A Serious Case of Cooties
Chapter 4: And Now for Something Completely Different
written by SqueakGirl - illustrated by Neavvs and SynnesaiShelley awoke surprisingly early the next day. Sitting on the living room couch and flipping through her gaming magazines, she indulged in a satisfied grin. She knew her plan had succeeded. The terrified look on her little brother's face as his best friend squirmed in agony told Shelley she had won. Wendy had broken up with Stan, and Stan would be too frightened of cooties to try reconciling the situation. Sure, Shelley thought, one day they'd figure out it was all a stupid game, but the damage had been done. Shelley rested her feet on the coffee table, munching lightly on some cheerios. Today was going to be a good day.
The doorbell rang and Shelley turned confused in the direction of the door. Her parents weren't expecting anyone this early, and since Kyle was upstairs with Stan it couldn't be for her brother either. Setting her bowl down, Shelley crossed the room to the door. She peered out the window to catch a glimpse of the visitor and found herself looking at Bebe Stevens standing behind a girl with long black hair whom Shelley instantly recognized despite her hidden face. Stepping in front of the door, Shelley unbolted the lock.
Pulling it open, she set her face into a passive, politely confused frown.
"What do you want?" she asked the girls.
Wendy stepped forward. In her arms she carried a medium-sized brown box. In it Shelley recognized her little brother's scarf, a small stack of letters in Stan's handwriting, and a set of sparkly, cheap jewelry. Wendy shoved the box into the older girl's arms and then retreated to Bebe's side.
"I'm giving that all back to Stan," Wendy said in a small voice. Bebe patted the girl on the shoulder. "Tell him, I really appreciate all the nice things he's done for me, but I really mean it this time. I don't want to be boyfriend and girlfriend anymore."
Shelley opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came. She closed it slowly and watched Wendy shake the hair from her face. Bebe averted her eyes, examining the snow beneath her pink boots.
"I'll tell him that, then," Shelley said, not sure why her voice caught in her throat. "Er…so, um…." She glanced at Bebe, who raised an eyebrow at her. The blonde girl seemed ready to leave, but Wendy appeared too caught up in her own head to notice. She kept her eyes on her feet. Shelley felt uncomfortable.
"I like you shoes," Shelley found herself blurting out. Wendy raised her head for a moment and then glanced back down at her feet.
"Thank you," she said in a small voice. "Bebe got them for me." Behind her, Bebe stood up a little straighter.
"I had a pair of boots that kind of purply color once," Shelley went on doggedly.
Bebe piped up. "Look at mine." She stuck out her foot and wiggled it. Shelley blanched at the obnoxiously pink color.
"Those are nice too," Shelley admitted. She turned back to Wendy. "It looks like you two match."
Wendy's head lifted. "You know, you don't have to be nice to me."
Shelley froze. She felt her anger bubble up, but she suppressed it.
"What?" she forced out.
Wendy ran her fingers through her hair. "It's very kind of you to try and distract me. But I'm okay really. I just…." Wendy closed her eyes. Shelley hesitated then reached out a hand towards Wendy's shoulder.
Snapping her eyes open, Wendy took in a long breath.
"I have to go," Wendy murmured before taking off down the front walk. Bebe bolted after her, calling her name. Shelley watched them cross the street. Wendy tripped once, but righted herself quickly. She hurried down the sidewalk with Bebe now at her side. Several houses down, Shelley watched Bebe take her friend's hand in her own.
Feeling the weight of the brown box grow heavier in her arms, Shelley backed into the house and slammed the door closed. She set the box down on the coffee table and picked up her cereal bowl. As she began to eat again, she paused with the spoon a few inches from her mouth and examined the box. Wendy had written the words 'Stan's Stuff' in shaky, wobbly letters on the side. Wendy's own name was etched in a corner at the bottom.
Shelley set her bowl down. She no longer felt hungry.
