knew he could during these unpleasant Wendy breakups. Stan found Kyle ranting to Kenny and Butters as the two played in the sandbox. Butters sat near the edge of the box constructing a small castle and moat around Kenny, who knelt in the middle of the whole structure.
-Synnesai-
Kyle was speaking as Stan settled down on the sandbox's rim.
"I assume one of my medications kicked in around the time Stan gave me the shot. I mean, I'd taken so many different things, to say it was some doodles on my arm is retarded."
"I don't know, Kyle," Butters said thoughtfully as he created a drawbridge with sticks. "I had these sniffles the other day, and Eric gave me the shot and I felt much better later."
"Did you take any cold medicine at all?" Kyle pressed.
"Oh, give it a rest, Dude," Stan sighed. Kyle glared at him.
"Stan, I'm not letting Cartman win!"
Butters rubbed his knuckles together. "I've learned to just let Eric run outta steam with his — er — business plans. See he gets bored with them eventually."
"Not if he keeps making money off it," Kyle countered.
"He can't get any more money," Kenny said quietly through his muffled hood.
Kyle raised an eyebrow.
"What? Why?"
"Doesn't have anyone else to sell to," Kenny explained. "He's given a shot to every boy in Garrison's class. No one else is left but the girls and they're all avoiding him like the plague."
Kyle pointed at Kenny's arm.
"Why did you get the shot?"
Kenny smirked.
"With my track record of dying from unusual things, I just thought why the hell not."
Kyle gave his friend an odd look, but Kenny only grinned wider. Butters added, "I helped him pay for the full coverage, didn't I?"
Kenny nodded, placing a little flag, made of a twig and leaf, atop one of the turrets of the sandcastle. Butters started carving designs into the walls. Kenny smoothed out a few of the towers. It was hard going keeping the sandcastle even. The wind kept trying to tumble down the walls and erode the towers.
"Ah, it sure looks nice, Kenny," Butters said, stepping back to take in the complete, yet lopsided castle, Kenny and all.
"It would be fuckin' sweet to live in a castle," Kenny mused. "The big ass walls would keep out all the shit that tried to kill me."
Stan laughed. "Would you really spend your days locked in a castle? Just to keep from dying?"
Kenny shrugged.
"Why not?"
"Only princesses wait around in a castle," Kyle quipped.
Butters raised his hand, and the other three boys gave him a weird look.
"I'd come rescue you," Butters announced, slowly lowering his hand. "Like a real prince."
Kenny smirked, rubbing at his chin. Leaning back on one hand, he said, "That doesn't sound like a bad idea. It'd be nice to be the one saved. Though you'd have a real hard job, Butters. I'd have loads of monsters and dragons trying to get at me."
Butters frowned.
"I wouldn't be scared. I'd rescue you."
Kyle kicked at some sand.
"You guys sound gay."
Butters glanced sideways at Kenny and began rubbing his fists together. Stan watched some silent conversation pass between their eyes. Finally, Butters spoke up again.
"Well, that might not be a bad idea, Kyle," he said haltingly. Kyle raised an eyebrow.
"See with this cootie epidemic, it might be smart to…like…not hang out with girls for a while," Butters explained. "Who knows how long the shots will last?"
Kenny nodded.
"Cooties don't exist," Kyle replied stubbornly. Stan smacked him in the arm.
"Would you just shut up already?"
Kyle stared, his mouth hanging open.
"You know what? Fuck you! I don't need to sit here and listen to you praise Cartman's fucking cootie shots!" He roared, shooting to his feet. Stan scrambled up too. Kenny and Butters gave each other a nervous glance.
"Fuck you, Kyle! You've been a douchebag all day long! Oh no, Cartman's doing something! That's all you care about nowadays!" Stan challenged. Kyle crossed his arms over his chest.
"Well, lately you've been a real asshole. I can't get you to agree with anything I think!"
"What? That's stupid!" Stan snapped, clenching his fists. "I can think whatever I damn well please. Why would I ever think what you've got to say is cool anyway? All you do is bitch about Cartman!"
