Chapter Text
Repetitive. Constant. Run-of-the-mill. Every single day of Kyle’s life feels like a carbon-copy of the day previous, from things as mundane as the cup of coffee in his dad’s old Harvard Law mug to the Mandalas he doodles on the corners of his notes. When he was little, he would wonder what would happen if he changed things up—like if he wore a new hairstyle to school or admitted to not completing his homework on time. At this point, though, he can’t risk making any changes.
Upon opening his eyes and coming to his senses, he slams a finger down on his phone alarm clock to silence the bossa-nova echoing around the room. He can faintly hear soft clatter and voices from downstairs, most likely his mother pouring cereal and his father chatting about this morning’s newspaper.
Kyle huffs, tossing his navy blue blanket off of his exhaust-stricken body. He wants nothing more than to crawl back inside and dream just a little bit more. His dreams are the one thing that varies day-by-day—even if they are sporadic and confusing, it gives him just a little taste of what life will be like once he graduates.
He dresses in his usual attire, a sweater vest over a polo, and runs some fingers through his wild, unconditioned copper hair. Maybe when he finally gets out of Colorado he can buy some products to keep it tame during Massachusetts’ humid seasons. For now, though, a mop of curls and waves will have to do. It never bothered anyone except for himself, anyway. Maybe Eric, too.
“Oh, good morning, Kyle.” Mrs. Broflovski greets from her usual spot at the kitchen table. She is sipping diligently at her cup of black coffee and scrolling through her morning Facebook feed. “There’s Eggos in the freezer if you want some, hon.”
“They went bad last week,” Ike adds monotonously, yet a heap of Eggos and syrup sit half-eaten on his plate. His head of black hair is kept tidy with some gel.
Kyle isn’t sure why his mother keeps offering breakfast, every day for the past four years he’s left for school having nothing but a cup of coffee. Nonetheless, he manages a smile. “I’ll be okay. Thanks, though.”
“Stan picking you up again?” His father asks from the living room, eyes not once looking up from his newspaper.
“Yep.” Kyle’s hand-me-down Toyota 4Runner broke down about a month ago, and while he picks up a few extra shifts to cover repair costs, Stan offered to drive him to and from school. Last week, Kyle tried to give him a twenty as compensation—though Stan wouldn’t take it. That counts for something, surely.
According to the clock on the stove, he’ll have just enough time to finish a cup of coffee, have his usual morning banter with his mother and Ike, and gather his things before Stan pulls into their driveway. It always feels like time goes slower whenever he waits for Stan. Mrs. Broflovski drones on about their plans for graduation next weekend and Kyle’s date plans for prom…or lack thereof.
He hears the horn from Stan’s Honda Civic and silently curses at him for being five minutes late. It isn’t really a big deal, they will still get to the school with a few minutes to spare, but maybe he could have avoided the whole ‘prom’ conversation if Stan had gotten there on time.
Bidding his mother and father goodbye, he and Ike start towards Stan’s car. The front bumper is still dented and hanging on by mounds of duct tape and the windshield has yet to be repaired, but the vehicle runs just fine. During days that are especially hot, Kyle wishes the air conditioning worked, but he won’t dare say that out loud. Stan’s car gets by just fine.
“Hey, dude. Sorry I’m late. I missed my alarm.” In the nicest way possible, Stan looks like that’s exactly the case. His black hair is frizzy and sticking up every which way—as it does every morning—and his red t-shirt is wrinkled like he slept in it. The only effort put into his appearance is the belt with his jeans, but Stan always seemed to look good despite rolling out of bed thirty seconds before leaving.
“It’s fine,” Kyle reassures. He watches the road as Stan proceeds to the highway. Stan’s usual Carpool Mix CD that Kyle made for his sixteenth birthday plays faintly over the stereo. “My mom was just pestering me about prom again.”
“Still going solo, huh?” Stan asks, even though the answer is obvious. He had been planning to go with Wendy for some time now. They bought their matching flowers together last weekend. “Maybe Wendy has a secret cousin or friend you could go with.”