Picking up the box again, Shelley rifled through the letters her brother had sent Wendy. Most of them consisted of cheesy, generic words like 'I like you' or 'You smelled nice the other day'. The costume jewelry consisted of necklaces, clip-on earrings, and bracelets. Fake stones were set in the earrings, and one necklace had a broken chain. At the bottom of the junk, Shelley found a folder with the Bronco's logo plastered on the front. She opened the blue and orange folder and found several wildflowers pressed inside. Some of their petals fell back into the box or scattered upon the coffee table.
With a muffled slap, Shelley closed the folder and threw it back into the box. She snatched up the whole thing and hurtled towards the stairs. Taking the steps two at a time, she bounded to the landing and hurried down the hall. Skidding to a halt in front of her little brother's bedroom door, she pounded out a few short knocks. Waiting a couple of minutes, the door slowly crept open, and Stan stared sleepily up at his older sister. The girl thrust out the box.
"Wendy just stopped by and wanted you to have it," Shelley said without emotion. Stan pulled the door open further to examine the contents of the box. Peering inside the boy's room, Shelley saw a large tuft of red hair peeking out from the tangled covers of Stan's bed. Shelley raised an eyebrow, but said nothing to her brother who had taken the box in his own arms. He stared down at the letters and the discarded petals. He didn't say a word as he turned back into his room and shut the door in his sister's face.
Back downstairs, Shelley's cereal had grown too soggy to eat. She poured the remains down the drain of the kitchen sink and searched in the fridge for an orange. Peeling the fruit, she tried to shake the unpleasant sensation that had bubbled into her stomach when she'd seen the blank look on her brother's face. Had he simply been sleepy or was there something lurking behind the frown? Wendy's face swam before her mind's eye too. Shelley paused, her fingers slipping on the fruit's peel. Shaking her head, Shelley forced her mind back to the petals, lost and discarded, drying out and dying.
Shelley could not shake the anger that flower stirred in her. Splitting the fruit into sections, she smirked. It was stupid to worry over her brother's feelings.
An hour later, Shelley sat reading one of the novels assigned to her for school. She was in a generally better mood, now dressed and thoughts of Wendy's misfortune stripped from her mind. She was eager to see her brother and his friend shirk her presence for the rest of the day, terrified of catching cooties. She smiled thinking about the new box of joke shop itching powder buried under her bed. She had had to endure the itching herself in order to rub it upon Kyle's wrist the night before, but she had dyed the itching powder antidote black in order to disguise it as paint. She was glad neither boy had noticed the difference in smell.
Loud footsteps echoed down the stairs, and Stan and Kyle stumbled into the living room. They scrambled to the hat rack and tugged down their coats. They were laughing and joking, and to Shelley looked as if nothing strange or horrible had ever happened. Stan didn't even show any signs of moodiness that often occurred as a result of a Wendy breakup.
Shelley got to her feet. "What are you turds doing?"
Stan and Kyle froze and glanced at the girl.
"We're going out," Stan said, glancing sideways at Kyle, who smiled.
"Where?" Shelley pressed. "Mom'll want to know where you're going."
Stan took Kyle's hand and pulled the boy to the door.
"Tell her I'm going to buy Kyle lunch and see a movie," Stan explained, yanking open the door. Shelley stood over him and pushed it closed.
"Wait, aren't you upset about Wendy?" Shelley asked, furrowing her brow.
Stan shrugged.
"Nah, I was a douche to her. She's right to dump me," Stan said matter-of-factly. Shelley stared. Kyle shuffled his feet behind Stan. The two boys continued to hold hands. Shelley stared at their entwined fingers
"What are you doing?" Shelley asked dumbly, pointing to their clasped hands.
Stan glanced over his shoulder and checked to see that they were alone with his sister. He leaned up and whispered in her ear.
"We don't want to catch the cooties, so we're not going to be with girls. We're going to be with each other," Stan said confidentially. Shelley glanced at Kyle who nodded, blushing.
Not sure how to react to that confession, Shelley just stared, confused at her brother's smiling face. When no further argument came from the girl, Stan, thinking his sister was done with the conversation, explained that they would be home for supper and to tell Mom not to worry. Shelley continued to stare. Not sure what else to do, the girl stood aside when Stan gave a gentle nudge past her. She watched the two boys exit the house and walk hand in hand down the sidewalk in the direction of the town.