Kyle's face was red as he climbed out of the sandbox. He swung around to face Stan.
"I can't believe you aren't on my side!" Kyle hissed. He pointed in the direction that Cartman's little business had been set up. "When can he ever be trusted? He's clearly up to something."
"Why do you care?" Stan shot back.
Kyle dropped his arms to his side.
"Why don't you?" he said suddenly in a small voice. "You used to care."
Stan turned away.
"Whatever."
Kyle kicked the side of the sandbox. Kenny and Butters kept their heads down, their focus on decorating the makeshift castle.
"Stan, why don't you see we have to find out what he's up to?"
"'Cause I just don't care, okay? You're right! I don't care. I think it's stupid. And you're acting stupid for not admitting you were wrong and I was right about cooties!" Stan said, his voice rising.
Kyle opened his mouth, but said nothing.
"And don't you tell me there's some logical explanation for it," Stan continued. "You think I'm the one who hasn't been caring what you think? Ha! You're the one who thinks whatever I say is stupid! You didn't want to believe me about the cooties, you probably don't care that Wendy just broke up with me 'cause I hung out with your sick ass all day yesterday."
Stan marched forward and shoved Kyle to the ground.
"You don't even say thanks! You don't care!"
Kyle glared up at his friend and kicked out with his foot, catching Stan in the shin.
"It's your fault everyone went to Cartman! I can't believe I let you draw on my arm." Kyle jumped to his feet. "I'm going to wash the fucking thing off now!"
Without another word, he spun on his heel and sprinted towards the school. For a few seconds, Stan contemplated chasing after him; whether to shove him down again or to apologize, Stan couldn't say. Instead he chose to sit back down in the sandbox. Butters and Kenny watched Stan carefully; Butters looked terrified while Kenny seemed to have aged with weariness.
"Dude," Kenny said.
Stan threw his hands up. "What?"
"Dude?"
"Shut the fuck up, Kenny," Stan growled. "I don't need you to tell me I'm stupid too."
Kenny sighed. "I wasn't."
"Good."
Butters sniffed, blinking his eyes several times. Stan glared at him.
"What's your problem?"
"I don't like it when you and Kyle fight. It makes me sad," Butters confessed. Stan frowned.
"Well, I'm sorry, Butters, but I don't care what you think," Stan snapped. Kenny stood up.
"Hey, don't take it out on him," Kenny said levelly. Stan ignored him. Stepping carefully out of the sandcastle's grounds, Kenny kneeled next to Butters. They both looked accusingly at Stan. Butters took Kenny's hand, and Stan felt his anger ebb, replaced with confusion.
"You shouldn't fight," Butters said quietly. Kenny nodded.
"He started it, acting like an ass to me even though I helped him," Stan tried to argue, but he felt deflated, worry settling in; the same kind of worry that took hold when he and Kyle didn't quite see eye to eye.
"You acted like just as big an ass," Kenny pointed out.
"No, I didn't," Stan countered pathetically. He turned away from his friends. "It's his fault Wendy broke up with me. And he doesn't even care."
Kenny got to his feet and pulled Butters up with him. He stepped out of the sandbox as the bell rang calling recess to an end. With a swift kick, Kenny caught Stan in the back sending him sprawling into the sand. Butters covered his mouth with his hands.
"Let's go, Butters," Kenny said, grabbing the other boy's wrist and running towards the school. Stan lay stunned, watching his orange hooded friend merge into the crowd of students. Stan sat up and brushed sand off his brown coat.
He didn't move right away, choosing instead to wait for a majority of the students to enter the building. When only a few remained clustered around the door, Stan got to his feet and made the slow trek across the playground. His feet felt like they were trudging through mud; it seemed to take ages for him to finally reach the top of the stone steps to the school's entrance.