From the backseat, Ike stifles a laugh. Kyle simply shrugs. He would rather go by himself than go with someone he doesn’t know. A small sliver of him is frustrated that he isn’t anyone’s first choice, but another part—the logical part—wishes people wouldn’t make such a big deal about a stupid dance anyway.
“I’ll be fine by myself,” Kyle reassures, more so for himself to hear rather than Stan. A small sadness lingers in his chest—for a long time he was sure their friend group would ditch the girls and just go to prom as singles. So much for that idea.
“Don’t let Cartman know you said that,” Stan chastises, a small smile tugging at his lips. “He’ll never let you forget it.”
“He just thinks he’s better than me because he’s going with Heidi. Fuck him.”
Stan’s car makes a turn into the student parking lot and slows down in his assigned spot. The pavement beneath them is painted an earthy brown with 100% Hemp: Tegridy Farms written in black box letters, as per Stan’s dad’s request (nay, order). The empty spot next to it, Kyle’s assigned spot, is painted green with cursive lyrics from a song by The Cure.
“You’ll be alright getting to school from here?” Kyle turns to Ike as they get out of Stan’s car. Ike doesn’t say anything, instead he nods and begins walking across the street to the middle school.
Kyle’s steps are slow as he trails behind Stan, never ready to face what happens past the school entry way. He’s sure he will be greeted at his locker by Cartman and/or Kenny asking more questions about prom, as if his mother’s pestering wasn’t enough. Today, though, he doesn’t have much time to deal with them. The first bell will ring in five minutes.
As expected, Cartman is at his locker, emptying the contents of his red backpack to exchange for an AP US History textbook. Kyle was unfortunate enough to have both a locker next to him and first period together. While he mellowed out over the years and isn’t as much of a douchebag as he was when they were kids, he still finds just the right way to push Kyle’s buttons.
He figures he can get by without saying anything, so he slides right past him to get to his own locker, Stan at his tail. He twists in the familiar code and is satisfied to get it right on the first try.
“Morning, Jew. Hippie.” Cartman spares both of them a nod, face still expressionless. Today his light-brown hair is tucked under a UC Denver baseball cap, sticking out underneath the edges. His mother would say he’s overdue for a haircut.
Kyle exchanges his backpack for the AP US History textbook and shuts the locker door with a slam. “Morning, fatass.” Stan simply hums to say hello.
Various chatter around the halls begin to die down as the morning bell rings, a chorus of shutting lockers and see you laters echoing around him. From across the area, Wendy waves at them, and that’s Stan’s cue to excuse himself.
“I’ll see you guys at lunch,” he shouts as he goes to join her, already slinging an arm over her thin shoulders. Before Kyle can say anything else, maybe ask to walk to class with him instead, Stan is halfway down the hall with Wendy, leaving him with Cartman.
“Did you get a tux yet?” Cartman asks as Kyle heads towards their first period classroom. He takes wider steps to catch up. Kyle has always been the tallest of the four—longer legs allowing him to cover more space as he walks.
Prom is the last thing he wants to talk about, especially with Cartman. Most of his peers haven’t shut up about it since the theme announcement a month ago. With the event being only six days away, people get excited. Kyle, however, frowns at the thought. “I don’t even know if I’m going yet.”
Mrs. Broflovski already told him when they got the invitation that senior prom is one of those have-to-go events—like graduation or a bar mitzvah. No matter how many times he would refute it, she would cover her ears and say her decision is final. For the experience. And the pictures. But Cartman doesn’t have to know that.
Cartman chuckles, in that usual way which signifies his calling of Kyle’s bluff. “You’re just pissed no one asked you to go as their date.”
The word date makes his skin crawl. He can’t see himself as anyone’s date. For years, his mother and friends have set him up with other female students or girls at temple to go on a date but he could never see it as anything more than a friendly hangout. He thought dates with girls and spending afternoons with Cartman or Kenny were the same thing.
“Can you just shut the fuck up about that? I wasn’t really interested in going with anyone, anyway.” He silently hopes the conversation will die out upon entering the classroom. Luckily, he and Cartman sit on opposite sides of the classroom.