Shelley blinked at the empty, snowy yard before her.
"What the fuck just happened?"
The local diner situated on South Park's Main Street was a small, cramped affair. Built to resemble a boxcar, the whole restaurant consisted of a long hall of about fifteen booths. The counter space had grown hazardous with teetering plates, numerous salt and pepper shakers, syrup bottles, ketchup, and napkin dispensers. Every seat had filled already for the lunch hour rush. The only booth available when Stan and Kyle arrived was located in the very back of the diner. Grape juice had been spilled on the seat and their waitress made a great show of wiping it off without really absorbing it properly. She tossed down their menus and hurried off before the boys could even ask for drinks. Stan sat in the booth seat closest to the kitchen door. Every time a waitress shuffled through, the door would swing wildly on its hinges, smacking into the booth seat. Stan, fearing a banged up elbow, sat pressed against the wall. Kyle, on the other hand, perused his sticky, plastic menu without comment.
Their waitress returned and set down two small glasses of water. Stan panicked for a moment when Kyle reached out to take his glass and briefly brushed the woman's fingers. But noting no strange rashes sprouting up upon his friend's hand, Stan settled back down in his seat.
"What can I get you boys?" drawled the woman. She was youngish looking, but the bags under her blue eyes warped any certainty of age. She probably would look ten times healthier if she had smiled.
Stan cleared his throat and requested a coke. Kyle ordered a Fresca. When the woman had left them alone again, Stan leaned across the table and grabbed Kyle's hand.
"Dude, what are you doing?" Kyle asked, annoyed as he felt his elbow land in one of the stickier spots of the table.
"I want to make sure you didn't catch any cooties," Stan said, his eyes focused on Kyle's thin fingers. Stan checked his friend's knuckles and the soft skin between each finger. When he could not detect any red spots, Stan let go of his friend. Kyle frowned, shrugging out of his orange coat and checking his left sleeve. Grape jelly was smeared on its underside. Stan smiled sheepishly.
"Oops." He held his hands out and hunched his shoulders. Kyle ignored his friend, tossing down his coat into the empty seat beside him. Straightening back up, Kyle folded his arms over a clean spot on the table and looked Stan square in the eye.
"So…is this like a date?" he asked in a level tone.
Stan, who had chosen at that moment to sip his ice water, choked.
"Er…what?"
"Well, like you told Shelley. We aren't going to see any girls — just each other," Kyle explained, flipping over a page in his plastic menu. "That sounds pretty gay, Dude."
"It's not gay!" Stan challenged. Kyle raised an eyebrow.
"It sounds like it though…at least the way you put it," Kyle pointed out. He pulled a few napkins out of its dispenser and rubbed at a sticky spot somewhere between the pages of lunch and dinner.
Stan forced a laugh. "Dude. Seriously…it's just…it's like, you know —"
Kyle looked up sharply.
"I swear to God if you say it's a Super Best Friend thing, I'll kick you in the nuts."
Stan shut his mouth.
However, after a short pause he said, "I wasn't going to say that, you know." Stan bent his head to study his own menu.
"Dude, you say it all the time…but whatever." Kyle closed his menu.
"Well…why the fuck did you agree to it then? To just hang out with me?" Stan pressed, leaning up on the table with his elbows.
Kyle sighed and leaned back in his seat. He kicked out his legs thoughtfully. Both he and Stan were too short for their feet to reach the ground while sitting at the booth.
"I guess…," Kyle began slowly. "I guess I agreed for the same reason you just yanked my hand across this table. I really don't want cooties…if they exist."
Stan brightened.
"But your plan is flawed," Kyle shot. Stan slumped his shoulders.
"What do you mean?"
Kyle pointed at their waitress who stood three booths down talking to an elderly couple.
"We can't just avoid girls, Dude. They're everywhere. Half the population is girls. We can't hide from half the population."
"What about monasteries?" Stan countered.
Kyle gave him a look. Stan grinned.
