A Serious Case of Cooties
Chapter 5: There's the Boy That I Like
written by SqueakGirl - illustrated by Neavvs and SynnesaiStan leaned against several cases of soda that had been stacked at the end of one of the pharmacy's long aisles. He watched Kyle stroll up and down the rows of shelves, searching for medicine that might help an upset stomach. Stan hadn't protested when his friend insisted they leave the movie theater early; Stan hadn't had much patience for the comedy film to begin with. The only thing Stan was interested in now was Kyle.
Pausing in the middle of the row, Kyle stood on tiptoe and reached for a pink bottle of syrupy medicine. He pulled it down and examined the bottle's ingredients. Stan sighed, rubbing at his stomach. He doubted any indigestive medicine could cure his recent bout of vomiting. Although the sickness had subsided and finally replaced with hunger, Stan still felt a bit ill. His head spun, and he had trouble concentrating on anything.
Anything, but Kyle.
Stan smiled as his friend walked down the aisle towards him. When the redhead was standing in front of him, he held up the pink bottle and shook it.
"I think this will help," Kyle stated simply.
"Dude, I'm feeling okay now…maybe just some Tums?" Stan suggested, feeling his chest constrict when Kyle moved to lean against the soda cases with him. Their elbows touched. Kyle flipped the bottle over and read the back. Stan dug his hands into the pockets of his brown coat. He suddenly realized that Kyle smelled very nice today.
Feeling his face grow red, Stan turned to look at a display of colorful sunglasses. He pushed himself off of the soda cases and began picking sunglasses off of their racks. He tried on a blue pair with zebra stripes along the sides. They were too big. He put them back and took down a red pair with lightning bolts. Meanwhile, Kyle had gotten up from the soda cases and mumbled something about looking for antacids. Stan nodded, feeling his stomach squirm as Kyle brushed past him.
Stan let out a long sigh and took off the red pair of sunglasses. He gazed at himself in the tiny strip of mirror on the sunglasses display. He could see the faint trace of a blush gathering on his cheeks and neck. He wondered how he appeared to Kyle. The redhead only understood that Stan might be catching a stomach bug or worse, the cooties. Either one, Kyle hadn't decided yet.
Now, Stan had gathered that this new found affection for Kyle was just a passing phase. A fluke perhaps brought on by Stan's concern for his friend's health and wellbeing. Yet, the more Stan tried to wipe his mind clean of the fantasies of handholding and other intimate gestures, the more he found himself thinking back on Wendy. Not out of a longing to hold her hand, but more a longing to talk to her about her perception of Stan and Kyle's relationship. Stan knew he wasn't the most observant of guys, so he had a sudden compelling wish to ask his ex-girlfriend what exactly she meant when she said 'you like him more than me.'
Stan wandered down a new aisle, now surrounded by leftover Valentine's Day candy. A shot of guilt rippled through his stomach as he thought back to Wendy's cupcakes and ruined love letter. The cardboard box sitting on his desk back home also lurched into his memories. Stan had an awful thought. What if I forgot to get Kyle a Valentine's Day gift? Would he dump me?
Stan had to shake his head. That would be impossible, he told himself, because for one he and Kyle were…not like that. Right? This whole staying away from girls was only temporary? Right?
Kyle turned the corner into the aisle and presented Stan with a bottle of antacids.
"Thanks, Dude," Stan murmured. He clutched the bottle to his chest, willing his heart to stop thumping so hard. Kyle smiled and patted his friend on the shoulder.
"I can pay for half of it, if you want?" he offered. Stan shook his head.
"It's cool."
"Nah, Stan, you bought me lunch. I'll buy it." Kyle took the bottle from Stan decisively and headed towards the checkout. He was halfway there when he was distracted by the book aisle and made a detour to the rack of paperbacks. Stan took the opportunity to hide in another row of merchandise, avoiding Kyle and trying to calm his churning stomach.
"Hello there, Stanley," said a familiar voice. Stan jumped and spun around to find his fourth grade teacher Mr. Garrison comparing the labels of two cans of shaving cream. The man still looked as cantankerous as he did during school hours; pants pressed crisply, his green shirt tucked in snuggly, and the light of the florescent lamps gleaming off his balding head with a pasty brilliance.
Stan gave his teacher a small wave, not really sure he should be happy to see the man.
