A Serious Case of Cooties
Chapter 8: Truth Be Told
written by SqueakGirl - illustrated by Neavvs and SynnesaiThe sun came streaming in through the window to rest upon the two sleeping figures curled side by side. Stan stirred first as the light from the sun traveled across the bed to warm his face. He blinked at the light, cringing from the onslaught of a pounding headache. He buried himself deeper under the covers, feeling Kyle roll over onto his back. For a moment, Stan remained still, wondering if it were possible to stay curled up under these blankets forever. The bedroom outside his little makeshift cocoon felt too cold for his liking. Scooting his body closer to his friend, Stan nuzzled his head into the crook of Kyle's arm. Like most sleepovers Stan had shared with Kyle, the redhead lay sprawled out, his legs tangled within the sheets and covers. He had flung his arms out and over his head. Stan was surprised Kyle hadn't kicked or punched him on accident during the night.
A small buzzing echoed through the room, and Kyle shot up out of bed. He slammed his fist down on his alarm and stared at the clock. It was Monday.
Kyle sighed and slumped back down in bed. Stan emerged from the blankets.
"What time is it?" Stan whispered. Kyle drew his feet under the covers.
"Too early," Kyle moaned.
Stan nodded. It was a good enough answer for him.
Five minutes later the alarm went off again. This time Kyle turned it off and extricated himself from the blankets. Stan frowned. He still wasn't ready to leave the warmth of Kyle's bed.
"We should just skip school today," Stan suggested, rolling over to watch Kyle pick out a clean pair of jeans for the day.
"I'm not skipping school, Stan, and neither are you," Kyle stated, as if his word ended the conversation. Stan sighed, tugging the blanket over his head. He had just started drifting back to sleep when Kyle yanked all the covers off his bed. Stan shivered, pulling his knees up to his chest.
Standing fully dressed now, Kyle tossed Stan's jeans and t-shirt at him. He then left the room to brush his teeth. Stan slowly stretched his arms over his head, yawning up at the ceiling. He kept his eyes closed, hating the pounding light from the morning sun. He really just wanted to stay in bed all day. Why was school important again?
Kyle returned and stood glaring at Stan until the boy got up and changed. As Stan hopped around, trying to get his right leg into his jeans, Kyle moved to make his bed, picking up the covers and blankets from the ground. Suddenly he froze, staring out the window. Stan stumbled to his side, buttoning up his fly.
"What's wrong?" he asked, peering out the window too. No one was in the backyard.
"Stan, where did you find this ladder?"
Stan rubbed his head, thinking back to the blurry events of the previous night. He glanced at his bandaged hand and noted bloodstains on a broken rung of the wooden ladder. In the light of day, Stan could see that the ladder had been painted blue. However, the paint proved so old that chips flaked from its surface. Stan felt his chest constrict as he thought about how he had climbed such a rickety piece of equipment in the dead of night while drunk off his ass.
"Uh…it was in the bushes." He pointed to the left side of the yard, next to the fence. "I found it lying over there. I thought it was your dad's."
Kyle shook his head, his eyes locked on the wooden ladder.
"My dad's ladder is made of metal. It didn't even cross my mind last night that…," Kyle trailed off, moving towards his window. He threw it open and leaned out over the sill to examine the ladder.
Stan shook with the sudden winter air wafting through the window. He knelt and picked up his t-shirt and pulled it over his head. When he'd donned his brown coat, he moved to stand next to Kyle.
"So, whose ladder is this?" Stan asked, examining the intact rungs and noticing the obvious wear of constant climbing and cold weather exposure.
Kyle didn't reply. Instead he continued to look at the ladder from every angle. A new fervor appeared to have taken hold of him. His eyes shone with a new almost frightening determination. It was as if he were merely seconds away from cracking some unfathomable, mathematical code.
Backing away from the window, Kyle let out a hysteric laugh. He wrapped his arms around his chest and laughed until he couldn't breathe. Stumbling to his desk, Kyle threw himself into his chair, still gasping for air as he giggled uncontrollably. Stan remained near the window, slightly frightened by his friend's sudden lapse of sanity.
When Kyle finally collected himself, he swiveled about in his desk chair to face Stan.
"Uh…you okay, Dude?" Stan whispered, as if any loud noises might trigger more of Kyle's crazy laughter.
Beaming from ear to ear, Kyle replied, "Perfectly fine, Stan. In fact I feel wonderful. Healthy."
Kyle pushed himself to his feet. Without another word, he dashed from his bedroom. Stan, startled by the behavior, stumbled after him. Charging into the bathroom, Kyle jumped to the sink and flicked on the faucet. Hot water gushed out and, rolling up his sleeve, Kyle stuck his arm with the cootie shot painted on it under the stream. With his nails he scrubbed at the mark, peeling the paint away in huge chunks. Stan watched from the door, his mouth hanging open. As the last bit of paint dissolved under the water, Kyle slammed his fist down on the tap. He dried off his arm and turned to smile at Stan.
"I knew I was right all along," he stated simply. Stan continued to stare as if he'd been struck with a blunt object.