"Well, we'll just have to keep reapplying the shot and try to avoid them when possible. And like only get close to them when absolutely necessary," Stan said as if that settled their argument.
Kyle frowned.
"Stan, isn't your dentist a woman?"
Stan's eyes grew round.
"Shit."
"And my mother has your mom and their friends over once a month to watch a movie marathon. My house is filled with nothing but moms!" Kyle relayed. "It's hard to get anything out of the fridge on those days without three or four ladies trying to ask me about school or ruffling my hair or telling me how big I've gotten. It's like a swarm!"
Stan felt his stomach churn. He had a horrible vision of Kyle trapped in a corner with heavyset women with too much mascara and lipstick leering down at him. Shaking his head free of that thought, Stan got up from his seat and moved to sit next to Kyle.
"Look…I just don't want anything bad to happen to you," Stan confessed so low that Kyle had to lean into him to hear. Both boys stared down at the plastic menu as they talked.
"I was really scared last night," Kyle murmured.
"I know."
"But your plan is flawed."
"I know."
Kyle rubbed at his nose.
At that moment the waitress returned with their drinks. She didn't comment on the boys' new seating arrangement, just jotted down their orders silently. While she wrote in her little pamphlet, Stan self-consciously moved closer to Kyle, blocking him as much as possible from the woman. Kyle laughed in his ear.
The waitress left again, and the boys scooted apart.
"I guess it doesn't hurt anything…to be together without any girls," Kyle mused more to himself than to Stan. "But it's still pretty gay, Dude."
Stan threw up his hands.
"Then let's be gay, Dude."
Kyle thought for a moment and shrugged.
"Okay. I don't have anything better to do today."
After lunch Stan and Kyle headed to the Bijou Theater. Since it was a Saturday afternoon, a line had already begun to form outside the cinema. Only four movies were showing. Despite Stan's new apprehension towards all things pop culture he had agreed to see the latest comedy which Kyle had been dying to view.
The theater was nearly empty when they found their seats (apparently the other three movies showing were far more entertaining). Stan and Kyle loved sitting right up front. Despite the inconvenience of having to slide down low in their seats just to watch the screen without craning their necks, the boys enjoyed the front seats. No one else ever ventured to sit in the front with them other than Cartman and Kenny.
Propping the bag of popcorn the two had purchased together upon the arm rest between them, Stan prepared himself for the possible shitty movie. Kyle chatted away, talking about how much he'd been looking forward to the film. Stan only half listened. He wondered about his and Kyle's abrupt decision to be 'together' without any girls.
He thought back to this morning when he had first suggested it. He remembered standing in the middle of his room, staring at the box Shelley had brought him. He could see the scattered petals and the broken jewelry within the jumble of discarded letters and notes. Without thinking, Stan had returned to his bed and sat down with the box upon his lap. For a few moments he stared at the dregs of what had been his relationship with Wendy. He did care for her, he enjoyed her company….
But….
Stan glanced at Kyle who lay curled up underneath the blankets in Stan's bed. During the night Kyle had tossed and turned, several times smacking Stan in the face and waking him more than once. However, when Stan's room had grown colder during the night, Kyle's movements grew less energetic until finally both boys lay curled up together sharing warmth.
But, Stan thought, I enjoy hanging out with Kyle more.
He hadn't realized how hard that had been to admit. It seemed strange to hesitate on saying his best friend was the most important person to spend his free time with. Perhaps it had something to do with admitting Wendy had been right about Stan. That she had understood him too well, and that had been what caused her to dump him. Or maybe it was that she understood something he himself couldn't quite comprehend.
Stan rubbed at his eyes. He didn't like thinking about this. It confused him. He had just made a mistake with Wendy. He had done that multiple times. He had treated her poorly in the past, but she always forgave him. But now things were different. Now he held everything the two had ever shared inside one tiny box.
Once more Stan looked at Kyle. Did all that they shared together fill a box like Wendy's? Was it bigger? Smaller? Stan wanted to think bigger, but yesterday's argument had left him shaken. It was one of many that they so easily started nowadays and yet like the others it had ended just as quickly and abruptly. It was as if they were playing a game. A game to see who could push the other the farthest, to see who would crack and….