The rest of the school day Stan spent avoiding everyone; Butters, Kenny, Wendy, Cartman, and especially Kyle. Wendy kept her head down, looking at her desk or books, for the rest of the class. Bebe stayed at her side like glue no matter where or when; in the line for art class or outside the girls' restroom. Butters and Kenny alternately glanced in Stan's and Kyle's directions during class as if expecting the storm to start up once again. Kyle's eyes only stared straight ahead both in the hallways and in class. If he even glanced at Stan, Kyle averted his eyes instantly. Kyle only talked when Garrison asked him questions. And Stan cringed every time his friend chose to speak. Cartman was the only one unfazed. He leaned back in his desk chair as school neared its end, counting the money he'd earned during recess.
With the tension almost palpable in the air, Stan wondered if he could get away with pounding his head against the desk without Garrison sending him to Mr. Mackey. In the end, Stan decided to just stare at the board, unseeing. He stopped taking notes and barely listened to the readings. He found himself making a mental note to take a long drink from the green bottle under his bed when he finally escaped from this nightmare of a school day. Three o'clock could not come any faster.
Stan decided to skip the bus ride home. He didn't want to meet up with Kyle or anyone else. Grabbing his backpack and tossing in several notebooks and his textbooks, he slammed his locker shut and raced for the exit. He stayed focused on the double doors, pushing past Clyde and those other guys as he entered the school's courtyard. Once again the group had cornered Bebe, asking her to spit in one of the boy's mouths. Stan ignored them not wanting to think anymore about cooties for the rest of the day. He was halfway down the sidewalk when someone called his name.
"STAN! Dude, wait!"
Stan stopped and turned slowly to see Kyle rushing up behind him. The redhead came to a halt in front of his friend, panting for breath. His face was red.
"Go away," Stan sighed. Kyle glared at him.
"Look, Stan, just stop, okay? I wanted to talk to you," Kyle informed. Stan rolled his eyes.
"Whatever, you just want to yell at me some more." Stan began to turn around, and Kyle caught his arm.
"Hey, asshole, that's not what I want to do. Even though you're a complete idiot, I actually wanted —" He paused, and Stan turned back around to face him.
"You wanted to what?"
Kyle dropped Stan's arm.
"I wanted to say I'm sorry for being mean," he said quietly. Stan stared. Kyle continued, "You were right, I should have been a bit more grateful to you. You didn't have to spend your whole day with me. It was so boring, and I was all gross with throwing up and stuff." Kyle looked up. "And you stayed with me…so; I guess I should say thank you and…and apologize for not saying that sooner."
Stan felt embarrassed. He'd been all prepared for Kyle to start jumping down his throat, but his friend's apology had knocked the speech from his tongue.
"Er…I-I'm sorry too," Stan confessed. He bit his lip and glanced to the left, watching the bus pull away and rattle on down the street.
Kyle took a step closer.
"Let's just pretend it never happened, okay?" Kyle suggested. "We'll just say cooties exist…but Cartman is definitely up to something."
Stan thought about it for a moment. Whether or not the cootie shot worked, which Stan still wanted to believe (Kyle's quick recovery still baffled him), Cartman was not to be trusted for long. One way or another something would eventually surface to reveal the fat boy's true motives.
"Alright," Stan agreed. "Cartman's up to no good like always; what are we going to do?"
Kyle grabbed Stan's wrist and started pulling him down the sidewalk.
"Nothing now, 'cause Terrance and Phillip come on in twenty minutes," Kyle said in all seriousness.
Stan laughed.
"Plus, it's Friday," Kyle stated. "I'm sleeping over at your house tonight."
Stan's house was empty when they arrived there fifteen minutes later. A note on the fridge told Stan that his mother had taken his sister to a dentist appointment. His father wouldn't be home for another hour. Perched upon the living room sofa, Stan flicked through the channels. Kyle sat tearing open a package of potato chips, mumbling to Stan about his plans to catch Cartman in his lie.
"I'm going to head to the library this weekend. I'm going to fucking look up these cooties and prove they aren't real," Kyle explained.
Stan frowned.
"I thought you said to say they were real?"
Kyle waved his hands dismissively.