Their teacher—a kind, older woman—babbles on about project information but doesn’t seem to care that no one is paying attention. Graduation is two weeks away, and after taking the Advanced Placement exam last month, Kyle really couldn’t be asked to care about this class. For all of his classes during the first half of the day, he zones out, doodling Mandalas and dodecahedrons on the corners of his notes. He thinks of graduation and his waitlist letter from Harvard and Stan and prom and why would Stan rather go with Wendy than as friends with him and his mother and the Harvard letter again.
The day he gets another letter about being taken off the waitlist will definitely be the day things stop being so repetitive. That will be the change he’s been craving so desperately. Until then, though, he’ll keep hoping and praying and checking the mailbox and feeling disappointed when there’s nothing for him.
✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬
During their free period following lunchtime, Kyle finds Kenny and Marjorine sitting at their usual spot in the library—a small, six-top table tucked in the corner behind some bookshelves. Kenny is the first to notice Kyle, snake-bite piercings upturned into a toothy smile as he waves. His arm is resting on the back of Marjorine’s chair, hand brushing her bare shoulder.
Marjorine spends a significant amount of time getting ready each morning, Kenny had explained one day, and it pays off well. She looks especially pretty today—with her short blonde hair clipped back by Hello Kitty barrettes and a complimenting pink necklace. She’s wearing a light blue spaghetti-strap sundress despite the cool Colorado summer air. She seems fully engrossed in her novel until she feels Kenny move next to her.
“Kyle, hi!” Her face lights up as it always does, a smile mirroring Kenny’s exactly. She gestures for Kyle to sit across from her, closing her book with a pink sticky-note between the two pages she was reading. “Gee, am I glad to see you. I’ve got some good news.”
Good news with Marjorine is really hit or miss. Last time she said she had good news, Kenny got suspended for beating up an incompetent underclassman. She told everyone she had “the best boyfriend in the whole gosh-darn world” because he defended her after she came out with a new name and new pronouns last year.
“Oh?” Kyle questions, finally sitting down. He looks to Kenny for any indication as to what this good news is—but the blonde simply shrugs and mouths ‘I have no clue.’
Marjorine lowers her voice, leaning forward and looking around the room. “The girls told me at lunch that Red isn’t going to prom with Kevin Stoley anymore.”
He doesn’t know if he should be taken aback by the gossip, or frustrated at the continued discussion of prom. He doesn’t really see the point in getting mad at Marjorine, though, since she’s not exactly the easiest person to get mad at. “So, what does that mean?”
“It means that Red has a dress, and doesn’t have a date.” The smile still remains on her face. “You two get along, right?”
Sure, Kyle and Rebecca McArthur get along just fine. They had a few hiccups when they were kids—for instances that weren’t exactly his fault—but as they grew older they had more classes together and more common friends. Since Marjorine came out, she and Kyle got to know each other a bit more at parties and school events. They’re well acquainted. Maybe not friends. But close enough that Kyle won’t feel awkward asking her to prom.
“That’s not a bad idea actually,” He thinks out loud, making eye contact with Kenny again. “Do you think I should ask her?”
Kenny stifles a laugh. “It’ll get your mom off your ass, for sure.”
“I would feel bad, though. I really only want to go to hang out with you guys, but I don’t want to ditch Red either.”
“Well, she’ll mostly be hanging out with us, anyway,” Marjorine says. Us refers to her girl friend group—namely Bebe, Wendy, and Nichole—instead of the original five of them. “It’s worth a shot to ask, Kyle. Worst she could do is say no.”
Kenny makes a face as if to say she’s right. Kyle agrees. Asking Red isn’t a bad idea. It will certainly get his mother off his back, Cartman too, and maybe it’ll be just enough to prove to himself that he can get someone to say yes. Maybe that will be enough to get his mind off of everything else.