"What?"
Kyle took Stan's hand. "Here, look at this."
Leading Stan back into his room, Kyle took him back to the window. He guided Stan's hand to feel the right side of the ladder. About two rungs down from the one Stan had broken the previous night was etched two large letters. Running his fingers over the letters Stan's eyes grew wide with recognition. He craned his neck out, tilting it at an angle to read the initials.
E. C.
Stan stepped back and glanced at Kyle. The redhead had lost any form of laughter now. Instead it had been replaced with grim satisfaction.
"I should have known all along," Kyle muttered. "Cartman and his stupid cootie shots are all a scam."
Stan looked over his shoulder at the ladder.
"Uh, how do you figure?"
Kyle pointed at the window. "He must have snuck into my room and made me sick. I know he did! He's always fucking with me! He climbed in here and totally did something to me to make it look like I had cooties!"
Stan wasn't reassured.
"I don't really follow…."
Kyle stepped forward and grabbed Stan's shoulders.
"Dude, he gave me AIDS that one time. What makes you think he wouldn't consider breaking into my room in the dead of night to fuck with my health?" Kyle prompted.
Stan thought for a moment. He tried to reconstruct last Thursday. Kyle's vomiting, his fever, and his weakness had all been a result of the cooties, right? Bebe had spit in his mouth which had made the symptoms a hundred times worse than a simple kiss on the cheek or touch of the hand.
Closing his eyes, Stan tried to recall everything about that day. Shelley had given him money for the cootie shot, Cartman bragged about a new briefcase for his 'doctor' supplies, Butters and Kenny had told Stan Kyle was ill, and Stan had skipped school to be with his friend. Could Cartman have somehow made Kyle sick during that time?
"But how do you explain getting better right after I gave you the cootie shot? And what about Shelley touching you? You got all itchy!" Stan countered. Kyle's face fell. He bit his lip, casting his eyes to the side.
"There has to be an explanation, Dude," Kyle insisted. "Last night before you showed up, Mom was having her friends over. So, I just rubbed off part of the cootie shot to see if I'd get sick, and nothing happened!" Kyle looked elated, but Stan's face fell.
"Why would you do that?" Stan whispered, drawing closer to Kyle. He touched his friend's elbow. "What if you got sick?"
"But I didn't!" Kyle opened his arms wide as if to emphasize the point. Stan frowned.
"Maybe…maybe older women don't hurt us. Like we're immune to moms or something," Stan rationalized. Kyle dropped his arms.
"Stan, I really think Cartman just tricked us…Shelley too."
Stan shook his head. Kyle narrowed his eyes.
"Look, Stan, how do you explain Cartman's ladder outside my house? Or how I don't get cooties around only some girls and not others?" Kyle urged.
"Not girls…moms, Kyle. There's a big difference," Stan corrected. Kyle rolled his eyes.
"No there isn't. Not when it comes to medical stuff usually," Kyle explained. He turned on his heel and marched to his desk. He grabbed his book bag and slung it over his shoulder.
Stan started. "What are you doing?"
"Going to go look for Fatass. I'll make him tell me what he's been up to. And if he doesn't, I'll beat the shit out of him until he tells me," Kyle replied in a level tone. Stan sighed. An overreacting Kyle is not something Stan wanted to deal with so early on a Monday morning with a pounding hangover.
Not waiting for Stan's reply, Kyle made for his bedroom door. Stan jumped and placed himself in his way.
"Move, Stan," Kyle commanded. Stan shook his head.
"Dude, do you really think Cartman will tell the truth?" Stan asked.
"Of course not, but didn't you hear me? I'm going to beat the shit out of him. It's a rare opportunity that I wholeheartedly enjoy indulging in," Kyle explained without missing a beat. Stan rubbed at his eyes, trying to figure out a better course of action.
"Dude, you shouldn't just do that…."
"Why the hell not?"
"First off, Dude, you haven't really proven cooties don't exist. Just that your mom's friends apparently don't have them," Stan explained, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets.
Kyle gave Stan a deadpanned look.
"Stan, you know we've been tricked one way or another. I'm going to get to the bottom of it."
He shoved past Stan and headed towards the door. Panicking, Stan flung his arms around Kyle's waist and held him still. Kyle had one hand on the doorknob.
"Really, Stan?"
"Please, Kyle," Stan mumbled into his friend's green hat. "Just let me give you another cootie shot before you go outside. It might actually keep you from getting sick."
"No." Kyle started twisting back and forth, trying to break Stan's grasp.
"Please!"
"No, Stan. I'm going to prove once and for all that I'm right and that fat bastard is wrong!"
Kyle gave a mighty tug and both boys toppled to the ground. Stan bit his tongue and tears sprung to his eyes. Kyle got rug burns on both his palms. Glaring at his friend, Kyle gave Stan a kick in the leg.
"Do you mind?"
"I don't want you to get sick," Stan moaned feebly.
Letting out a long exasperated sigh and throwing up his arms in the process, Kyle relented. He told Stan to go get his little brother's paint.