"I'm not saying you're wrong!" Kyle said hurriedly because Stan had made a disheartened frown. Kyle patted his arm jerkily. "I mean…it's just at this moment, cooties do exist. I was sick, you drew the shot, and now I'm better. Right now we're saying it works…but, well I want to see if there is anything medical to it. Understand?"
Stan turned back to the television.
"Still sounds like you don't believe me…."
"Dude."
"Well, it does," Stan pressed.
Kyle put down the bag of chips.
"Stan, I do believe you helped me when I was sick, I do. I'm glad you came to visit and gave me the shot…I did feel better right away. It was strange. I went to sleep and when I woke…it was like I'd never been sick."
"See!" Stan pointed at his friend, sitting on his knees. "It is real then!"
Kyle scooted closer to Stan, trying to keep his anger in check.
"At the moment I'm willing to think that…but I just…I want to know what the medical science is behind it, if there's any at all. And if there isn't…then that's even more troubling."
"Why's that?" Stan said coldly, slumping back down and scooting to the other side of the couch, keeping his eyes averted.
Kyle absentmindedly followed his friend, moving closer.
"I won't have an explanation for getting better…," Kyle confessed. "My mom had me take something before she left, but it wasn't more than five minutes later that I barfed that up. I hadn't anything in my stomach…if it was the shot, then I'll figure out what did it, but if it wasn't the shot —"
"You'll rub it in that you were right," Stan quipped.
Kyle punched him in the shoulder.
"No, ass, it means I can't explain at all how I got better. That's what freaks me out. Even if it was the cootie shot…at least that's something." Kyle bit his lip. "Stan, I just don't get better like that." He snapped his fingers. "I don't have any logical explanation for it."
Stan snorted with laughter. Kyle looked clearly annoyed and a bit confused.
"What if it was a miracle?" Stan said through his snickering. Kyle smacked him again.
"Stan, I'm serious."
"So am I."
The two boys stared each other down.
"No one just gets better."
"Apparently you do," Stan said, smiling. Kyle sat back, leaning his head against the back of the couch. Rubbing at his eyes, Kyle let out a disgruntled moan. Stan chuckled, propping his legs up on Kyle's lap. Kyle gave him a glare of protest, but said nothing.
"I hate when weird shit happens to me. Fuck this town."
Stan patted his friend's shoulder.
"I hate this town too, Dude. But don't worry so much. Let's watch Terrance and Phillip."
The boys turned their attention back to the TV. Several hours passed with multiple episodes of their crude program running in the background. Stan's father returned from work and made a half hearted attempt to tell the boys off for watching the offensive show. Randy gave up shortly and then grabbed a beer, retiring to his study. Sharon and Shelley arrived home not soon after. Shelley looked annoyed despite her newly changed colors of the tiny rubber bands that decorated her braces. Stan thought it was silly getting the decorative bands; Shelley never smiled.
Later that evening Stan sat on his comforter watching Kyle unroll his sleeping bag. Water could be heard running down the hall, and Stan guessed Shelley was brushing her new retainer. The boys had avoided the girl all night long, sneaking into the backyard despite the cold to hang out in the tree house. When Sharon called them to supper, Kyle and Stan made sure not to make eye contact with Shelley when passing her the butter. Eventually, they retreated to Stan's room to play Xbox.
Now Stan was normally apprehensive about his sister, but it was Kyle's idea to avoid the girl. Still set on proving what exactly cooties were, Kyle didn't want to have Shelley questioning them until he had prepared a proper counterargument. Stan had shown his sister his cootie shot the other day when he'd returned from Kyle's house. She had seemed pleased, but said nothing, returning to her room without a word.
"It's starting to peel," Stan complained, watching flakes of paint lift from his skin. He scratched at the shot.
"It'll eventually wash away," Kyle said as he pulled off his socks and rummaged in his backpack for his pajamas. Kyle always packed for their Super Best Friends' sleepover every Friday despite their squabbles and disagreements.
"It itches."
Kyle let out a snort of laughter.