Like clockwork, like the universe is listening to him, Marjorine points to somewhere behind Kyle, an excited look now replacing the smile. He follows her finger to a line of bookshelves, then to a cluster of artificially red hair tied back in a ponytail. Surprisingly, he isn’t nervous. “I’ll be right back,” he says to his two friends, pushing up his glasses and speed-walking to where Red is standing.
Red notices him approaching before he can get the first word. She smiles at him, closing her copy of this year’s almanac and placing it back on the shelf. “Hey, Kyle. How’s it going?”
He replies to her, sparing her the details of how things are really going. He stuffs his fists into the pockets of his khakis, suddenly feeling his heart rate speed up. Where was this a minute ago, when he just jumped right in? “I’m good, thanks. I, um, didn’t mean to intrude, but I heard you aren’t going to prom with Kevin Stoley anymore.”
Luckily, Red seems to be feeding into the conversation. She maintains eye contact as she speaks, with a little twitch of her upper lip forming into a smile. “Yeah. He’s weird. I didn’t really want to go with him anyway. Why are you bringing it up? Did you want to go with me?”
He’s surprised she called him out so quickly, but her tone isn’t accusatory. He could be taking a leap in assuming she might be…okay going to prom with him. “Yeah, that’s what I was going to ask. We can go as friends, you know. But, maybe, not tell my mom that.”
Red laughs. “You should have asked me, like, a month ago. It would have saved me a ton of embarrassment with Kevin and my friends. But, sure, I’ll go with you. My mom already got the flower pin and corsage that matches my dress color, though.”
“I haven’t gotten my tux yet, so just send me a picture and I’ll try my best to match. You have my number, right?”
“Yeah. And let me know about our plans that day. I’m sure Marjorine will have something planned for us girls, but just keep me in the loop, you know?”
Kyle nods. “Of course. Thanks, Red.”
“No problem, Kyle. See you later.”
She trots off without snagging any more books from the shelf. There is a little bounce in her step that wasn’t there before, long red hair swaying in her ponytail. Kyle waits until she leaves the library to go back to Marjorine and Kenny—he’s left just a little dumbfounded that Red was actually interested in going to prom with him. As friends, but still. It’s enough to get his mother and Cartman off his case.
Back at their corner table, Marjorine and Kenny are beaming at him, clapping their hands with enough emphasis to make him blush. He waves them off. “It’s really not a big deal, we’re just going as friends.”
“At least you won’t be third-wheeling three different couples anymore.” Kenny replies, returning his arm back to its familiar spot on Marjorine’s shoulder.
“I’ll still be third wheeling.” Kyle replies dryly. The thought makes him twitch. Even now, if he has Red, he’s still the only person in their friend group not…involved with someone. He has given this a lot of thought, and he came to the conclusion that dating a girl wouldn’t be the cure to his loneliness. If he wasn’t the only single person in their friend group—that would solve his issues. “Can we just talk about something else?”
Kenny and Marjorine exchange an apologetic look. She stiffens, taking a hand to twist a section of her hair. “Sure thing, Kyle. You ready for graduation?”
“I don’t want to talk about that either,” He responds with a dry laugh. Now that the end of their senior year is approaching fast—just a measly two weeks away—points of conversation have become incredibly limited. “Oh, I know. I hear back from Harvard admissions about their final decision June eleventh.”
Kenny’s smile fades, an opposite reaction to what Kyle was hoping for. “That’s the day after graduation. That’s not a lot of time, is it?”
Marjorine rests the hand used to twist her hair on top of Kenny’s. “He’ll get in for sure, Ken. If they don’t take him off the waitlist, they’re making the worst decision ever.” She flashes Kyle a grin, one that is more so reassuring than apologetic. “Don’t worry much about it.”
All Kyle can do is worry about it. He had been banking on going to Harvard and studying pre-law just as his father did, and if he can’t, he’s screwed. He spent an unhealthy amount of time at the beginning of this school year making sure the essay questions exceeded anything he’s ever written. His grades are exemplary—he’s graduating salutatorian, losing only to Wendy Testaburger—and his test scores are near-perfect. He’s got the extracurriculars—basketball and chess club—and the community service. However, since he grew up with a nuclear family and doesn’t have any traumatic experiences to wring out, his essays lacked character. Naturally, when he got the email from Harvard admissions that he had been waitlisted, he was incredibly disappointed.