"Hey, Mr. Garrison," Stan mumbled his response, stepping back slowly. He wondered if he'd be able to leave the aisle without the teacher noticing. Mr. Garrison seemed very much engrossed with his shaving cream.
"Having a nice Saturday?" asked the man, stooping down to replace one of the cans he held and pick up a new brand. He opened the lid and sniffed it.
"Yes," Stan replied automatically. Mr. Garrison gave him a sweeping look.
"You look ill, Stanley. Are you alright?"
Stan nodded so fast his neck cricked. Mr. Garrison frowned and replaced both shaving creams on the shelf. He leaned on his small shopping cart to get a better look at Stan.
"You are as white as fucking ghost, Stanley," Mr. Garrison pointed out bluntly. "You've never been as good a liar as the rest of those little bastards you call friends."
Stan nodded again. He was struck with the most absurd idea and couldn't stop his mouth from forming the question.
"Mr. Garrison you're gay, right?"
The teacher gave Stan a sideways glance and asked, "Does this new illness of yours also cause blindness and stupidity too?"
Stan gulped.
"Sorry, that's not — er, that's not exactly how I meant to say that," Stan stumbled out. Mr. Garrison raised an eyebrow.
"I…you see…um," Stan bit his lip. He thought for a moment and then his face brightened. "I have this friend —"
"Is it Kyle?" Mr. Garrison asked without looking up. He'd finally chosen a shaving cream and placed in his cart. He then moved onto the shampoo section. Stan sputtered for a moment before regaining his train of thought.
"N-no, it's not Kyle."
"But it's always Kyle," Mr. Garrison pointed out, staring at the shampoo bottles.
"No, it's not," Stan countered, a little annoyed. He didn't know why he was even talking to his old batshit crazy teacher.
"Usually is," the man mumbled. "I swear you two must bitch and whine about each other more than some old married couple."
Stan felt his face heat up; his heart hammered faster.
Mr. Garrison noticed Stan's discomfort. He sighed.
"What's wrong with 'your friend', Stanley?"
Stan shook his head and then clenching his fist tight, said, "It's nothing."
Mr. Garrison threw up his hands in exasperation and then turned back towards the shampoo. Stan hadn't moved. He hated himself right now. He felt so confused about what exactly he wanted to ask Mr. Garrison. He knew his insensitive and often bigoted teacher was probably the last one he should be spilling any personal feelings to, but Stan needed something to guide him. He needed to know if he was okay. That his stomach's flip flops and his heart's rattling was perfectly alright to experience, even around one's Super Best Friend. Stan knew he couldn't confide this feeling with his mother and father. Randy wouldn't understand, and Sharon would tell Randy which in the end would just leave Stan to deal with his father's overreactions and distorted, archaic ideals of masculinity. Shelley was completely out of the question.
Stan wished Chef were still alive. Chef always knew how to help.
Screwing up his courage, Stan asked the first thing that came to mind.
"Mr. Garrison, how do you get a guy to like you more than any other guy?"
Without missing a beat his teacher replied,
"Oh, that's simple, Stanley, you just have to find the prostate."
Stan frowned. He felt like he'd had this conversation before.
"What?"
Mr. Garrison's eyes grew round, realizing what he'd said. Stan tilted his head, puzzled. With his eyes still set wide and panicked, Garrison coughed into his hand and then made a shooing motion in Stan's direction.
"Why do you little bastards have to always bug me? Isn't the harassment I get at school enough? Leave me to enjoy my Saturday!" Mr. Garrison spun his cart around and briskly walked down the aisle, out of sight. Stan was left alone to stare at the empty space between the shampoo bottles and the shaving cream.
Heaving another great sigh, Stan left the aisle and found Kyle sitting on the floor reading from one of the novels he'd picked off the shelf. Stan clenched and unclenched his hands, counting to ten and willing his body not to do anything stupid. He approached Kyle and tapped the boy on top of his green ushanka.
"Are you ready to go?" Stan asked. Kyle peered up, blinking confusedly as if he'd just noticed Stan's existence.
"Oh, yeah! Let's go. Sorry, I got distracted."
Me too, thought Stan dully.
Kyle struggled to his feet. He tripped on his shoelaces and stumbled into Stan who caught him and righted him with a quick shove. Kyle adjusted his green hat.
"Sorry, Dude," Kyle laughed. He replaced his book and rattled the bottle of antacids playfully. "Let's go."
