Disclaimer: Nothing in this story is mine. If it was mine, I would be making it an epic, amazing movie, not writing a fanfic.

A/N: Allll right. For those of you who made it to the last chapter of Broken, my Creek fic, at the end of it I said I needed to go write something. This is it.

Each chapter of this story is going to be written from the POV of one of the main characters--Kyle, Stan, Cartman, Kenny, Clyde, Token, Craig, Tweek, Butters, and Christophe.
I'm really hoping it turns out as epic as it is in my mind.
This first chapter is in Kyle's POV.

Oh, and I found everyone's birthday except for Christophe, Clyde, Craig, and Tweek, so I made them up. If anybody knows for sure when they are, I'd appreciate the shareage of the knowledge. Enjoy!

I woke up early on Saturday morning—6:17 AM, to be exact—to the sound of ear-splitting thunder. I could almost feel my room vibrating with each loud crack, although that could have been because of the hail smashing against my window, right above my head. Sitting up in my bed, my dark green comforter tightly wrapped around me due to the sudden sub-zero temperature of my room, I squinted sleepily through the glass at the sheets of water and ice pouring down outside. A burst of lightning nearly blinded me, and I groaned, laying down again and burying myself in my blankets, a headache beginning to throb in my skull. Of course it was storming outside today, what better way to celebrate my eighteenth birthday? Thunder rumbled overhead again, and I swore to Abraham I heard it say, "Happy birthday, Kyle! Enjoy your headache; we all chipped in to get it for you!" Another painfully bright flash of lightning punctuated the storm's birthday message; I could see it even from underneath my blankets with my eyes shut. My window rattled as more hail attacked my house, and my headache got worse with each passing second. Finally, I just couldn't take it anymore; if I was going to get back to sleep I was going to need some Advil.

I got out of bed, still using my comforter for warmth, and shuffled across my room to my door. My bare feet were freezing, and as I pulled my bedroom door open and moved into the hallway, I was grateful that at least my house had carpeting in every room, not hardwood floors like Token's house. The hallway was dark, and I had to walk extra-slowly so I didn't trip over my blanket on my way down the stairs. There was a light on in the kitchen though, which confused me. Who was awake so early on a Saturday? I closed my eyes, my headache pounding away in my skull, and leaned against the doorframe.

"Kyle! You're up early! What's wrong, bubbe? Are you sick?"

I heard my mom's concerned voice, though she sounded ten times louder than usual. I gritted my teeth, trying to force my headache to screw off out of sheer will, and croaked, "Just a headache. The storm."

"Oh, my goodness, on your birthday and everything! Go lay down in the living room, Kyle, I'll bring you some water and Advil."

I turned and made my way into the living room, sinking into the depths of our dark brown couch, curling into a ball, my head resting on the arm. I heard my mom's footsteps as she followed a few seconds later, then the sound of a glass being placed on the coffee table beside the couch. I sat up straighter and opened my eyes a crack, taking the two Advil I was being offered and swallowing them with some water. I leaned back on the couch, groaning something that sounded like, "Unghf." There was another deafening blast of thunder and I cringed.

"You don't look very well at all, bubbe," said my mom from somewhere above me. "Maybe you should postpone your birthday party."

I forced my eyes all the way open, ignoring the pain. "No!" I shook my head frantically, my wavy red hair falling across my face. Lifting a hand to brush it away, I said, slightly more calmly, "No. I'll be fine in time for it, later."

"But you're so pale." She reached over to touch my forehead, but I ducked.

"I'm always pale, Mom, it's my skin," I said. "Really, I just need to sleep for a few hours. Everyone's supposed to get here at four. I have more than enough time."

"Well... If you're sure," she said, picking up my half-empty glass of water. "I'll be in the kitchen finishing your birthday cake if you need anything." She disappeared, and I let out a soft sigh of relief, settling back on the couch and closing my eyes. My party was too important this year. I'd been planning it for months. Not the actual party part—that was going to be pretty normal: cake, presents, hanging out with the guys—but what I was going to do at the party. I was finally going to tell him.

It was kind of strange, when I really thought about it. Back in the middle of tenth grade, a bunch of us guys at Park High had all openly admitted to being gay, within a week. It had started with Butters, which hadn't been much of a surprise, in all honesty. The surprise came the next day, when he'd come to school holding hands with Cartman. Nobody had wanted to say much, but even if we'd suspected Cartman of preferring guys—which some of us had—we would never have seen him with Butters. But they seemed happy, and, almost a year and a half later, they were still together. The next couple to come out had been Craig and Tweek, which had only been a shock to anyone who hadn't known them well. Craig was very protective of his highly-caffeinated blond, ready to seriously injure anyone who even so much as looked at Tweek the wrong way. They were still together too, after a brief issue last year involving Thomas (the new kid with Tourette's syndrome) and Craig's fear of real commitment.