"But I'm not putting it on yet," Kyle explained as Stan rushed towards Ike's room.
"What?"
"Just bring it with us. That way if I feel any symptoms coming on you can give me the shot, but I just want to see if they are real." Kyle moved to stand near the stairs. Stan ducked into Ike's room, tiptoeing across the carpet to keep from waking Kyle's little brother. When Stan found the paint and brush, he hurried to return to Kyle's side. Without any more conversation, Kyle bounded down the stairs. Skittering after his friend, Stan prayed Kyle wouldn't do anything stupid.
Missing the bus on their trek to school, Stan and Kyle arrived late to class. They had swung by Stan's house so he could grab his own school supplies and unfinished homework. Kyle scolded him for his lack of responsibility, but Stan only argued that Kyle was the reckless one. Going to school — where there were girls — without a cootie shot was suicide in Stan's mind. He kept trying to sneak painting a dot or circle on his friend's hands when Kyle wasn't looking. Each time, Kyle smacked him in the back of the head and told him to stop. Stan pretended not to hear.
By the time they reached the hall outside of Mr. Garrison's class, Stan had spilled half of Ike's green paint. Kyle rolled his eyes at Stan and ventured into the boys' bathroom to wash the paint smudges off his hands. A bell rang overhead to announce the end of first period. Students flooded the halls.
Stan panicked. Girls were everywhere. He caught sight of Wendy and Bebe at their lockers. Craig and a few of his gang appeared to be pestering the girls about something. Whatever it was, it made Bebe scowl and Wendy bark an insult straight into Craig's face. Clyde joined the argument next. He talked animatedly, swinging his hands about for emphasis. He managed to knock his fist against Bebe's chest, and the girl shoved him down. Then at a sprint, Wendy and Bebe vanished into the crowd.
Clyde got to his feet and made a face at Craig, who laughed at him. The two, followed by Tweek, Jimmy, and Token, headed in the opposite direction that the girls had taken. They paused at a set of lockers and huddled together in conversation, pointing at Red, Annie, and a strange little blonde girl, who seemed familiar to Stan, as they walked past.
Stan lost interest in his classmates as Kyle pushed open the bathroom door. At that moment a couple of fifth grade girls strolled towards the restrooms. Kyle appeared not to notice that any second one might touch him in passing. Throwing caution to the wind, Stan tackled Kyle to the ground and out of the way. The older girls shared skeptical looks as they watched the two boys tussle on the ground. When they'd disappeared into their respective restroom, Stan let Kyle sit up.
"Dude, what the fuck was that for?" Kyle shoved Stan away from him.
"They might have touched you," Stan gasped, rubbing his stomach where Kyle had kicked out at him.
"Jesus, Stan, you didn't have to bulldoze me to the ground." Kyle was back on his feet, wiping off his pants.
"If you'd just let me paint on the shot, I wouldn't have to worry," Stan hissed, drawing close to Kyle.
Snapping his head up, Kyle grabbed a hold of Stan's shirt and dragged the boy out of the noisy hall. They stood at the entrance to the gymnasium.
"Stan, I appreciate that you want to keep me from getting cooties, but I need to see if I actually get them," Kyle explained, smoothing out Stan's brown jacket.
"But…."
Kyle pulled Stan closer and hugged him.
"Trust me."
Blushing, Stan nodded. He smiled, feeling the butterflies take roost in his stomach once more. Kyle appeared not to notice his friend's sudden lapse in coherent thought.
"'Kay," Stan replied simply, grinning like an idiot. Kyle raised an eyebrow, but thought better on commenting.
"Alright, then let's get to class."
The rest of the morning period went by smoothly; however, there had been a few close calls. During their math lesson, Wendy volunteered to pass out the homework. She dropped a few of their worksheets as she tried to avoid Clyde's wandering hand. She had hopped backwards, bumping into Kyle's desk. Stan felt his heart lunge into his throat as both Wendy and Kyle knelt to pick up the papers together. Once or twice Stan feared they'd touched. After class, lunch proved even more hazardous. Stan got in line right after Kyle. Both boys watched as Cartman toted around his briefcase of cootie shots. Strangely, two large sixth grade boys followed him around as if acting as body guards. Distracted by Cartman's company, Kyle had stepped forward in line only to bump into one of the lunch ladies. He apologized, and she patted him on his silly green hat. Stan held his breath hoping that Kyle's ushanka was protection enough from cooties.
Recess finally came, and Kyle hadn't gotten sick. To Kyle this proved his point; however, Stan argued that the only person to actually touch Kyle was, once again, an older woman. For Stan this only proved that older ladies didn't have cooties, but girls did. Kyle, of course, rebutted that belief.
"Cartman told us all girls have cooties. And there's nothing different between that lunch lady and say one of the girls in our class," Kyle argued.
Stan shrugged. "Maybe it's menopause. Older ladies get that."
Kyle's jaw dropped. "What?"
"No, listen, Dude. Maybe older women don't have cooties if they've gone through menopause," Stan contemplated out loud. "I mean, Cartman says it's when God takes away your period. So, maybe He takes away cooties too?"