"The shot that's supposed to stop itchy cooties makes you itchy. See when I find out what the hell cooties are I'll prove to Cartman —"
He stopped, seeing the annoyed expression cross his friend's face.
"Well…anyway, want to play some more Xbox?" Kyle amended hastily. He pulled off his t-shirt and replaced it with his cotton pajama top. He kicked off his jeans and scrambled to pull on his pajama bottoms. Stan stared at the ceiling, lying on his back.
"Do you think…if you prove that cooties aren't real…Wendy will go back out with me?"
Kyle rolled his eyes. After a moment, Stan turned on his side to face his friend.
Stan leaned over the side of his bed towards Kyle. "Do you think Kenny and Butters really mean what they say…that they aren't going to hang out with girls, but just each other?"
"Who knows?" Kyle said wistfully, moving to sit at Stan's desk and turning on the computer. The screen came up quickly, and the boy opened up a new tab. "Sounds kinda gay though," Kyle added. He began scrolling through a newsfeed.
"Are you getting on Facebook?" Stan said with as much disgust as he could muster. Kyle spun in the desk chair and glared.
"Don't judge me!" Kyle snapped then flicking his attention back to the screen all in a matter of seconds.
Stan laughed just as a knock sounded at the door. Both boys froze.
"Mom?" Stan asked hesitantly. The door pushed open and Shelley stepped inside. She shut the door quietly behind her.
"What do you want?" Kyle asked a little too boldly. He stood up and moved to stand next to Stan who still lay on the bed. Shelley held out her arm.
"Give me your hand," she said in a level tone. Stan and Kyle glanced at each other.
"Er…what?"
"Give me your hand, Kyle. I heard you two talking about cooties…if you don't believe they exist, then give me your hand," she explained. Kyle looked sideways at Stan as if expecting him to say something to his sister.
"I don't know whether or not they exist," Kyle began slowly, "but I'd just like to do a little research into them. For myself, is all."
Shelley shrugged. "That's all well and good, Turd, but I said give me your hand. Now!"
Kyle jumped and Stan sat up.
"Shelley, don't give Kyle cooties. He just got over a really bad case yesterday."
Kyle shook his head. Shelley shrugged, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her pajamas. She took a minute to examine the two and then turned on her heel, marching back to the door.
"Fine. I was just offering to help him prove his point," Shelley spoke over her shoulder. She tugged on the door's handle, her right hand still in her pocket. She added, "I mean if Kyle really wanted to test if cooties were real or not, he'd have to study more than just one isolated incident. But, whatever, Turds."
She had one foot in the hallway, when Kyle called her back. He rolled up his sleeves and marched towards the girl. Stan leapt off his bed and caught Kyle by the back of his shirt.
"Dude, don't do it!"
Kyle shook him off.
"I'm going to prove that yesterday was just a fluke," Kyle stated simply. He held out his bare arm, and Shelly lowered her right hand above the boy's right wrist.
"Are you sure, Turd?" she asked, glancing at Kyle's determined stance and Stan's worried expression. "You'll break out in cooties."
Kyle frowned, his hand still outstretched. He stared at the back of the girl's hand for a few seconds. Stan fidgeted nervously at his side. He tried tugging at his friend's cotton sleeve, but Kyle pushed him away. The two stared each other down. Stan bit his lip and held up his hands pleadingly. For a moment Kyle didn't move, but his eyes seemed to soften as if to say 'just let me do it, Dude.' Stan sighed. Finally, Kyle turned back to Shelley who had a slightly bemused look on her face.
Kyle made a fist and stared the girl straight in the eye. "Do it!"
It was rather anticlimactic…at first.
Shelley brought down her hand with a small 'smack.' Kyle flinched at the touch. For a moment Stan let out a short laugh, glad to see that his friend was still standing and keeping the contents of his stomach in check. Kyle smirked, but Shelley remained impassive, her eyes only on their connected hands. Her fingers were like a vice around Kyle's wrist.
Stan counted twenty of his own breaths before Kyle actually reacted.