Stan stuck out his hand, palm up. Kyle paused; staring at the hand, he gave a small shrug and placed his own hand in Stan's. He then proceeded to tug Stan towards the checkout counter. They passed Mr. Garrison going the opposite direction. The teacher gave a tired, searching look over both boys and then shook his head.
And despite himself, Stan grinned.
When Stan and Kyle were no more than a half mile from Stan's home, the boys discovered Eric Cartman sitting at what appeared to be a lemonade stand. Upon closer inspection they found the stand's sign read 'STC Shots - $25.' Kyle fumed, debating about rushing across the street and kicking down Cartman's entire stand. He refrained, however. Stan still had a good hold on his hand. That and a large group of sixth graders clustered around the crooked stand looking aggressive. Not sure what Cartman was doing with the sixth graders, Stan and Kyle watched in awe and complete shock as one of the nastier and more brutish looking ones rolled up his sleeve for Cartman's paint brush. The older boy slapped several bills on the table, and Eric gave him a huge patronizing grin.
Kyle shivered with a mixture of rage and fear. Stan squeezed his fingers.
"I can't believe he's tricked them too!"
Stan scratched at his nose.
"Can't really say it's a trick if it works, can you?"
Kyle spun around to glare at Stan. Blanching, the black haired boy dropped Kyle's hand and took a step back. Kyle sighed.
"Sorry," he mumbled. He snatched Stan's hand again and tugged the boy away as fast as he could. "Let's just let Fatass have his stupid little 'cootie clinic'," Kyle growled more to himself than to Stan. "It'll all come back to bite him in the ass somehow."
"Yeah," Stan agreed feebly. He was more concerned with Kyle's fingers clasped tightly around his own to really give a damn about what Cartman could get up to.
Later, Kyle sat at the foot of Stan's bed, reading the same comic he'd been reading that morning. Stan lay on his side; the Tums bottle now open and its contents scattered upon the night stand. Stan held his stomach, folding his arms over it. He no longer felt like throwing up, but his head still spun. Kyle glanced at him from the corner of his eye every now and then, worried. Stan had convinced Kyle it wasn't the cooties. He claimed that the sandwich he'd eaten earlier must have not settled with him. With his face still set in a concerned frown, Kyle had gone back to reading. At intervals through the chapters of his comic, however, Kyle would offer to get Stan glasses of water or saltine crackers. Stan refused these offers, stating that he only felt a bit dizzy now.
Stan closed his eyes. He could hear the rustle of the comic book as Kyle turned the pages. The sink dripped from across the hall, and he made out the distinct sound of his father's television blaring from the floor below. Kyle readjusted his position on the bed, scooting back to lean against the wall. As he spread out his legs, his foot bumped against Stan's. Tensing, Stan pulled his limbs closer to his body.
"Dude, you sure you're okay?" Kyle asked for what felt the fiftieth time. Stan managed to mumble out a soft 'I'm fine' before shuffling his body away from Kyle's straying foot.
Thinking back to the drugstore, Stan wondered what Mr. Garrison meant by finding the prostate. Stan guessed the man might be messing with him or simply threw out a careless answer, probably both. Recalling a similar conversation with Chef, however, Stan wondered where he might begin his search for this elusive prostate if it really could make guys like you more than any other guy. Maybe it would appear to him magically like the clitoris had done that one time. Stan sat up. The clitoris had appeared after he'd hit his head pretty hard on the ground. Maybe if he ran into a wall, the prostate would show up too.
Getting to his feet, Stan braced himself for a sprint. Kyle looked up from his comic, raising one eyebrow.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking for the prostate," Stan replied as he took off with a burst of speed and thumped his head soundly against the opposite wall. Kyle let out a yelp of alarm and scrambled off the bed.
"Dude, what the fuck did you do that for?" Kyle shouted, now standing over his friend. Stan curled up into a ball, clamping his hands firmly over the top of his head. Tears burst to his eyes, and he gritted his teeth through the pain.
"I thought it would help me find the prostate," Stan explained, pushing himself up. He rubbed at his crown. "Last time I found the clitoris when I'd hit my head."
Kyle gaped at Stan. Throwing out his hands, Kyle said, "Dude, that makes no fucking sense whatsoever!"