After interviewing and practically begging admissions to take him off the waitlist, he was promised a final decision within the coming weeks. He has been holding on to every ounce of hope, praying to whatever God is out there, wishing every time the clock says 11:11 that their decision would be to his benefit. Because if it’s not, he has no backup plan.
“I’m not worrying, I’m kind of excited, actually,” he lies through his teeth, and feels even more guilty when both Kenny and Marjorine believe him. Hurriedly, he tries to change the subject before he can dig himself a deeper hole. “Are you guys excited for summer?”
“I’m not looking forward to it ending,” Kenny says, smiling at Marjorine. One of his incisors got knocked out during a fight last year, but aside from that, his teeth are practically perfect. “But we’ll just have to make the most of it, won’t we, Marj?”
Marjorine blushes yet waves him off. “Jeez, Ken. Of course we’ll make the most of it. I’ve already made so many lists of things we can do! Kayaking in the lake, bowling, gaming, lots of stuff.”
“All that time you spend with Bebe is rubbing off on you, love,” Kenny says with a laugh. “The list-making, I mean.”
“It’s definitely a girl thing,” Kyle adds to lighten the mood. He knows that, of all people, Kenny is dreading summer the most. Out of all their friends, he’s the only one staying back in town to attend community college, and maybe pick up a trade. Cartman committed to UC Denver along with Stan, and Marjorine was able to earn a big enough scholarship to attend art school in Nevada. Kyle will (hopefully) be all the way on the east coast.
Before they can unpack another conversation topic, the bell rings—a loud, incessant chime-type jingle that causes him to wince. He collects his bag and slings it over his shoulder, starting to walk off until Kenny calls his name.
“The guys and I are getting fitted for tuxes tomorrow after school,” he says, standing and withdrawing his arm from Marjorine. “Wanna come with? If you’re not working.”
Kyle normally doesn’t work on Tuesdays, so he doesn’t bother checking his schedule. “Sure,” he says. He might as well go with. He doesn’t have a tuxedo and he’s sure just wearing a button up with khakis isn’t allowed. The least he could do is attempt to match Red. “We can carpool.”
✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬
The dismissal bell rings, and after stuffing some notebooks into his bag, he finds Stan waiting for him by the front door. The lanyard attached to his car keys dangles from his finger as he types a message out on his phone, far too preoccupied to notice Kyle walk towards him. The closer he gets, the louder the pressing and nails clacking against the screen gets. Based on his frown and closed off stature, he’s not happy.
“You ready?” Kyle asks softly, careful as to not startle him and make him angrier than he already is. Stan tends to get angry often—either because of his father or because he’s in an altercation with Wendy. “Ike texted and said he’s waiting by the car.”
Stan presses send on a long text message, tucking his phone into his pocket with a blatant eyeroll. “Yeah. Sorry. Let’s just go.”
After being friends for such a long time, Kyle learned that Stan hated being pestered about his feelings. Stan tends to open up when he’s ready to—which, when it comes to Kyle, doesn’t take that long. He would never say it out loud, but he takes after his father when it comes to being independent and dismissive.
The sun beats down on them, a vast change from the cool air this morning. Kyle squints at the parking lot, seeing Ike’s thin figure leaning against Stan’s car. “So…I asked Red to prom and she said yes.” He leaves out the part where they agreed to go as friends. He likes pretending Stan would be jealous of it being a date.
“Oh?” If Stan wasn’t focused on the conversation before, he’s focused now. The frown on his face lingers. “I thought she was going with Kevin Stoley.”
“Not anymore, apparently. Marj told me something happened, so I saw the opportunity and took it.”
Stan unlocks his car after greeting Ike. The three of them climb inside, nearly panting because of the drastic change in heat. The inside of the car is incredibly humid and thick. “Well, that’s great, man. I’m glad you’re not going alone anymore. Now I don’t feel as bad.”