As if suddenly stung, the redhead reeled backwards, nearly falling to the ground. He banged against the doorframe and slowly sunk to the ground. He tugged his arm, but Shelley refused to let go. Kyle made frantic attempts to scratch the skin beneath the girl's fingers, but she shoved his hand away. Stan panicked, freezing in place. When he finally managed to collect his thoughts, determined to knock his sister out of the room and away from his best friend, Shelley let go. Kyle slumped against the door, tearing at the back of his wrist, scratching the skin until red nail marks appeared.
Stan glanced between the girl and his best friend. Without a word Shelley left the room. Stan knelt next to Kyle.
"Oh, God…it won't stop itching!" Kyle panted, scratching harder. He rubbed the back of his hand against the floorboards and then on the edge of Stan's dresser. He stumbled to his feet and ran out into the hall in the direction of the bathroom. Stan pelted after him just in time to see his friend crash right into Shelley, who caught him and held him at arm's length. The girl made sure to touch only Kyle's clothing, avoiding any skin.
"Here, Turd," Shelley said holding up a small bottle of black paint with a brush sticking out of it. She opened up the palm of her hand which had held Kyle's wrist. A freshly painted cootie shot was painted upon it. Kyle pointed at it, backing himself into a corner. He shook his head. Still scratching his hand, Kyle managed to spit out the word 'no.' Stan grabbed his friend's shoulder and tried to reason that it wouldn't hurt anything.
"T-this is some kind of trick," Kyle hissed through gritted teeth. He began itching up the length of his arm, stopping at his elbow. Stan tried to tug him towards his sister.
"Please, Dude, just let her paint on the shot! Please! It'll stop the itching!" Stan felt like crying. He didn't want to see Kyle sick again. Shaking his head and grabbing a good chunk of Kyle's shirt, he tugged his friend forward.
"Just get the damn shot!" Stan ordered. Shelley dipped the brush into the paint several times. Kyle continued to shake his head.
"She's done something to me," Kyle said, twitching out of Stan's grasp and rubbing his knuckles against his infected arm. "It's some — ngh — some trick!"
Stan looked back at his sister.
"Does he want me to cure him or not?" Shelley said in a bored voice. She held the brush over the open end of the paint bottle. The black paint dripped over the girl's fingers.
"No!" Kyle snapped. He pointed a shaking finger at the girl. "How come you have a jar of black paint just l-lying around! You planned t-this!"
Stan narrowed his eyes at Shelley. He moved to Kyle's side and put an arm around his friend.
"Shelley, please tell me…is this a trick?" Stan felt Kyle fidget as he continued to scratch and twist in discomfort.
Shelley's face was a mask. She simply held out the brush and paint for Stan to take.
"If you don't want to believe me, don't believe me. I bought this off of that fat turd because I thought it would save you money when you needed to reapply the shot," Shelley explained softly. Stan blinked. His sister continued, "You turds are so stupid. You can't even see when someone's being genuinely nice to you."
The girl turned on her heel and walked back to her room. The slam of her door made the pictures hanging in the hallway rattle. Stan stood for a moment, staring down at the paint in his hand. Kyle squirmed out of his grip and tumbled into the bathroom. He turned on the faucet and let the cool water run over his right arm. Stan watched him jerk as he tried to keep himself from scratching. Kyle wiggled his fingers, jumped in place, and even shook his now damp arm up and down as if hoping the air flow might stop the itching. Finally, Kyle turned to Stan. There were angry tears in the redhead's eyes.
"It won't stop," Kyle moaned. "It itches so bad!"
Stan took two long strides into the bathroom and pulled the door closed behind him. He had Kyle sit on the toilet seat. He took great care to draw the dots and circles with even, unwavering curves. Next, he added the square, laying on the paint thickly. Several more times, Stan traced the pattern on his best friend's arm. Slowly as the minutes ticked by, Kyle fidgeted less and less; first slowing body twitches to finally bouncing just one knee up and down. His fingers stopped their sporadic ticks. Stan set the bottle of paint on the counter and slumped to the ground, pressing his back against the tub. Kyle sniffled a few times, rubbing moisture from his eyes.
