A/N: I've never written a story like this before so bear with me a little…I just wanted to try out writing a story for SP instead of anime but that doesn't mean I am stopping writing for anime altogether.

Remember I am just experimenting with a story so don't expect this to be extremely accurate with the show…I'll do my best though. And I am not an expert on medicine or diseases so I am going to have to look up a few things for this…

Thinking/ Flashbacks

"Talking"

(KPOV)

Blood…

Blood again…

Sighing I fall back against the bathroom wall and slide my hand over my face as if it was a dream and I could swipe my vision clean.

If only.

This is the third time within the past two months that blood had come out of me and it isn't a regular occurrence like a paper cut or falling off a bike. Taking another breath and hoping this wouldn't be a normal thing for me I push off the wall and grab a washcloth.

Turning on the sink I rinse the cloth and start to wash out the small path of blood running down my sink. There are two drops that look like they are racing to get to the drain.

Too bad they won't make it, I think and roll the cloth over them making them disappear.

"Shame…" I mumble and wring out the cloth. The left drop was winning. After I hang it up on the towel rack and convince myself the pain in my gut is just from hunger and not from spitting out "liquid life" I go back into my room to change for school.

Lately school has been a bummer. Stan and Wendy have been hanging out recently and completely ignoring me. At first I thought it was annoying. You know the typical snuggling and kissing and Oh I can't stop looking into you beautiful eyes! kind of stuff…Bleh! But when I started having these pains in my gut and spitting out blood I absolutely loved it.

I loved when Wendy would give Stan Eskimo kisses so I could hold my arm tightly over my stomach and wince and they both wouldn't notice. I loved when Stan would play with Wendy's hair so I could sneak off to the bathroom and practically throw up without him detecting. I loved when they would talk about their relationship so intimately that I could make up a quick excuse to go home and take more pain medication as if it weren't a big deal and Stan wouldn't question why.

In laments terms: It keeps Stan distracted.

You know why I love a distracted Stan? It's because Stan gets worried easily, and when Stan worries he can't think of anything else and when Stan can't think of anything else his grades go down as well as his relationship with Wendy and if Stan worried about me…I'd feel bad. And feeling bad sucked.

I pull my shirt over my head and grab my backpack on the way downstairs. In the kitchen I open a cupboard and look for something quick like pop tarts.

"Kyle honey, good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah mom. Like a rock," I reply and stick both sugar coated treats in the toaster. I look up to see her smile and go back to fixing breakfast for a half-asleep Ike. He looked like he just climbed out of bed; poor guy. I would hate to walk into class like that. I wonder if he felt how he looks. I know I sure did.

A pop turns my attention back to the toaster where my "breakfast" awaits. Seriously, this wasn't breakfast. It was dessert in a quick, transportable form. The smell of it makes me sick but I am still going to eat it even if my stomach protests.

I do it because I don't want my mom to notice I haven't been eating breakfast like I normally used to do. We are on a tight budget lately. We have enough to pay bills and get groceries but that is about it. It's almost like a dry spell for money.

If my mom knew I was having issues like this I didn't know what would happen. Would we lose the house? Would we not get any electricity or clean water and depend on the neighbors? Would Ike not be able to attend the fieldtrip to see the Statue of Liberty that he'd been dying to go on since the first grade?

I couldn't cope with myself if any of that happened just because I had to go to the hospital. Hopefully my dad will get a few good cases and can make decent money again. Until then I am going to have to deal…somehow…hopefully…

God my stomach hurts.

"I'm late so I'll eat on the way. See you," I mumble and head for the door.

"Have a good day," I hear Ike yell drowning out whatever my mom is saying to me. It's probably something embarrassing anyways so I'm thankful.

On the way I find myself feeling sicker than the last time I had one of these fits. Maybe my mom won't notice the two half eaten pop tarts buried by the postbox down the street.

I straighten up when Stan and Wendy come into view at the bus stop. Cartman and Kenny don't show up here anymore since Cartman got his license. Now he picks up Kenny on his way to school. I, on the other hand, don't have my license because we haven't had enough money to get me one yet. Stan still got picked up by the bus because he has yet to get a car, although I have been informed he was very close to getting a black Honda Civic 1998. When he gets it I'd be the only one attending the bus.

Whoo-hoo.

That is unless he let me carpool with Wendy.

But then where will they make out? My mind screams sarcastically and I roll my eyes.

"Hey Kyle," Stan greets smiling. He is always smiling around Wendy. I smile back and greet him too.