“Bad?” Kyle ignores Ike’s annoying giggles from the backseat. He shoots him a glare. “Why would you feel bad?”
“I just…I know you wanted to just go with us—without the girls. I guess I threw a wrench in things—getting back together with Wendy and all.”
Though it doesn’t really mean much, Kyle feels a little pang in his chest knowing that Stan remembered. He manages a smile, sparing him the details of what he’s really thinking. “Don’t be silly. Kenny and Marj started dating before you and Wendy did. Technically he’s to blame.”
Stan lets out a laugh, which is basically a wheeze because of the cigarettes he smokes with Cartman and Craig. “Yeah. You’re right.” After a pause, he continues. “Wendy and I are arguing again.”
“I kind of figured, dude.” Kyle mutters, before he can stop himself. Even though he and Stan have passed any point of judgment in their friendship, he still feels bad for saying things that threaten his relationship with Wendy. “Sorry. What about?”
“She’s been really busy writing and practicing her valedictorian speech, like so busy where we haven’t been hanging out or talking as much. But her schedule is freed up for tomorrow, and she’s angry about me making plans and not telling her.”
Stan’s plans consist of picking up their tuxedos and spending the afternoon with Kyle. Since basketball season ended, he kept his work schedule open on Tuesdays so he and Stan can still have time to just spend an afternoon together. Usually, that’s video games, cooking dinner for Kyle’s mother and father, or skipping stones in the pond.
“You don’t—” He has to tread carefully here. As much as he wants to be Stan’s first choice, he has to think of Wendy. “You don’t have to hang out with me tomorrow.”
“That’s not it, dude. I want to. Maybe we can just call it a night early so I can take her out to dinner or something.”
Kyle’s gaze drifts from Stan’s bony fingers on the steering wheel to the pavement in front of them. He wants to like Wendy—he does like Wendy. He wants to simply see her as his best friend’s girlfriend rather than someone he needs to compete with. Ever since they were kids, he’s always wanted to be Stan’s first choice. When he and Wendy first started dating—years and years ago—there was a large adjustment to his and Kyle’s friendship. Spending everyday together after school changed to just the weekends. Then just the weekends changed to just sitting together at lunch.
“Yeah. That’s fine,” He says, more so for himself to believe rather than Stan. This car ride cannot end soon enough. “We’ll still get tuxedos tomorrow, right?”
Stan flashes him an apologetic smile. “Of course. We can even play a few rounds of Guitar Hero, if you want.”
The car begins to slow as Stan pulls into Kyle’s driveway. Ike is quick to grab his bag and jump out of the car, sprinting inside the house to stake a claim on the last of the ice cream sandwiches—but it’s not like he has much to compete with anyway. Kyle is still full from the apple slices he had at lunch.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.” Stan calls, rolling down the driver’s seat window. Upon closer examination, he looks more tired than he did this morning, knotted and greasy hair tucked under his usual beanie as if that would help. An unlit cigarette hangs from his mouth. He is kind enough to wait until Ike is inside the house to smoke.
“Yeah, see you. Get home safe.” He waits on the doorstep, watching with hopelessness as Stan’s car pulls out of the driveway and onto the road, a trail of smoke leaking from the window. When he’s finally gone, Kyle lets out a sigh. He lets himself into the house to hopefully get the last bit of his final projects done—so there’s nothing else to worry about until his graduation speech next weekend.
As part of their after-school routine, he and Ike help themselves to the dessert section of their kitchen—whether that be ice cream or their mother’s famous Babkas—and play a quick round of Mario Kart before starting their homework at the dining table. They do the same today, this time helping themselves to the Snickers ice cream bars and settling down on the couch for a bit longer than usual.
“You know, I’ll be so lonely next year, doing this by myself,” Ike says as he receives the second place title for Maple Treeway (their favorite). “I’ll miss you, I think.”
Kyle watches as his designated character, Luigi, wins first place. He manages a smile. “That’s, like, the nicest thing you’ve said to me in years.”