After the silence finally echoed too loudly for Stan to take, he spoke.
"What do you think now?"
Kyle turned his wrist back and forth examining the new shot. He touched the paint lightly with his fingers. He sniffed the paint.
"It smells weird."
Stan stood up.
"Of course it does, it's paint." He tugged at Kyle's arm. "Let's go to bed. I can't deal with any more fucking cootie shit tonight."
Kyle nodded slowly and got to his feet. He hesitated at the sink while Stan returned to his bedroom, flopping down onto his bed now completely exhausted. He kicked off his jeans and lay in his boxers and t-shirt. He hadn't the strength to look for proper pajamas. When he heard the water running, Stan feared Kyle was washing off the shot for a second time, but his friend called to ask where Stan had put Kyle's extra toothbrush. He kept one at the Marsh's just for sleepover purposes.
For a moment Stan stared at his door and then without thinking on his actions, he slid out of bed and crawled beneath it. Finding the loose floorboard, the boy pried it up as quickly and quietly as he could. Several sips from the green bottle later and Stan was scuttling back out into his room. Kyle entered just as Stan sat up.
"What are you doing?" Kyle asked, rolling down his sleeves. There was still some toothpaste at the corner of his mouth.
"Nothing," Stan lied. He pushed past Kyle and headed to the bathroom to brush his own teeth. His mother met him in the hallway, and Stan reassured her that he and Kyle would be heading to bed soon.
"I thought I heard shouting earlier…were you boys roughhousing?" Sharon pressed, watching her son load his toothbrush with glittery, blue paste.
"Yes," Stan answered automatically. "I won."
His mother rolled her eyes.
"Stan, you and Kyle can find other things to play other than wrestling."
"Yes, Mom."
Sharon bent down and kissed Stan's forehead.
"Sleep well."
"Yes, Mom," Stan repeated without looking at her. She left and Stan finished brushing his teeth. He made sure to scrub extra hard, removing any stench of alcohol. Throwing his toothbrush down and hurrying out of the bathroom, Stan retreated to his room. He closed the door and locked it. He stared at the handle and wondered why he had done so, but thinking further on it, he guessed it was just a security. Shelley couldn't get in to give Kyle anymore cooties.
Facing his bed Stan found it now occupied.
"I don't want to sleep on the floor tonight," Kyle stated simply, turning to face the wall and clutching the blankets up to his chest. Stan nodded, not caring that Kyle couldn't see. He shut off the light and climbed into bed beside his friend.
"How does your arm feel now?" Stan murmured, feeling the effects of the alcohol slowly kick in. He felt dizzy and a bit giddy. Nothing hurt.
Kyle shrugged one shoulder.
"Normal."
"Are you still going to go to the library?" Stan asked, closing his eyes. Kyle rolled over. Stan opened his eyes again. Frowning, Kyle glared at Stan, but slowly the boy's expression softened. He leaned closer to Stan.
"Stan…I'm scared," he said.
Stan blinked, not sure he had heard correctly.
"What?"
"I don't understand. None of it makes any logical sense!" Kyle hissed rapidly. "There's nothing medical about painting on your arms! And yet — and yet…."
Kyle clutched at his arm, his fingers pressing down upon the cootie shot. Stan watched him through half-lidded eyes.
"You're okay now," Stan said groggily, throwing an arm over Kyle and tugging him closer. "I still have the paint. We can add more shots when we need to."
"That's not why I'm scared, asshole," Kyle snapped half-heartedly. His own eyelids had begun to droop.
Stan didn't answer, but absentmindedly patted Kyle on the head. He met the soft fabric of Kyle's ushanka beneath his fingers.
"It's okay."
"Oh, shut up," Kyle yawned.
"You'll figure it out…," Stan curled into a ball, pressing closer to his friend.
Kyle's stared over Stan's head, watching the time change on his friend's alarm clock.
"That's why I'm scared," Kyle confessed.
"Hmm?"
"What if we can't figure this out?"