Stan got to his feet. He shuffled back to his bed and then turned to face the wall once more. Bending his knees a little bit, he readied to try again. Kyle blocked his way.
"Don't!"
"But I have to find it!"
"What the hell for?"
Stan blushed and backed away.
"It's just important," Stan murmured. "It's important that I find it."
Kyle folded his arms over his chest. He planted his feet firmly on the ground, making sure Stan stayed put near the bed.
"Do you even know what it looks like?" Kyle asked.
Stan fidgeted with his shirttail. "Not really…no."
"Then how do you know you've found it when you see it?" Leave it to Kyle to take any situation and pick it apart with logic.
Stan looked up sheepishly.
"Do you know where I can find the prostate?"
Kyle blinked. He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. Stan waited, enjoying the puzzled look spreading over Kyle's face. The redhead frowned, tugging at one of the unruly curls peeking out from beneath his ushanka.
"Er…well no I don't. Though doesn't it have something to do with cancer?" Kyle pondered.
Stan started. "Cancer?"
Kyle nodded. "Yeah, can't dudes get like prostate cancer?"
Stan blinked.
"So, it's like something on the body? And you can get sick or cancer from it?"
"Yeah, Dude," Kyle said, nodding. "I heard it on the news or something. Like it can get really bad."
Stan's eyes grew round.
"Dude, how come we never heard about this prostate cancer stuff?" Stan asked, throwing up his arms. "What if we got the cancer and didn't know it?" Stan was completely confused, now, as to why his teacher would want him to find something that had to do with cancer.
Kyle rubbed his chest and stomach.
"I don't know…I've never felt like I've gotten any cancer. And I get sick a lot you know," Kyle mused. He paused, thinking. "I wonder where the prostate is?"
Stan pointed at him.
"See you're curious too! I want to find it, so I ran into the wall. 'Cause that's how I found the clitoris by bumping my head! She sort of appeared to me," Stan recalled.
Kyle raised an eyebrow.
"She?"
"It sounded like a girl…sort of like the Good Witch from the Wizard of Oz," Stan explained. On a whim Stan lifted up his shirt and checked his stomach and chest. He wondered if the prostate was something you could see on the outside of your body. Maybe it was a special organ only guys had? Maybe it didn't really have much of a function, like the appendix or your tonsils. Could that be the reason they hadn't really heard much about it? Stan also had the silliest idea that the prostate might sound like a man, maybe even the Wizard.
"Now what are you doing?" Kyle asked, snorting with laughter.
"Checking to see if the prostate is something on the outside of your body."
Kyle furrowed his brow in thought and then joined Stan in checking his own stomach. The two boys stood there with their shirts bunched up around their armpits. Stan walked towards his mirror and turned to the side. He saw nothing unusual. He poked his belly button. Spinning around to look at his back, he caught sight of Kyle examining his own body. Kyle was thinner than Stan, bonier too. A small pale scar could be seen right above Kyle's left hip. Stan smoothed down his shirt and walked over to his friend.
"That's where you had the kidney transplant," Stan stated. He pointed to the scar. He hadn't realized how prominent it looked before. Kyle glanced down at the thin jagged line; blushing he covered himself.
"I hate that it's Cartman's," he growled. "Every time I see it in the mirror a part of me says 'you're only alive 'cause of Fatass'."
Stan frowned. He reached out and tugged Kyle's shirt down farther and smoothed it. Hugging his friend to his chest, Stan whispered, "I would have given you mine, if I could have."
Kyle pouted.
"I know."
Stan rested his forehead against Kyle's shoulder.
"Kyle, I love you."
"I know."
Stan started, jumping back. He eyed Kyle up and down, but the redhead only blinked back at him with confusion.
"What did you say?" Stan asked, his voice rising.
Kyle furrowed his brow, giving Stan a searching look.
"You said you loved me," Kyle began. "I told you that I already knew that."
Stan blinked. "Oh…er, really?"
"Yes. And I love you too, Dude," Kyle beamed and thumped Stan on the shoulder. Stan felt his stomach drop. He wasn't sure Kyle had understood.
"But I think it's for reals, though," Stan continued jerkily. "That's…um…why I'm trying to find the prostate. Mr. Garrison said it would make you like me more than any other guy."
Kyle nodded.
"But I do like you more than any other guy, Stan."
"Yeah…but like really, really like me."
Kyle frowned.