“Don’t get used to it. Just because you’re graduating doesn’t mean you’re free.”
Ike really isn’t all that bad. They don’t fight like Stan and Shelley do. They don’t ignore each other like Kenny and Kevin do. According to their mother, they were close when they were little, and just remained the same way as they grew up. As Ike started to go through puberty and develop a sense of independence, he started having a bit of a short temper, but that never really was a problem.
“Another round?” Ike asks, highlighting the Player 2 cursor over Moo Moo Meadows. “I’ll crush you this time.”
It’s times like this where Kyle realizes just how far away Harvard, Massachusetts is, even though it’s not for certain he’s actually going. No matter where he goes after this summer, he won’t be a kid anymore. He won’t be as focused on getting first place in Mario Kart, or goofing around with Stan. He’ll be a real adult with a real job and real responsibilities. His routines will change. Everything will change, no matter if he stays in Colorado or goes to Massachusetts.
“Sure, Ike. I’d like to see you try.”
Time carries away. There are other, more pressing things Kyle could be doing, like editing his salutatorian speech or making final changes to his AP Chemistry lab report, but for now spending time with Ike takes the cake. They play Mario Kart and eat desserts and talk about school until Mrs. Broflovski lets herself inside with bags of takeout dangling from her arms. From the looks of it, she picked up dinner from Bennigan’s.
“Oh, boys, I’m surprised to see you like this. I thought for sure you’d be in the kitchen studying.” She looks at Kyle as she hangs her work blazer on the coat rack. “Did Ike finish studying? He has a big Algebra exam next week.”
Kyle looks at Ike, almost as if to say uh oh. They really did lose track of time, but he can’t be mad. And neither should their mother. In comparison to spending time with his brother, algebra isn’t that important. “Yeah. We did some practice problems when we got home. Right?”
Ike exhales in relief. Luckily, their mother doesn’t notice. “Right. Those damn quadratics.”
“Language, mister.” She chastises, though it doesn’t get too far because of the smile on her face. It’s rare to find the two brothers spending extra time together—usually at this time they would be in their own rooms either studying or pretending to study.
The two brothers follow Sheila into the kitchen, helping her unload the four Bennigan’s takeout boxes—putting one of them in the fridge for later. “Your father says he’s working late again,” she says before Kyle can ask about it. Recently, he’s been preoccupied at the law firm with a case involving a hit and run.
They sit in their respective seats, Gerald’s left empty, picking at their dinners. Kyle isn’t particularly hungry because of the many desserts he and Ike broke into earlier, but still munches down on his fries to avoid suspicion from his mother. Ike does the same.
“How was school today, boys?” Sheila asks once she’s swallowed a few bites of her sandwich.
“Fine, but Kyle had a great day.” Ike jeers, sticking his nose in Kyle’s direction and sporting the usual smug look he has when he’s up to no good. Kyle kicks him under the table, a way to say stop talking, but he continues. “He’s not gonna be a seventh-wheel at prom anymore.”
“Wow, Bubbie, really? Who are you going with?” Sheila sounds more shocked now than she did when she found out Kyle was awarded salutatorian.
The whole room is quiet waiting for Kyle to answer. “Rebecca McArthur. Something happened with her original date, so I asked her and she said yes.” That’s not how the story really unfolded, but he goes with it. This is one lie he can get away with. “I’m getting my tux tomorrow with the guys. She told me the flowers are already taken care of.”
“That’s great, Kyle. I’ve been telling you, you’re a catch. People would be happy to go to prom with you, you just had to get out of your shell and ask someone.”
As Sheila and Ike talk about his grades in algebra and eighth-grade English, Kyle’s thoughts drift off to her comment earlier. He never really thought of himself as a catch. For a while now, he assumed the reason he’s still single is because he doesn’t think he’s what girls find ‘desirable.’ He has his mother’s hook nose and his father’s complexion. Kenny and Stan, admittedly, are incredibly handsome. Cartman, well, Kyle isn’t sure why he and Heidi are still together.