I'd called Stan that night, and asked him to come over so I could talk to him. All of my friends coming out had gotten me thinking about my sexual preference. The only time I'd ever really liked a girl had been back in third grade, when I'd met Rebecca Cotswolds, the home-schooled girl. Since then, I hadn't found the opposite gender all that appealing. Coming to the conclusion that I, too, played for the other team, the first person I wanted to tell was, of course, my super best friend. Stan had come to my house, and we'd been up in my room for less than ten minutes when he had told me thathe was pretty sure he was gay. I'd been shocked for about thirty seconds, and then I'd punched his arm lightly and told him to stop copying me. When I explained my reason for wanting him to come over, he'd laughed, I'd laughed and everything was fine. Our parents took it surprisingly well; I'd expected my mom to flip out, but she'd just sighed resignedly at me and told me to do whatever made me happy. Stan and I announced our news the next morning at school. Cartman was an asshole about it, of course, declaring that he'd always known I was hot for my best friend, but Stan had immediately corrected him, telling him that he and I weren't a couple, and anyway, Cartman was with Butters. That had shut him up pretty fast. He was the only one who made it an issue though; even Wendy came up to Stan and congratulated him on being brave enough to come out.

The biggest shock was during lunch that day, when, after being subjected to intense Kenny-flirtation, Christophe had stood and loudly told him that even though he was indeed a "'omosexual" he was not interested in blonds, even if Kenny had finally gotten rid of his ratty old orange parka. Kenny had simply shrugged it off and went after Red, who was passing by, carrying her tray of food. Everyone and their dog had known that Kenny wanted anything that moved, but Christophe liking guys? Bebe had been so distraught she'd burst into tears and run out of the cafeteria, Heidi and Wendy hurrying after her to make sure she was all right.

We'd all sort of formed one big group—me, Stan, Cartman, Butters, Craig, Tweek, Christophe, and Kenny. Clyde and Token hung out with us too, but they insisted that they were completely straight, though they had no problem with the rest of us. It was nice, having that much support. Especially now, after I'd made up my mind to finally let him know how I felt. The storm raged on outside as I pulled my blanket tighter around me and drifted off, the Advil finally just starting to work its magic.

... ... ...

I woke up again at around one, according to the clock on the wall of my living room. It sounded like the storm had stopped. I uncurled myself from my sleeping position with a yawn, stretching my legs out on the couch. I stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds, thankful that my headache was gone, and then sat up, combing through my hair with both hands. I made a face. It was so greasy. Deciding that before I did anything else, I was having a shower, I stood and headed for the stairs, dragging my comforter behind me. I poked my head into the kitchen and waved at my parents, who were both sitting at the table.

"Happy birthday, Kyle," said my dad, smiling at me before looking back down at the newspaper.

"Yes, happy birthday, bubbe! How are you feeling?" my mom asked.

"My headache's gone. I'm going to shower," I said.

"Wake up Ike while you're up there," my mom called after me as I went upstairs.

I stopped halfway down the hall and kicked at Ike's bedroom door a few times with the heel of my right foot. "Ike!" I kicked it again. "Get up!" I heard a muffled groan from inside the room, and continued on to my own. I threw my comforter on my bed—I'd make it later—grabbed some clothes and a towel, and went to wash the grease out of my hair.

After I showered, dried my hair, and got dressed—black long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, socks be damned—I went back downstairs. The kitchen clock read 1:58 PM. Ike and my mom were sitting at the table. He was eating cereal, the honey nut Cheerios box sitting in front of him, and she was doing Sudoku.

"Where's Dad?" I asked, taking a seat at the table as well.

My mom barely looked up from her number puzzle as she answered me. "Oh, he had to go into work, he's working on a very important case, you know."

"The dolphin one?" I reached over to snatch the cereal box from Ike. He glared at me, but I ignored him, pulling out a handful of Cheerios and eating them one at a time. He pulled the box back in front of him, and resumed reading the back of it.

"That's right. He wanted to be here for your birthday, of course, but you know how important dolphins are to your father."

Ike looked up from the cereal box, then. "Happy birthday," he said.

"Thanks." I nodded at him, then said to my mom, "Can you keep him out of the way when the guys get here?"

"Hey!"

My mom sighed, writing a number in one of the blank squares of her puzzle. "I can try, bubbe, but I can't guarantee anything. It's his house too."