"Isn't that why we're choosing to not be with girls?" Kyle began. "Not only to stay away from cooties, but…because we really like each other? I mean, I'd never do this with any other dude, Dude."
Stan smiled.
"Really?"
Kyle shrugged.
"Duh."
"But…I threw up 'cause I was thinking of you," Stan explained. Kyle narrowed his brows.
"What? What did I do?" Kyle sounded annoyed and a bit offended.
"NO!" Stan waved his hands frantically. "That's a good thing, Dude. I mean sort of. Just…that's what happens. You know…like when it happened with Wendy."
Kyle continued to frown, but slowly his face softened as realization dawned.
"Oh yeah, I forgot you do that," Kyle chuckled. He went back to the bed and picked up his comic. He opened it to his saved spot, still glancing in Stan's direction. "I'm glad it's not the cooties."
Stan clambered up to sit next to him. He leaned his head gently upon Kyle's shoulder, closing his eyes as he did so. The two boys sat there for a while in silence. Kyle continued to read his comic, and Stan seriously debated about drifting off to sleep. Today had been exhausting.
Kyle made a sniffing noise. "You know, Dude, I don't think I've said it but…." He paused, his grip tightening around the edges of the comic. Stan lifted his head.
"What?"
"I'm glad I have you," Kyle whispered. "I'm glad I have you…in my life. I feel like I'd be very lonely without you." He turned to smile at Stan. "No one else in this town is smart or good enough to be my best friend, but you."
"Dude…."
Kyle slipped his hand into Stan's.
"I'm glad you want to be with me, and only me, Stan. Together it'll just be us. We don't need anyone else. We'll grow up and live in our own house and be super rich and famous or something just as cool! And no one can tell us we're lame or anything. 'Cause it'll be just us, right?"
Stan nodded. He pressed his forehead to Kyle's shoulder.
"Just us."
"And Cartman will grow up to be all alone and work at a gas station convenient store. Or better yet he gets sent to jail and has to make license plates for the rest of his life," Kyle said enthusiastically. Stan chuckled.
"Sounds like a wonderful future."
"It is. Kenny and Butters can come visit us in our big house if they want. They're pretty okay," Kyle mused, looking thoughtful. Stan laughed again. He inched closer to Kyle.
"Hey, Dude, can I ask you a favor?"
Kyle turned to him.
"Sure, what?"
"Can I kiss you?"
Kyle froze.
"Er…what?"
"Just…I'd like to see something. Just a test or something. Wanted to see what might happen," Stan explained, his face flushing with color. Kyle continued to grow pale.
"Uh…why?"
Stan touched Kyle's hand.
"Well, if we're going to be with only each other…and not care what anyone else says, we should try things like kissing. 'Cause if we care and love each other enough, we should do things like that, right?" Stan spoke in a jerky manner, his hand growing clammy over Kyle's.
Staring across the room, Kyle frowned in thought.
"I guess that makes some sense, though it sounds a little gay."
"Didn't you say you had nothing better to do today, so you said why the heck not. Let's be gay, Dude. I'm sure the world won't end," Stan murmured. His shoulder's shook.
"Alright," Kyle conceded, "but only if we don't tell anyone. Especially not Cartman."
"No way, Dude!" Stan agreed. "We don't have to tell anyone shit. That's why it's just us."
Kyle nodded, a small smile forming upon his lips.
"Yeah. Fuck everybody else!" Kyle cried, clenching his fist in eagerness. He sprung to his knees, closing his eyes and puckering his lips. Stan blanked for a moment, taking in Kyle's stance. Suppressing a giggle, Stan closed his own eyes and prepared for the kiss. Leaning in blindly, Stan puckered his own lips…
…and then proceeded to knock his forehead into Kyle's nose. The boys jerked apart, their eyes flying open. Stan rubbed his temple and Kyle hid his nose with his hands, tears springing to his eyes.
"Fuck that hurt, Stan," Kyle growled.
"I'm sorry! I wasn't looking!"
"Why weren't you looking? How are you supposed to kiss me if you don't look?" Kyle challenged. Stan shrugged.
"That's how they do it in the movies. Everybody closes their eyes and then kisses. I thought it would work," Stan explained.
"Well, try it again and don't close your eyes!"
"You don't close your eyes either!"
"Fine," Kyle snapped. "I wasn't the one movin' all around though."