"That is retarded, Stan."
"But what if that explains why you got all itchy when Shelley touched you! She's had her period," Stan explained.
"Dude, gross. I don't want to talk about your sister's period." Kyle made a face. He glanced over Stan's shoulder. Turning around, Stan caught sight of Cartman and the sixth grade boys from the other day, building his makeshift cootie stand. A group of girls watched warily from the swing sets while Craig and his gang huddled together. Clyde eyed a blonde girl as she walked past. Breaking away from the other girls, Wendy and Bebe started sneaking off towards the other side of the school building, hiding from the playground's view.
"Plus," Kyle spoke up, "I highly doubt any of the girls in our grade have their periods yet. They're too young. They have to be Shelley's age, right?"
"I don't know, Dude. Bebe got boobs before all the other ones," Stan mused. He flushed at the memory.
Kyle shook his head.
"I'm still not buying it."
"Let's go ask her then."
"Hell no, Stan. I'm not asking a girl if she's got her period. That's disgusting."
Stan frowned.
"But it might help us figure out how you get cooties," Stan urged. Kyle made a face. "Well, how else are you going to start figuring things out if you don't ask questions?" Stan added. Kyle glared at him, but turned to storm off in the direction Wendy and Bebe had hidden.
Stan and Kyle found the girls huddled together where more often than not the Goth kids frequented. Today, however, the girls had found the hangout spot empty. Bebe sat on the steps rubbing at her eyes and sniffing hard. Wendy knelt in front of her, trying to staunch the bleeding from a large cut in her friend's knee. Bebe's left stocking was torn almost to her ankle while her skirt was covered in dirt. When Stan and Kyle approached, both Bebe and Wendy started and skittered away from them.
"What do you want?" Wendy challenged. The boys halted.
"What happened to your leg?" Kyle asked, pointing at Bebe. The girl grimaced, still wiping at her eyes.
"Clyde shoved her down," Wendy explained. She placed an arm around the girl's shoulders. Stan and Kyle looked at each other.
"Why did he do that?" asked Kyle.
"'Cause I wouldn't let him k-kiss me!" Bebe snapped. "He j-just pushed me…like it was nothing."
Wendy squeezed her friend's shoulder. Stan stepped forward.
"Don't you like Clyde?"
"What does that matter?" Bebe asked. New tears leaked from her eyes. "He pushed me!"
Kyle frowned. "Why didn't you kiss him?"
"She didn't want to!" Wendy snapped.
"You must have said something to him," Stan insisted. "Clyde's kind of a douche, but he'd never push around girls."
Wendy glared. "I'm sorry that you two are too busy in your own little world to notice all that happens on this playground, but Clyde did push her."
"It's all because of this stupid cootie shot!" Bebe wailed. She shrugged out of Wendy's grasp and marched towards Stan. Jabbing her finger in the boy's chest, she said, "Your stupid fat friend is making the boys crazy! Half of them are terrified of us, and the other half thinks they're goddamn invincible."
"Bebe, do you have your period?" Stan asked bluntly. Both girls stared. Kyle's jaw dropped open.
The next thing Stan knew was that Bebe's knee was in his groin. Wendy stood behind her on the verge of tearing out her own hair. She kept stuttering as if she couldn't quite form the words she needed to call out Stan's tactless stupidity. Kyle decided to come to his friend's rescue by placing himself between him and Bebe.
"Stan didn't mean it like that, Bebe! Honest! See we're trying to figure out if cooties do really exist. I say no, but he thinks there might be a correlation between girls who have their periods and cooties," Kyle explained, trying to sound as if the conversation wasn't in any way intrusive and inappropriate. Wendy pushed past Bebe and grabbed Kyle's wrist. On the ground Stan panicked.
"Don't touch him!"
Wendy kept her eyes on Kyle.
"Do you honestly believe cooties are real, Kyle?" she asked. The redhead hesitated, his eyes locked on her grip. She shook his arm. "Answer me."
"No."
Wendy narrowed her eyes.
"Really?"
"You're touching me aren't you?" Kyle said smiling. "It appears I'm perfectly healthy. And yet only four days ago, Stan somehow contracted something that made him itch like crazy. I got an upset stomach after Bebe spit in my mouth. And last Friday, Stan's sister touched me right where you're touching me now, and before my eyes, I started to itch like crazy. Yet, I still don't get how sometimes these cooties can work like back then, but they aren't working now."
Stan struggled to his feet. "Maybe she doesn't have her period yet?"
"For the love of God, Stan, shut up," Wendy snapped. She looked at Kyle. "Is he really buying Cartman's bullshit?"
"It's very convincing when someone just touches your hand and you start withering with itchiness," Stan retorted, moving forward to grab a hold of Kyle's other hand. "It was really scary."
Wendy and Kyle exchanged glances. "Stan, your sister terrified me, and for a moment I was really convinced she could give me cooties. I stopped thinking about it and was ready to just accept the proof she gave me. Cartman too. It was so much easier that way. But, Dude, seriously, you said yourself last night. I just can't let a problem go unanswered. Plus, Cartman's ladder near my window gives me enough doubt."