He chooses not to say anything more about prom. He could never admit to his mother, or Ike, that he actually asked a few girls last month—Rebecca Cotswolds, Annie Nelson, and even his girl-best-friend Bebe—but they were all either “not going,” or “not interested,” or “going with Clyde but oh my God, Kyle, we totally need to hang out before graduation and maybe we can get a picture together at prom.”
The more he thinks about prom, the faster his appetite dissipates. He thinks of Stan asking Wendy, with roses and cut-out construction paper hearts in her locker, and her nearly brought to tears as she said yes. He thinks of their color-coordinated outfits, her pretty hair in an updo, and her thin bare shoulders. Everything that makes Wendy perfect, Kyle lacks. Everything that Stan likes about her, he doesn’t have.
“Bubbie, you’ve barely touched your dinner.” Sheila points out. Her takeout box is almost empty, the same as Ike’s. “You look nauseous, dear. Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” Kyle lies. He hates opening up to his mother about this. Looking over at Ike, it’s obvious he knows exactly what’s going on, considering he’s heard Kyle complain about Stan and Wendy since they got back together six months ago. “I had too many snacks when I got home, so I’m not hungry.”
Sheila simply tuts, picking up the last of her fries to clear her box. “I’m always telling you not to spoil dinner.”
“I know. Sorry. Can I be excused?” The way he asks is a bit abrupt, and he expects Sheila to question it, but she doesn’t. She simply nods, reminding him to clean his side of the table on his way out. He does as told and wanders out of the kitchen, the smell of fried food fading quickly away when he makes it up the stairs.
Since his childhood days, his room hasn’t changed much. His bed is still tucked in the corner by the window—an old comforter now replaced with a softer, warmer navy blue one complimentary to a few pillows. His childhood stuffed animal, an orca plush from Seaworld he thoughtfully named Willzyk, still sits in front of the headboard.
The decorations are minimal. His old posters were taken down and replaced with paintings done by Marjorine or his dad’s old vinyl records. A Tweak Bros. Coffee apron is draped on the back of his desk chair.
Though his school work still remains undone and lingers in the back of his mind, the only thing he can force himself to do is plop down on his unmade bed and stare at the ceiling. He goes back to thinking of Wendy, and how he would give nothing more than to just stay home on prom night. He can barely handle thinking about her and Stan this weekend. How is he going to be able to deal with them in person—dancing with each other, smiling at each other, leaving with each other?
Before he gets too wrapped up in his thoughts, he hears his phone chime in his pocket. It’s a few texts and an image attachment from Red. The last time they texted was several months ago, regarding plans for Marjorine’s eighteenth birthday party, so he didn’t recognize her unsaved number at first.
"got the flowers! it’s gonna be cute asfff.
picking up my altered dress tmrw too. but i’ll send the pic i have:"
The image she sent was taken in her bedroom mirror—boy band posters visible in the back along with her dirty street clothes. However, the first thing Kyle notices is her prom dress, as he should. It’s a satin material in royal blue—no sparkles or sequins—with spaghetti straps and a sweetheart neckline. Her bright red hair is tied up in a bun. The dress looks to fit quite well without having any alterations.
While blue isn’t exactly his color, he can make it work. He brainstorms ideas that he can bring up when he gets to the tuxedo rental place tomorrow. Maybe he can wear a royal blue tie to match her.
He types back a message with a small smile: holy cow love that dress i’ll do my best to match for ya.
After a few moments, Red replies with a blue heart emoji and a smiley face. At first glance, it could seem like she’s flirting, but Kyle knows better. He shuts off his phone and returns to staring at the ceiling. Instead of thinking of Wendy, he thinks of Red, and maybe he thinks of Stan’s reaction when he sees the two of them together.
And for a few moments, he imagines how much things would change if he was going to prom with Stan instead of Wendy. His life wouldn’t be run-of-the-mill. He wouldn’t hate the idea of prom as much. But for now, though, he has to take those thoughts to his grave. He never came in touch with his feelings, and even if he did, he could never tell anyone. He wouldn’t want to risk losing Stan over a little jealousy.