Stan huffed. "Whatever. Just hold still."
Stan grabbed Kyle by the shoulders to hold him steady. The redhead glared up at him. Stan bit his lip, the moments ticking by.
"Well?" Kyle said in bored tone.
"I'm thinking!"
"What's there to think about? You just kiss me. I don't have cooties," Kyle snapped before he even realized what he'd said. Stan stared at him, his lips cracking into a wide grin. The next moment Stan found himself rolling upon his bed laughing his head off. Kyle glared at him, but couldn't help smirking too.
"I don't, you know. You've made sure of that," Kyle offered, lying down next to Stan. He stretched out his legs and laid his head in his hands, staring up at the cieling. "Are you going to kiss me or not?"
Stan wiped at his eyes, heaving for breath. He nodded and rolled towards Kyle. He leaned over, once more his lips set in a comical fishy pucker. Kyle copied the gesture, his eyes squinting. Before Stan had moved another inch closer, Kyle slapped him in the face.
"WAIT!"
Stan rubbed his mouth, now pissed.
"What is it now?"
"You haven't brushed your teeth, Dude! Not since this morning!"
Stan frowned. "Yeah, so. Neither have you."
"I'm not the one who hurled his guts into a movie theater toilet though," Kyle pointed out, scooting off the bed. "Go brush your teeth before you kiss me. It's gross."
Stan jumped out of bed.
"Fine."
He stomped towards the bathroom. Kyle scurried after him to watch. Stan slopped a glob of toothpaste on his brush and began running the bristles quickly over his teeth. Kyle watched him closely, making sure he brushed his tongue too. Stan frowned at himself in the mirror. Slowly, he recalled the night before, brushing his teeth to hide the smell of the alcohol. For a moment Stan considered dumping the whole green bottle down the sink. If he'd have Kyle with him for the rest of his life, did he really need to keep that bottle around?
"Hurry up, Stan," Kyle moaned. Stan raised an eyebrow.
"You really want that kiss, huh?"
Kyle blushed. "N-no, I mean, well, you got me curious, okay? I want to know what it's like to kiss a dude. It might not be half bad."
"Yeah, maybe," agreed Stan. "I've only ever kissed Wendy."
"Bebe kissed me once," Kyle recollected. "I didn't like it much."
"She's also spit in your mouth," Stan laughed, jumping down from his little stepping stool and heading for the bathroom door.
"Ugh." Kyle stuck out his tongue. "I wish I hadn't agreed to that."
Stan shrugged. They now stood in the middle of Stan's room. Kyle stepped closer and held his arms at his side. He glanced up at Stan and waited. Taking in a few quick breaths, Stan raised his arms and placed his hands on Kyle's upper arms. He paused and counted to ten. This is what he saw them do in the movies. You held the person like this, and then pulled them closer. Although, a voice in the back of Stan's head said, most of the time it's a guy and a girl doing the kissing. What if you kissed a guy slightly different? Nah, that was silly. Both guys and girls had lips, so there weren't any surprises there.
Kyle stood on tiptoe as if to urge Stan into action. The redhead wavered slightly, but Stan kept him steady.
"Okay, I'm going to do it now," Stan announced.
"Alright," Kyle replied in a small voice. His eyes were round with anticipation. He licked his lips.
Stan swallowed and lowered his head.
Not sure what they'd been expecting, Stan and Kyle met lips, kissing with their mouths set in tight, thin lines. Without thinking on it, both boys closed their eyes. Their noses wrinkled as they snorted for breath. Stan decided he wanted to put his arms all the way around Kyle. He did so and enjoyed the feeling of having his friend so close. Though for a brief moment, Stan's heart leapt as he felt his stomach churn dangerously. He would not throw up on Kyle. The redhead would never forgive him for doing something so gross.
SLAM!
Stan and Kyle stumbled apart. Whipping their heads back and forth they searched for the source of the noise. Kyle pointed towards the door which was now shut.
"Who closed the door?"
Stan panicked. "Oh shit, we left it open before."
Both boys ran to the door and tugged it open. They leaned out slowly, checking first right and then left down the hall. Empty. The hallway was completely empty. No lights were on in any of the rooms on the landing. His parents' bedroom was left wide open, but no one occupied it. Glancing with fear at Shelley's room, Stan sighed in relief to see it too had no one inside.