Wendy let go of Kyle's hand. "Seriously? He left a ladder by your window?"
Kyle sighed. "Not so much as left as in he forgot it, but left as in he'd be prepared when he came back with another sociopathic scheme of his."
Wendy nodded.
Stan still felt like he should fight this.
"W-why would Shelley help Cartman? Why would she do that to us?" Stan asked, his posture slumping.
A hand descended on Stan's left shoulder, making the boy jump forward. He stumbled into Kyle and both boys fell to the ground. Wendy and Bebe stared. Rubbing his chin, which had knocked against Kyle's skull, Stan glanced up to find himself staring into the angry scowl of his older sister.
"S-Shelley? What are you doing here?" Stan stammered. Kyle got to his feet and warily backed away from the older girl to stand next to Wendy.
Shelley gave her sibling a searching look, and then crossing her arms over her chest, she said, "You disappeared last night, Turd. Mom went to wake you up this morning to find your bed empty."
Stan blanched.
"But, I told her that Dad was being stupid, and he made you run off to Kyle's. I think she's okay with that…Dad let slip that he took you hunting the other day and not 'fishing' like he'd told her," Shelley explained.
Stan got to his feet.
"Okay…but why are you here?"
Shelley dropped her hands. She took a moment to collect her thoughts, biting at her lip and then taking in a deep breath. She closed her eyes for a moment.
"I'm just here to make sure your stupid ass is okay," Shelley clumsily spat. She placed her hands on her hips and glared at them as if daring them to challenge her. Wendy and Bebe exchanged looks. Wendy stepped forward.
"You told Stan cooties were real, didn't you?"
"And what if I did?" Shelley shot back, trying to keep her face smooth. She cast her eyes sideways at Stan.
Wendy shook her head slowly back and forth. "But you know it's just a game, right? That girls made up. 'Circle, circle — dot, dot — now I've got my cootie shot'," Wendy quoted. Shelley ducked her head.
When she spoke she continued to stare at the ground. "Look, I don't care if you think it's a game or not —"
A shrill shriek from the playground behind them caused everyone to jump. Shelley whirled around on her heel, staring widely about. Wendy and Bebe took off towards the sound while Stan jumped in front of Kyle.
"What the hell?" Kyle gasped. He too started running for the playground. Stan tried to hold him back, but Kyle shook him off.
Stan found himself standing alone with his sister.
"Shelley," Stan murmured. "Are cooties real?"
Shelley gritted her teeth. The sound of her little brother's voice sounded so wounded. She thought for a moment of his staggering form in the snow and that green bottle clasped in his grip. Had she been the cause of that?
"No," Shelley whispered. She blinked at the ground.
Stan's whole body seemed to droop. He held his arms around his chest, sighing.
"I don't know why I believed you," he said. Shelley's head snapped up. She glared at her little brother.
"Well, why did you?"
Stan shrugged.
"I don't know…it was nice pretending that you might have cared about me…."
Shelley felt like her chest was caving in. She clenched her fists so tightly that her fingernails dug into her palms. Stan took a step forward, and Shelley reached out to catch hold of his shoulder. Both siblings froze. Incoherent shouting drifted from the playground, but for a moment Shelley and Stan were locked in silence.
And then Shelley spoke. "I'm sorry for tricking you."
Stan nodded, his eyes still forward.
"I told Dad about you and Kyle. I saw you two kissing."
Stan didn't react. He kept his head turned away from his sister.
"I've been really angry lately," Shelley confessed. "I shouldn't have taken it out on you…or Wendy…or Kyle. I'm sorry."
Stan ducked his head, trying to nod again, but a small hiccupping sob broke him. The next thing Stan knew, Shelley was hugging him to her chest. He rested his head on her shoulder, and she patted his head. She repeated her apology several more times.
Another cry from the playground caused Stan to stir and back away from his sister. Both siblings kept their eyes turned to the side, refusing to look at the other. Shelley smoothed down her coat and flipped a piece of hair behind her ear. Stan stuffed his hands into the pockets of his winter coat. He hunched his shoulders as if cold.
"Excuse me, Stan," Shelley blurted out. "I have to go fix something."
With that said, Shelley stomped her way around the elementary school building and into the playground. Stan hesitated, but scurried after her. He paced along beside her, keeping his head down. However, it was the sound of Kyle, his voice heated and confrontational, that made Stan look up so fast that his neck cricked.
"Stop this, Fatass!" Kyle was screaming. Stan and Shelley froze in place.
Before them stood a circle of students with Cartman's cootie stand situated somewhere in the middle. The children of the elementary school divided themselves in half with one side girls the other boys. Two of the sixth grade boys held something between them. Beside Cartman a greasy haired sixth grade boy pinned Kenny in the dirt while two others kept Kyle, Wendy, and Bebe from moving forward. Each one of Stan's friends shrieked at Cartman to halt whatever was happening in the middle of the circle of students.