And what…leave? Stop being friends? Was that what they did with each other now? Try to force the other one to prove he was a good friend. That they were still good friends. Stan wondered if they had ever reached their breaking point.
Stan thought of the green bottle under his floorboards. Under the very bed Kyle now lay upon.
Standing once more, Stan dumped the box of trinkets onto his desk. The loud thump caused Kyle to stir from beneath his blankets. He peeked out from the warmth with half-lidded eyes. Stan turned to face him.
"What's that?" Kyle yawned. Stan shuffled back into bed beside him.
"Nothing," Stan said hastily, closing his eyes and feigning sleep. Kyle propped himself up on his elbows.
"It has Wendy's name on it," Kyle observed, now sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.
Stan rolled away from his friend. "It's not important."
Kyle was out of bed, shuffling towards Stan's desk. The redhead pulled back the flaps of the cardboard box and examined the contents. Stan glared at him.
"I told you it was nothing," Stan growled, jumping out of bed and shoving the box across the desk and away from Kyle's hands.
Kyle stepped back.
"Dude, what's your problem? I just wanted to see what Wendy gave you," Kyle snapped.
Stan retreated back to the bed.
"It's not something she gave me. It's the shit I gave her. She doesn't want it anymore…now that we're broke up," Stan rushed out as he clambered back under the covers. He really hated that Kyle was awake now; Stan really needed a drink.
Kyle frowned.
"Dude…I'm sorry."
"You should be," Stan replied pathetically. He kept his eyes focused on the wall and his back towards his friend. He braced himself for Kyle's snarky remarks, but none came. Instead Stan felt the bed sink next to him as his friend sat down.
"I am sorry, Stan," Kyle said in a small voice. "If I hadn't gotten sick…you wouldn't have skipped school for me. She wouldn't be angry at you."
Stan rolled over.
"The thing is," Stan began, "she's not angry at me or you. She says she's just tired of me and…." Stan looked away.
"Tired of what?" Kyle pressed.
"She thinks I like you more than her," Stan replied without looking at Kyle.
For a moment Kyle furrowed his brow in a thoughtful manner. He stared at his hands in his lap.
When a minute had passed, Kyle asked, "Well, do you?"
Stan blinked.
"Yes."
"Is that bad?"
"I don't know. I'm not dating Wendy anymore, so it sort of is," Stan mumbled into his pillow. He cast his eyes towards the box on his desk.
Kyle glanced at it too.
"I wonder if all the shit you've left lying around at my house would fill a box too," Kyle mused. He pulled at his red curls, shifting his green hat back upon his head. Stan sat up.
"It would be bigger than Wendy's," Stan said, smiling. "I've left a lot of shit over at your house."
Kyle laughed. "See Wendy's too nice. If I'd broken up with you, I'd throw all your shit into the street."
Stan forced a laugh.
"Would you really do that?" he asked, scooting to sit next to Kyle on the edge of the bed.
Kyle paused, glancing at Stan from the corner of his eye. He opened his mouth, but didn't speak. He closed it and shook his head.
"No. I lied. I wouldn't do that to you, Stan. I'd bring it all back to you in a nice box. I'd even clean the stuff off and alphabetize it," Kyle smirked. "'Cause I'm that nice of a guy."
"More like 'cause you're borderline OCD about that shit," Stan joked, nudging his friend in the side.
Kyle huffed. Stan smiled.
"I wouldn't break up with you in the first place," Kyle retorted. "So, you wouldn't even have to worry about me moving your shit around."
"That's good," Stan said, still smiling. Kyle frowned.
"Dude, this conversation is gay. I'd never date you." Kyle got up and moved to his backpack near the foot of the bed. Stan's smile slipped.
"You mean you wouldn't like dating me? I mean come on, Dude, if you had to be gay for like one day, you wouldn't pick me?" Stan hopped down from the bed and playfully kicked Kyle in the side. Kyle batted him away.