Ike shot me a triumphant look. I rolled my eyes, and stood up to leave the room. As I passed behind Ike, I dropped the remaining Cheerios in my hand down his shirt. He squealed, wriggling around in his chair to get them out. I snickered, heading back upstairs. My party was going to start in two hours. I had to get things ready. I had to get me ready.

Once inside my room, the first thing I did was go straight to my closet. I looked at my reflection in the mirrored doors, chewing on my bottom lip. Christ, I was short. And so skinny. The only guy smaller than me was Tweek, and I was pretty sure that was because of his caffeine intake. I had no reason to be this skinny. What was wrong with me? I pulled on the bottom of my T-shirt. Should I wear something different? Should I wear socks? My eyes moved up, to my hair. Should I straighten it? I'd gotten rid of my Jew-fro; my hair was tamer now, though still wavy, and it still had a tendency to frizz. I leaned forward, inspecting it in the mirror. It didn't look frizzy now. Maybe I should just leave it wavy. I didn't look good with straight hair anyway, something we'd found out when Stan had still been dating Wendy, in junior high. I thunked my head again my closet doors. I was so nervous. This was a huge deal. What if he just laughed at me? I was almost tempted to just forget the whole thing. But no. This was all I'd been able to think of for so long, I had to see it through, even if I ended up making things extremely awkward. We were all friends, right? Things would end up okay. Right?

It took me another half-hour to decide that the clothes I was wearing were fine, my hair was fine, and that if I didn't stop acting like an overly-self-conscious female I was going to kill myself.

... ... ...

Stan and Kenny were the first to show up; early, since Stan had had to go pick up Kenny from the other side of town, and he never had been a good judge of time.

"Happy birthdaaay!" my best friend sang at me. "God, Kyle, you're so old now!"

"Oh, shut up," I said with a smile as he and Kenny came inside and slipped off their shoes. I shut the front door and followed them into my living room. Kenny perched on the edge of the couch.

"No, dude, seriously. I feel so little compared to you guys." Stan looked from me to Kenny.

It was true, that Kenny and I were older than Stan. Actually, weirdly enough, Kenny was the second-oldest out of all of us, being just barely a month younger than Christophe, though you would never know it by how he acted. And Stan, for all his maturity, was actually the second-youngest, being a month and ten days older than Tweek.

"Little?" I snorted, moving over so I was right next to Stan. The top of my head was just at the same level as his chin. Kenny giggled, and hopped off the couch to stand on my other side. He was maybe three inches taller than me. I felt like a midget, standing in between them.

"Maybe I should've gotten you some high heels for your birthday." Stan laughed, and I socked him in the arm.

"Don't you even." I glared, but I couldn't stop myself from laughing too. I nodded at the gift-wrapped box Stan had tucked under his left arm, and said, "So what did you get me?"

"It's from both of us!" Kenny said, going back to the couch.

"Okay," I amended. "What did you and Kenny get me?"

"I'm not telling you, dude!" Stan held the box up above his head as I reached for it. I stood on my toes, but even then I could barely scrape the bottom of the box with the tips of my fingers.

Giving up, I grumbled, "Fine. I'll just wait then." Stan lowered the box and I made one last grab for it, but the trouble with being friends with someone since preschool is that they get to know you better than you know yourself, sometimes. Stan tossed the box over to Kenny, who caught it easily.

I spun around, but before I could even try to tackle Kenny, my mom said from behind me, "Oh, hello Stan, Kenny. How are you boys doing today?"

"We're good, Mrs. Broflovski, thank you," Stan said, moving past me and taking the box from Kenny. He walked over to where my mom was standing and handed it to her. "This is for Kyle, but he's not allowed to open it yet."

"All right, I'll put it with the others," said my mom as she went upstairs. "There's some Coke and Sprite in the fridge if you boys are thirsty." Kenny made a beeline for my kitchen at those words.

"You're such a douche!" I said to Stan, swatting at him again. "You just wait until your birthday! Maybe I won't even remember to get you a present!"

Stan just shook his head with another laugh, sitting on my couch and picking up the guitar controller for my Rock Band game. "Play with me?" he asked, gesturing to the drums.

I sighed, but moved to the TV, turned on my PlayStation 3, and dragged the drum set over to the couch. Sitting beside Stan, I picked up the drumsticks and gave him a look. "You know I don't have rhythm."

Stan shrugged. "You could always sing."

I shuddered. "No way, dude." I tapped the plastic drum set with one of the drumsticks as we waited for the game to load.

"It's no fun without a singer," Stan said. "Kenny!"

Kenny poked his head through the doorway leading to the kitchen. "Yeah?" He took a gulp of Coke from the can in his hand.