From where he stood, Stan could see Cartman's face. The fat boy tried to exude calm and nonchalance, but a tall pockmarked sixth grader standing at his elbow kept making him flinch. Cartman's eyes darted to Kenny, who struggled upon the ground and then to the two sixth graders in the center.
Shelley started to shove her way through the crowd of girls who stood farthest from the cootie stand. Stan followed at her heel. When a group of terrified second graders darted from their path, they could see into the center.
A sixth grade boy with a pinched, rat-like face held onto the arm of a small blonde girl with green ribbons in her hair. Another boy stood on her opposite side, gripping her arm just as tight. Stan frowned. The girl was wearing an ugly blue dress with lavender colored flowers. Speeding up her charge, Shelley elbowed her way through some fifth grade boys. They toppled backwards, shrinking from her touch. Stan scurried forward.
"What the hell is going on?" Shelley roared when she broke free of the crowd. A quick hush gathered through the children. Shelley was a teenager now, and her presence seemed to upset some kind of balance. She was too old to be one of them, but too young to be an adult. The two sixth grade boys in the middle started with surprise and backed away, dragging the blonde girl with them. At the sound of Shelley's voice, the little girl looked up, and Stan's jaw dropped.
"Butters?"
"S-Stan?"
Shelley rushed forward to grab at Butters, but the rat-faced boy shoved her back. She landed hard on her side, scraping her face on the blacktop and bending her headgear. Stan dropped to her side, helping her to sit up. Suddenly furious, Stan turned to glare at the older boy.
"What the fuck, Dude? That's my sister!"
"Get lost, fourthie! We're busy with somethin'," sneered Rat-face.
Stan pushed himself to his feet and lunged forward only to be socked in the stomach. As his face hit the pavement, Stan heard Kyle call his name. With a rush of squeaking sneakers and foul cursing, Kyle butted his way past the sixth grader holding him back. He was at Stan's side, blocking him from the older boys in front of him.
"You assholes! Stop this bullshit! Now!" Kyle growled, holding out his arms as if to shield Stan from their sight.
"Look," drawled Rat-face. "He needs to be taught it ain't right to dress as girls." He jerked his thumb at Butters, who whimpered.
"Why should you fucking care that he wore a dress?" Kyle snapped back.
"It's a freaky thing to do. He must be a fag or something," explained the sixth grader with the pockmarks. "Or worse, he wants to be a girl."
"What's wrong with girls?" Shelley snarled, pushing herself to her feet. She darted forward, this time her fist pulled back to strike. She hit her mark right on the rat-faced boy's nose. He stumbled backwards into Butters, who tried to hop out of the way. When the sixth grader tumbled to the ground, Shelley was on top of him in seconds. She pounded her fist into every inch of skin she could see. The boy struggled beneath her, lashing out with his fists. He caught Shelley once in the eye, but she kept hitting.
Dropping Butters' arm, the pockmarked boy tackled Shelley to the ground. She snapped at him. From the side, Stan and Kyle barreled the boy over, knocking him down and forcing his face into the blacktop. Shelley rose to her feet. The rat-faced boy skittered away from her. She spat blood on the ground and turned to face Cartman and his cootie stand.
"The game's over, Eric," she called, pointing at him. "It's gotten out of hand."
Cartman shook his head back and forth.
"S-Shelley…look, the thing is Butters was being retarded for dressing up like a girl today," Cartman explained. He cast his eyes at the sixth graders at his side. "He should have known better. He made Clyde very upset."
Stan and Kyle had managed to extricate themselves from the sixth grader they tackled. Looking to Cartman's left, they saw Craig and his gang. Clyde's face was bright red, his eyes focused on the ground.
"What happened, Clyde?" Kyle called.
"Butters shouldn't wear that shit," Clyde snapped. He rubbed at his mouth, still avoiding anyone's eye. Craig snickered beside him. Clyde jabbed him in the gut.
Stan's eyes wandered to Butters nervously dancing back and forth on his toes as he hovered around the sixth grader pinning Kenny to the dirt. Then turning his gaze back at Clyde, Stan remembered Bebe's anger at Clyde's attempted kiss. Stan realized what had happened.
"You hit on Butters, didn't you Clyde?"
A murmur of voices fluttered through the crowd. Heads bent in whispered conversation. Some stood on their toes to get a glimpse at Clyde. Others laughed under their breath.
Panicking, Clyde stumbled forward. He pointed at Butters.
"He tricked me! He shouldn't wear girls' clothes! I'm not gay!" he shouted, his voice cracking.
The greasy haired boy pinning Kenny nodded in agreement.
Cartman found his voice. "Yeah, only girls should wear dresses!"
Shelley moved towards the cootie stand. She glared at Cartman, then turning to Butters the girl addressed him, speaking so the whole crowd could hear.
"Why did you wear a dress today?"
Butters rubbed his knuckles together. He stared at Kenny who had managed to lift his face enough to see the crowd with one eye.
"It was my turn to be the princess, so I wanted to look the part," Butters finally said. "I didn't think anyone would get mad. I didn't want anyone mad at me!"