"No, I wouldn't because I wouldn't be gay, Stan."
"But hypothetically speaking, if you were, you'd pick me, right?"
Kyle stopped searching for a pair of socks and looked up at his friend. Stan gave him a huge toothy grin. Kyle shook his head.
"I'd pick Kenny."
Stan's face fell so fast it looked like it hurt.
Kyle got to his feet, chuckling.
"I'm joking, stupid. Of course I'd pick you." Kyle snorted. "I can't believe you actually think anything different."
Stan shrugged.
"We get into a lot of fights…."
"So? Everybody fights, Stan."
Stan sat down in his desk chair. Kyle knelt in front of his backpack again, this time yanking out a pair of wrinkled jeans. He unfurled a green t-shirt and with his clothes bunched up under his arms, he exited Stan's room and headed to the bathroom. Stan rifled through Wendy's box half-heartedly, not really looking to find anything. He listened to the water run in the bathroom. Now alone, Stan snuck a drink from the green bottle under his bed. Kyle returned five minutes later dressed and his teeth properly brushed. Stan switched him places and threw on the clothes he'd worn yesterday. He took a good four minutes brushing the smell of alcohol off his teeth before returning to the bedroom. Kyle was flipping through one of Stan's comics when Stan arrived.
Kyle peered over the top of the comic. Stan watched him turn to a new page before sitting down next to Kyle to read over his shoulder.
"We fight differently," Stan finally mumbled after a long silence. Kyle closed the comic.
"What?"
"I said we fight differently. I know it, I can't explain how we fight differently, but it's like we're trying to make the other do something stupid," Stan explained. Kyle raised an eyebrow.
"We do?" Kyle said skeptically, but with a hint of concern. "Why do you say that?"
"'Cause that's how I feel…when we fight. Like yesterday. I wanted to make you feel really bad for what Wendy had done and for you not thanking me for hanging out with you when you were sick," Stan murmured, staring at his knees. He scratched at the wooden floorboards with his fingernails. Kyle continued to look confused.
"That's a fairly legitimate reason to be angry with me," Kyle confessed. "Not so much the Wendy thing, but the other thing."
Stan shook his head.
"That's not it. It's wanting to make you feel bad 'cause…."
"Because what Stan?" Kyle huffed.
"'Cause I want to see when you'll give up and leave."
Kyle tugged at his curls.
"Leave where?"
"No, leave me," Stan whispered, his chin resting atop his knees which he'd pulled to his chest.
"I get upset when you get sick. I'm scared it'll be as bad as the time you needed that kidney," Stan continued, not allowing Kyle to comment. "That's one way you'd leave me. It wouldn't be your fault…but you still wouldn't be here."
"Dude…." Kyle's mouth was set in a thin line.
"But with this fighting…it's like I want to see if you'll choose to leave me…to stop being my Super Best Friend. I got you to hate me before…when everything was shit." Stan rubbed at his face, turning to stare at the corner of his bed. Kyle sighed.
"I didn't hate you, Stan. I was just frustrated…and I didn't know what you wanted me to do. You wouldn't let me help you," Kyle said levelly. Stan sniffed.
"I don't like arguing with you," Stan confessed.
"Then stop it," Kyle snapped.
Stan sat up straight and frowned down at Kyle.
"Well sometimes you make that very hard."
"I make it hard?" Kyle countered. He gave a short laugh.
"Yes, you do." Stan argued feebly. He ran his fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes for a moment and took in a deep breath.
"I need to stop…here we are fighting again," Stan murmured.
"I wouldn't call this much of a fight," Kyle said tersely. Stan glared at him
"Just stop. Let's not say anything to each other for a few minutes, okay?" Stan suggested. Kyle shrugged and went back to scanning Stan's comic book. After a few seconds, Kyle scratched at his wrist, right above the cootie mark. Stan reached out and took his friend's hand.
"Is it okay?" he asked, examining the lines Kyle's fingernails had dug into the paint.