Wendy and I make eye contact and we both smile politely. What else are we supposed to do? I can't just tongue wrestle her like Stan does when they greet. Somehow I think Stan wouldn't like that very much.

"Hi Wendy," I grin. "How are you today?"

She returns it with a cute little bunny smile. Boy isn't she just the greatest piece of perfect you can find under the sun? "Fantastic. And you Kyle?"

"Super."

"Really?" she questions and for a second I don't like the look in her eyes. "You don't look like you're super. You sort of look like you are going to throw up."

This statement takes Stan's eyes away from Wendy's figure and redirects it at me.

No. No. Definitely no.

I refuse to have Stan's curious eyes on me searching for anything out of place.

"I'm fine. I just remembered I didn't study for the huge history test today." This seems to stop Stan from assessing my physical condition and turns his attention to the horrors of the classroom.

"That was today? I thought he said next Tuesday!" Stan exclaims and his face falls into a frown.

"We've been in this chapter for almost two weeks. I don't think we're going to spend close to a month on the Civil War, Stan," I laugh awkwardly and try to ignore waves of pain shooting from my stomach to my head. I probably should have grabbed a few aspirin before leaving.

"Well it's not like I keep tabs on how long we work on sections…You'll probably get an A though. I don't get how you can ace practically every test you get. You're right up there with Wendy," he says and Wendy suddenly looks very cozy next to Stan.

Up there with Wendy? You mean Wendy's almost up there with me, my mind scoffs. I already know I'm smarter than her or at least on par with her. Two years ago it was, "Wendy's almost as smart as you". I don't like the change.

The bus pulls up before I can say anything about Stan's wording and the doors fling open. As we board I can still faintly taste metal on the back of my tongue but think nothing of it. Too bad I don't pay attention to it sooner…

ABCDEFGHIJKLMN

The test isn't that hard. I never thought it was going to be but it was slightly challenging. I place my pencil down and look at the clock. It's only second period and I finished thirty minutes early.

All the other kids are still working on their tests. How come I am always finished first? There is never anything to do. I hate finishing first.

…

Ok that's a lie. I love it. It may sound nerdy but I am proud of my place in my classes. No one is quicker and more accurate at tests than I am.

No, not even Wendy.

On my right a seat diagonally in front of me I see Stan slumped over and scribbling words on his paper. He is only halfway through his test.

On my left I see Pip. He is two-thirds done with his test. Everyone should be done in fifteen minutes at least. The essay question at the end should stop a few in their tracks.

Sheesh, I can enjoy the silence more if my stomach isn't hurting so much today. I don't even know why. The last time I spit blood my stomach hurt for an hour after and then it was slight soreness throughout the day. This made me feel like I was being gutted like a wild pig.

I can deal though right? Mind over matter will do the job right?

I try to focus on something. The ticks of the clock take my attention for seventy ticks before I do feel like I need to get some fresh air or wipe my face in water.

"Mr. Walker may I please use the restroom?" I ask at his desk and try to stay standing up tall. He hesitates before nodding and I head for the door.

My eyes lock with Stan on the way out and I manage to keep a straight face till I am out the door. From there all the way to the bathroom I am crouched over. By the time I reach the bathroom I throw open a stall and heave.

I shake and my head pounds and there isn't anything I can do about it but sit back and enjoy the ride. My whole body feels hot and breathing suddenly feels like a chore. When I finish I give myself a few seconds to regain myself.

"Nice," I mutter wiping my mouth from any excess vomit. I shut my eyes and count to twenty. Breathing is easier now and the world has stopped spinning. The edges aren't fuzzy anymore and I feel myself sigh with relief when the stabbing turns to aching.

I feel a different kind of sick when I look in the toilet to see mixed with my vomit is a light, almost barely noticeable layer of red. I plop on my butt, my eyes still glued to the toilet bowel as if it was a stranger with a major facial deformity.

"T-twice?" I breathe and blink. It never happens twice in a day.

I don't know exactly how long it is until I manage to stand up still looking at the toilet not quite sure what to think. It couldn't be getting worse…

"Just the pop tarts…" I try and convince myself but I know it's not the pop tarts. The pop tarts I ate were cinnamon not cherry or strawberry.

"Pop tarts," I glare and flush the toilet suddenly in denial.

When I get to the sink I notice my bangs are slightly moist and my face is a little paler than normal. A few readjustments are in order. A little wash to the face with sink water and tucking the hair under my hat makes me look as good as new; good enough anyway.

I'll just forget the whole thing, I think walking down the hall back to the classroom.

Then why can't I stop muttering pop tarts?