Shelley nodded.
"No one with brains would be mad at you Butters," Kenny managed to gasp out. The sixth grader on top of him slammed his hand into the back of Kenny's head, forcing the boy's face into the ground. There was a nasty crunch, and Kenny let out a wail.
Stan and Kyle stormed forward.
"Get off him!" they shouted together. The older boy only smirked. Shelley turned back to Butters once more.
"What did Clyde try to do to you?"
Butters glanced warily at Clyde then at Kenny, who moaned with pain.
"He kissed me," Butters confessed.
"I DID NOT!" Clyde screamed. "HE'S LYING!"
The rat-faced sixth grader was on his feet again. He pointed at Shelley, wavering back and forth on his unsteady feet. His nose was bleeding profusely, and one of his eyes had swollen shut.
"Look, bitch, I don't care what you say. It ain't right for him to wear a dress! If he's some kind of faggot he needs to not do that shit in public!"
Shelley set her face into an emotionless mask.
"Butters," she said, not looking at the boy, "you look very lovely in that dress."
Butters glanced up, his eyes wet.
"Really, Shelley?"
"Yeah, Dude," Stan added, giving his friend a genuine smile. Kyle nodded.
Cartman cleared his throat.
"It's not that we're telling you not to play dress up, Butters," Eric said, forcing a grin. "It's just best you do that when you're home…alone. You confuse stupid people like Clyde otherwise."
"Yeah!" Clyde agreed. He frowned. "…Wait."
"See, Butters, if you dress like a girl, but are really a boy, then other people might start doing that too!" Cartman explained, his momentum picking up. "If boys dress up like girls, then girls will want to dress up like boys. Then we wouldn't be able to tell each other apart. Then think about the cooties, Butters! If you started hanging out with a dude who was really a girl, and you let your guard down, then you could catch the cooties!"
"Oh, hamburgers," Butters cried, covering his mouth with his hands.
"We got to stay looking like boys so we know who needs to be avoided," Cartman explained, puffing out his chest importantly. He smiled at the crowd. "After all, who would want to be a cootie-ridden, smelly girl anyway? Girls are fags."
Some of the children murmured in agreement.
"That's stupid!" Wendy shouted, pushing her way through the crowd. "Wearing a dress doesn't make you a girl! It just makes you someone wearing a dress!"
"Yeah!" Bebe added, fighting her own way through. "And even if Butters wanted to be a girl, why is that bad? I'm a girl, asshole! I'm not something bad to be!"
"And cooties don't exist, Cartman! It's just a game!" Wendy challenged. "All you have are your mom's paints and brushes. There's nothing special about them!"
"Cooties do too exist!" Eric countered, glancing at the crowd. "Just ask Stan and Kyle. They believed in the cooties so much it turned them gay!"
Stan and Kyle blanched.
Shelley stepped forward and took hold of Cartman's arm. He was wearing a black suit jacket with its buttons straining to keep closed over his wide stomach. Shelley took hold of his right sleeve and jerked it up. Cartman tried to bat her away, but Shelley shook him, and he stilled.
Revealing the boy's cootie shot so that the sixth graders could see, Shelley said, "I'll prove to you cooties aren't real."
With a quick, seamless movement, Shelley clawed her right hand down the boys arm. He howled and tried to pull away, but she tugged him back. She scratched at the shot again, peeling away bits of paint. It stuck under her fingernails, pulling at the tiny hairs on Cartman's fat arm. When she had made a sizable dent in the shot, she whirled Cartman around and shoved him into the center of the crowd.
"I made up the whole thing," she called to everyone. "Cartman knew all along."
The sixth graders were eyeing each other in puzzlement.
Keeping his voice low and his grin plastered to his face, Cartman hissed at Shelley from the side of his mouth.
"What are you doing? I thought we were going to keep this up as long as possible."
Shelley stared out at the crowd.
"I've changed my mind. Cooties are stupid anyway," she replied. "I'm trying my hand at being a better person."
"Lame," Cartman whispered. "Just let me keep going with this cootie thing. I've made almost a thousand dollars already!"
"Cartman," Shelley said, now raising her voice, "tell everyone you and I made up this cootie thing."
Cartman's eyes darted around the crowd. Catching Stan and Kyle's eye, he gave them a pleading look. Kyle flipped him off, and Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I didn't make it up!" Cartman called to the crowd. "She's trying to steal my money! I came up with the idea all by myself, but this bitch wants more than her share of the cut."
Shelley didn't respond. Instead, she spun Cartman around to face her. With one swift movement, she punched him square in the gut. Gasping for breath and his mouth hanging open, Cartman had only a few seconds to register Shelley's intent. She cocked back her head and then reeled forward.
She spit neatly into Cartman's gaping mouth.
With sputtering and hacking, the boy tumbled backwards, landing on his wide rear end. The crowd erupted in a mixture of shrieking laughter and gasps of disgust. Kyle whooped and cheered the loudest, hanging onto Stan as he laughed until he cried.