"Yeah, Dude, it's fine," Kyle assured. He pulled his hand back. Stan got up and moved to his desk where he kept the little jar of black paint. He returned to Kyle's side and unscrewed the lid.
"Let me repaint it," Stan suggested.
"Dude, it's fine."
"Please."
Kyle opened his mouth as if to snap a retort, but appeared to think better on it.
"Okay…."
Stan's hands were much steadier than the night before. He traced the cootie shot perfectly, leaving no bumps or crooked lines. When he had finished, Kyle took the paint from Stan and retraced Stan's cootie shot for him. Setting the paint aside when the shot appeared complete, Kyle leaned back against Stan's bookcase, staring down at his arm. Stan sat blowing at the paint on his own arm, waving it about to help it dry.
"I still have trouble believing this works," Kyle confessed. Stan nodded.
"It doesn't make sense, but I'm not going to complain if it makes you better."
Kyle sighed. "You don't have to worry about me so goddamn much."
"I can't help it, you're my Super Best Friend," Stan said pitifully. Kyle snorted. Stan continued, "I'd do anything to make sure you were okay, Kyle. Remember, I can get you kidneys like that!" Stan snapped his fingers. Kyle chuckled, replacing the comic book on its shelf.
"I'm not kidding," Stan added as Kyle stood up.
Stretching his arms over his head, Kyle yawned, "I know that."
Stan stood up too. He gave Kyle's cootie shot one more glance and then said, "You know what we should do? To keep from getting cooties?"
Kyle frowned. "Just keep reapplying the shot?"
"We should just be with each other," Stan rushed, his face flushing. He thought back to Kenny and Butters in their sandcastle, safe and hidden away from girls.
"What?" Kyle laughed.
"Like Kenny and Butters, Dude, let's not be with girls, but just each other. We'd never have to worry about cooties then," Stan suggested excitedly. Kyle raised an eyebrow.
"Er, not sure that really works, Dude."
Stan grinned, throwing an arm around Kyle.
"Sure it will. What could go wrong?"
Back in the theater, two young girls roughly Stan and Kyle's age sat in the front row only one seat down from Kyle. Stan eyed them warily, noting that they were taking a great deal of time to shrug off their winter coats. The girl closest to Kyle struggled to pull her sleeve out of her jacket. When she gave her hand a mighty yank, she nearly smacked Kyle's elbow in the process. Stan flinched. He did not like that at all.
"Dude, let me switch you places," Stan whispered as the previews started to roll. Kyle shook his head.
"No way, I'm right in the middle. I like the middle," Kyle hissed back his eyes only on the screen. Stan sighed and leaned back in his seat. He watched the two girls out of the corner of his eye, making sure they weren't going to try anything funny. When he had reassured himself that they too were engrossed with the opening credits of the movie, he turned his attention back onto Kyle.
The redhead had stuck his hand down the bag of popcorn. Grabbing a handful of kernels, he proceeded to munch on them one at a time, his eyes glued to the enormous screen. Stan watched the light dance in his eyes, the shifting colors on the screen casting Kyle in a wide array of hues. Stan smiled, turning back towards the screen. He reached for his own handful of popcorn only to knock his fist against Kyle's as the redhead ventured for more popcorn too.
"Sorry, Dude," Stan whispered, drawing back his arm. Kyle shrugged and continued to pull out the amount of popcorn he wanted. Stan occupied himself with slurping from his soda. He clenched and unclenched the hand that had touched Kyle's. Suddenly, Stan felt very hot.
Stan snuck another glance at Kyle. The light from the screen cast his friend first in blue, then red, then green. The speakers blared out the sounds of the film, screeching sirens and incoherent shouts. Stan suddenly wanted to be somewhere quiet so he could talk to Kyle, about what, he wasn't sure. Yet, the noise and the two girls and the itchy seat along with the flashing colors were giving Stan a headache. He rubbed at his temple, closing his eyes.