"Come be the singer for our band." Stan motioned to the microphone lying on my living room floor. Kenny's eyes brightened, and he finished off the rest of Coke in less than ten seconds. He moonwalked his way across the room and picked up the microphone, and the three of us started rocking out hardcore. Well, as hardcore as we could with me screwing up the beat every two minutes.

When the doorbell rang a little while later, I left Stan and Kenny to be a rock duo while I went to answer the door. Craig, Tweek, Clyde, and Token were standing on my doorstep. Craig was carrying Tweek's ever-present thermos of coffee for him in one hand, and a present that I could only assume was for me in the other. Tweek was shivering beside him, as usual, though he was much less twitchy now that he was dating Craig. Still, it was a wonder he didn't drop the gift bag he was holding.

"Hey," I said, standing back to let them all in.

"Hey, happy birthday man," Clyde said, handing me a present.

"Thanks," I said. Resisting the urge to open it right then and there, I set it on the floor beside the stairs. Craig, Tweek, and Token piled theirs around it, and before I gave in to temptation, I led them all into my living room, where Kenny was doing his best rendition of "Ballroom Blitz".

"There's Coke and Sprite in the fridge, and you can go ahead and make some coffee if you need to, Tweek," I said, nodding at him. He twitched, and gave me a grateful smile. I continued, "As soon as everyone gets here, we'll figure out what kind of pizza we're ordering. " The doorbell rang again, and I returned to my front hallway, calling over my shoulder, "No anchovies, Stan!"

"Wuss!" he yelled back.

I rolled my eyes, and pulled open my front door to see Christophe, dressed as usual from head to toe in black, with a lit cigarette between his lips, holding something wrapped in newspaper. He nodded at me, finishing his cigarette and crushing it underneath one of his black boots before speaking.

"Bon anniversaire, Broflovski," he said, holding out the bundle of newspaper. I looked down at it, and then back up at him uncertainly. He raised an eyebrow at me. "A present, for you. Zat is customary for one's birthday, yes?"

I blushed, feeling stupid. Hastily, before he could see, I grabbed the present from him, putting it with the rest in the pile on the floor. I deliberately took longer than I needed to, trying my hardest to calm myself down. When I felt more confident that I wasn't going to make a fool of myself, I straightened up, and turned to tell Christophe about the drinks in the fridge, and the pizza, but he had already kicked off his boots and made himself at home in my living room. Of course, he'd left the door open, because that was the considerate kind of person he was. I was about to close it when I spotted Cartman's mom's minivan turning the corner. I waited in the doorway as Cartman and Butters hopped out and made their ways up my driveway. I noticed with surprise that they were both holding something gift-wrapped. I'd expected Cartman to just stick his name on whatever Butters got me, not get me a present of his own.

"Hey, there, Kyle! Happy birthday!" Butters exclaimed happily when they reached me.

"Hey, Butters. Thanks." I pointed behind me. "Just put the presents in the pile."

"Happy birthday, Jew," Cartman said, kicking my front door shut behind him and adding his present to the others.

"Thanks, Fatass." I ignored Cartman's howl of indignation and headed back into my living room, where Clyde was taking his turn at the microphone, trying valiantly to sing "Paranoid". Christophe was tapping at the drums lazily, yet managing to hit every single note perfectly. Stan had refused to relinquish his hold on the guitar. Butters had claimed the recliner, and was happily watching them play. Token was sitting on the couch beside Christophe, and Craig and Tweek were sitting on the floor in front of him, Craig's arm wrapped around Tweek's shoulders as the blond gulped coffee from his thermos.

"What kind of pizza do you guys want?" I asked as the song came to an end.

"Anchovies," Stan said with a grin.

"Besides anchovies," I said.

"Pepperoni," Token said.

Craig and Clyde nodded their agreement, as Tweek yelped, "Oh, Jesus, too much pressure!" Craig leaned over and whispered something in his ear, and Tweek visibly relaxed. Craig petted the blond's hair affectionately before saying, "Tweeker likes Hawaiian."

"Zis 'awaiian," Christophe said, twirling one of the drumsticks in his fingers. "Zat is 'am with pineapple?"

"Yeah, but Kosher Boy here can't eat ham," Cartman said from behind me, shoving me to the side to sit on the floor beside the recliner.

"So? Just because I can't eat it doesn't mean other people can't," I snapped at him. "So that's what, pepperoni, Hawaiian, and I just want plain cheese..."

"Anchovies!" Stan insisted. He picked another song, "Here It Goes Again", and Clyde tossed the microphone over to Token. Christophe remained the drummer.

"...and anchovies," I said, rolling my eyes. "Is that it?" Nobody appeared to have any last minute pizza preference, so I went to find my mom so I could tell her what everyone wanted. My eighteenth birthday party had officially begun.