"Now," Shelley said, wiping her mouth, "we wait. If you show up to school tomorrow okay with no cooties, we'll know you've been lying."
Cartman sat with both hands covering his mouth. He glared at the girl, but didn't dare open his mouth a second time.
Shelley turned to the sixth grade boys.
"Aren't you assholes supposed to be at the middle school?"
Rat-face sneered. "You ain't supposed to be here either, bitch."
Shelley marched forward. "I don't appreciate being called that. And I don't appreciate you manhandling me or hitting my brother or his little friends. Now, get the fuck off this playground before I spit in your mouth too!"
For a moment, it seemed like the sixth graders were going to retaliate, but Shelley held up both her fists, planting her feet firmly on the ground. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for the boys' next move. As if thinking better on the situation as a whole, the sixth grade boys turned and sprinted for the gates of the playground.
A bell ringing from the school's entrance announced the end of recess. The crowd dispersed, leaving Shelley, Stan, Kyle, and the rest of their friends alone by Cartman's lopsided cootie stand. Eric continued to huddle on the ground, pouting. He didn't look at anyone.
"Do you really think my dress looks pretty, Shelley?" Butters asked again. Shelley nodded.
"Yeah, it looks nice," she agreed, finding herself genuinely smiling for the first time in weeks.
Kenny stood beside Butters. The taller blond had to pinch his nose to stem the bleeding the sixth grader had caused.
"So, cooties don't exist?" Kenny mumbled nasally. "I won't accidently die if I touch a girl?"
"Nope," Kyle said happily, bounding forward. He smiled. "I knew cooties weren't' real all along," Kyle gloated.
"I don't know, you seemed pretty scared the other night in my bed. Something about hating not being able to figure it all out," Stan pointed out, rocking back and forth on his heels. He grinned at Shelley. "You really scared him."
She shrugged. "It was just itching powder. I dyed some skin-cream black so that when you painted it on where I'd touched you, you'd stop itching."
Kyle crossed his arms over his chest. "See that was really elaborate. It all seemed very convincing. And we all have our moments of weakness," Kyle said shrilly, as if this excused the other night's doubts.
Smiling, Stan approached Kyle and kissed him on the forehead.
Kyle jumped backwards while Wendy and Bebe giggled. Kenny raised an eyebrow, smirking like an idiot, and Butters clasped his hands together to cover his mouth in shock. Cartman started howling with laughter, rolling on the ground.
"You guys are such fags!" he managed to gasp.
"Shut up, Fat Turd!" Shelley kicked him in the rear. Cartman wailed in protest and scooted away from the girl.
Stifling her giggles, Wendy said, "We need to get to class."
"I'm probably going to be in more trouble with Mom," Shelley mused. "I skipped my last two classes to check on your ass, Turd." She grabbed Stan in a headlock and dug her knuckles into his head. He squirmed.
"Let me go, Shelley!"
"You need to stop acting so nice, Turd. It makes it really hard to pick on you," Shelley laughed, releasing her hold on her little brother. He stumbled forward to stand next to Kyle, grabbing his friend's hand in the process. Shelley rolled her eyes.
"You know," Stan spoke up, "I learned something today."
Shelley and Cartman exchanged glances. "I told you so," said the girl. Cartman snorted.
"What did you learn, Stan?" Wendy questioned.
"I learned that I shouldn't let fear control me. I was so scared of the cooties and so scared of anything bad ever happening to me, that I just wanted to hide from it or cover it up. But, you know, cooties don't exist and being scared of something that might not happen isn't a very productive thing to do."
Kyle nodded and then glared at Cartman. "I learned I should change the locks on my windows monthly."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Jew."
"Shut up, Fatass."
Shelley laughed. Wendy and Bebe smiled.
"I didn't learn anything," Bebe quipped.
Kyle frowned. "Really?"
"Nope. I already knew boys were stupid, so that's nothing new to learn," she giggled. Wendy shook her head and began tugging her friend towards the school building.
"I have to go," Shelley stated, moving towards the playground's gate. She was halfway there when she turned around and pointed at Stan. "Remember to tell Mom that I checked up on you and that I've totally been nice to you all week long. Okay?"
Stan nodded. "Okay."
Walking back into the school, Kenny departed for the nurse's office to have his nose examined. Butters followed, hooking his arm with Kenny's. Butters still wore his dress and wig, oblivious to the stares from the other children. He pulled out a handkerchief from the sleeve of his ugly flowered dress and tried to help Kenny stem the flow of blood. Cartman gaped at the two as they strolled away. He made a disgusted noise and glanced at Stan and Kyle.
"Are all my friends fags now?"
Kyle glared at him, but Stan smiled. He took Kyle's hand and started pulling his friend down the hall. Cartman sneered.
"Good luck with those sixth graders tomorrow, Fatass," Stan called over his shoulder. "I'm sure they'll be wondering whether or not you got cooties from my sister."
Kyle's eyes brightened at that, his face splitting into a huge grin.
Walking hand in hand, Stan and Kyle headed back to Mr. Garrison's room, leaving a very disgruntled Eric Cartman in their wake.