A loud boom echoed from the movie and the crowd gasped and then roared with laughter. Kyle stared at the screen's epic action sequence, a piece of popcorn held right before his lips as he reacted along with the crowd. Stan wanted to laugh. His friend appeared ridiculous, his mouth gaping open like a fish. After a few seconds passed, Kyle realized he had the popcorn and proceeded to munch it down. He turned to Stan and mouthed the words 'Dude, did you see that'. Stan nodded even though he hadn't paid attention to the movie since they'd arrived. Kyle turned back to the screen, his eyes wide with anticipation and a small grin flitting about his lips.
When Stan smiled again, he felt like he ached. Something in his chest hurt, but didn't. A strange tug he'd never felt before. For a moment he panicked, wondering if it was the cooties. Had Kyle not redrawn his shot properly? He glanced at the two girls several rows down. They had not moved. Stan looked at Kyle.
The ache returned.
Stan rubbed at his chest. He took a deep breath and tried to dissipate the feeling by chugging down more of his soda.
This did not work. Stan's ache persisted, now with his heart racing, drumming itself against his chest. Without warning he felt his stomach churn in protest. Frightened Stan jumped to his feet. Kyle turned to him.
"What's wrong?" Kyle whispered. Stan shook his head, murmuring something about needing to use the restroom. Kyle shrugged and turned back to the movie.
Out in the lobby, Stan sprinted across the carpeted floor towards the boy's bathroom. He pushed past several teenagers and bolted himself into a stall. The minute he turned around to face the toilet, Stan lost the contents of his stomach. He fell to his knees and emptied his body of the cheeseburger and fries he'd eaten for lunch. When the vomiting had passed, Stan knelt there shivering, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. Struggling to his feet again, Stan flushed the toilet and backed up to lean against the stall door. He took several deep breaths.
He tried to clear his mind, but the thoughts of Kyle waiting for him back in the theater made his stomach gurgle unpleasantly. Stan closed his eyes; Kyle's face swam before his mind's eye: smiling with the flicker of the movie screen casting varying colors over his entire body.
Stan clutched his stomach. His heart pelted at his ribcage.
It wasn't the cooties. Stan knew that much. He tired to think about Kyle again, this time willing his stomach to behave. But this time Stan thought about Kyle curled up warm against him, sick in bed but still joking, his face angry as he ranted at Cartman, or simply passive as he thought long and hard about a difficult puzzle. Stan liked all these versions of Kyle, and he liked thinking about them even if his stomach did flip flops.
Shuffling out of the stall, Stan stood before the bathroom mirror, the harsh yellow light of the lamps casting his skin in an ugly glow. He washed his hands and splashed his face with water. Stan took a step back from the mirror, preparing to leave the bathroom and return to the theater. He paused and walked back to the mirror nervous, realizing he'd have to sit next to Kyle again. He screwed up his face and glared at his reflection. Why was that suddenly so scary? It was Kyle. He could never be afraid of Kyle. He could be afraid for Kyle.
Stan thought of the other day with his friend sick in bed, and the urge to return to him grew. Stan made it halfway towards the door before freezing and rushing back to the mirror. He washed his hands again and this time took the time to pull down a paper towel from the dispenser. He dried his fingers and turned once more to face the door.
He couldn't move.
And then the bathroom door opened and in walked Kyle, frowning and looking a bit cross. He spotted Stan standing rooted next to the sinks.
Stomping over to his friend, Kyle said, "Dude, what are you doing? You're missing the movie."
Stan didn't say anything. Kyle crossed his arms.
"Stan?"
"Kyle…I don't feel so good."
Dropping his arms to his side, Kyle took a step closer, his face softening.
"What is it?"
Stan clenched his fists at his side looking anywhere but at Kyle.
"I threw up," Stan confessed. Kyle backed away from him. Stan gave a lopsided grin. "Don't worry," he added, "I threw everything up. I don't think I have anything left."
Kyle glanced over his shoulder and then back at Stan.
"I — er — don't want to really suggest it, but do you think it's the cooties?" Kyle asked, reaching out to touch Stan's shoulder. Stan shook his head.
"No."
Kyle frowned.
"What is it then?"
"I don't know…." Stan reached out and took Kyle's hand. "I don't know."
But that was a lie. Stan did know.