"It must have been the wind," Stan offered, pulling his head back into the room. Kyle followed him, frowning.
"What wind, Dude?" Kyle snapped. "There is no wind!"
"Well, sometimes doors slam shut like that," Stan argued halfheartedly. "The pressure build up in a room can make doors close all by themselves."
"That's true except that only happens when you have the windows open, Stan," Kyle countered. He jerked his thumb at Stan's latched and shaded bedroom window. "Yours wasn't opened."
Stan felt his heart pound against his ribs.
"Well, if it was one of my parents, t-they would have said something. And I'm pretty sure Shelley would of called us names," Stan suggested, though not really believing his own words. Kyle frowned, walking towards the door. He shut it and bolted the lock. Then, as an extra precaution, he moved Stan's desk chair to rest beneath the doorknob. Stepping back, he took Stan's hand and led him towards the bed. Both boys climbed up onto the covers, returning to their positions they'd occupied early. Kyle picked up his comic book, and Stan lay on his side holding in his panic and alarm.
Kyle turned a page in the comic without really reading it. Stan huddled closer to Kyle's side, reaching out a hand to tug at the hem of his friend's t-shirt.
"I don't think anything's going to happen," Kyle whispered, his voice unusually high. "Y-you might be right. Maybe it was the wind."
Stan nodded.
"Yeah, the wind."
"Let's promise not to kiss again until we're hidden somewhere else," Kyle mumbled, leaning down to whisper in Stan's ear.
"Sounds good, Dude."
Kyle patted Stan's hair.
"Hey, Kyle?"
"Hmm?"
"Did you like the kiss?"
Kyle smiled.
"Of course, Dude."
Shelley stood at the foot of the stairs, her heart hammering into her chest. She stared at the wall opposite her, seeing not the paisley wallpaper, but her little brother and his friend embracing. Kissing. She couldn't believe it at first; Stan and Kyle pressed so close together. They were stupid little fourth graders. What the hell did they think they were playing at? Did they think that was a game? To kiss someone? To tell someone that you loved them?
Shelley pushed herself away from the stairs. She moved her body slowly around the corner and into the living room. She paused, trying to shake the image from her mind. Stan didn't know what he was doing. Without Wendy to pretend to dote upon with stupid Valentine's cards, he had turned to Kyle. Shelley's cootie plan had backfired. Stan was still happy. And worse he believed he loved his little friend the same way he had done Wendy. Clearly, Shelley saw in her mind, Stan walking to school holding Kyle's hand, carrying the boy's books, sitting at the dining room table making a whole new Valentine's Day card for the redheaded boy. Stan would go on being happy, and Shelley would have to watch.
Her fists shook as she stomped her way through the lower levels of the house. How could she have been so naïve? How could she have ever thought getting Wendy out of the picture would cause Stan the most dismay? It was Kyle. It had always been Kyle that Stan cared for most. And now that line between friendship and more had been blurred by their stupid little kiss. What did her little brother expect to happen? Did he think he could go on being happy like that? Did he not realize how many would want to take that feeling away from him? It wasn't a game; you can't just go through with those emotions and expect nothing to happen. Someone would eventually get hurt. Shelley knew first hand that much about liking someone enough to kiss. She thought about how easily her little brother had dumped Wendy. How easily he had forgotten her despite the clear sadness in the little girl's eyes.
Shelley paused in the hallway between the kitchen and the den. She reeled in her frantic breathing. What would Stan do if something unpleasant happened between him and Kyle? Would he stick with Kyle to the end? Or would he give up and hide? Or worse, start using that green bottle more and more frequently?
Shelley knew of the bottle. Stan was very bad at hiding it. Their parents were stupid enough to ignore the clear signs of her little brother's drinking; the smell on his breath, his glassy looks, his avoidance of difficult, over emotional situations. Shelley knew, but didn't care. She let Stan have his bottle. She had her own shit to deal with.
Pushing the door leading to the den open, Shelley found her father relaxing in his large office chair. He scrolled through something on the computer monitor, humming to himself.
If Stan wanted to see what it was like to love someone, he needed to know what it was like to lose them too.
"Dad," Shelley said, stepping forward. For a brief moment, she thought of the scattered flower petals in Wendy's cardboard box and another small white flower whose petals now dried and decayed between the pages of her little purple book.
"Dad, I got to talk to you about Stan."