Author's Note: Hey everyone! I'm so so so sorry for all the stupid updates. I'm still trying to get a hang of this site. I believe that the first chapter is done now, but who knows? Thanks for the awesome reviews! But, I'd also like some critical feedback. Thanks! Also, I don't own South Park. *Sigh*

*Creak*

"Shh!" he whispered, as if it could silence the shifting house. He glanced over at his sleeping enemy and sighed in relief when he didn't awake. Silently he walked into the kitchen. The light clicked on as he opened the fridge door.

"Ha! I found you!" he yelled a bit too loudly at the food sitting on the top shelf. He heard a door open and in a whiplash motion he moved his head towards the sound.

Shit! Go back to bed!

The door closed again and shortly after the sound of light snoring drifted down the stairs.

Oh thank God!

He turned back towards the fridge and grabbed a plate of food. Glancing quickly around, he made sure no one else had gotten up. Then he stole off into the night.

When he got closer to his house, he surveyed what he had stolen.

"Awesome! Hotdogs!"

Well, they weren't actually hotdogs. Some kind of Jewish Kosher food, but goddamn they were good! His mouth was watering at just the thought of being able to eat them, soon.

He looked down at his feet and a smile broke out across his face. He'd lost quite a bit of weight since fourth grade, but everyone still called him "fatass." Oh, well. He'd grown used to it by now.

As he opened the door, he was greeted by a blinding light.

Really? he thought sarcastically. You just had to turn on all the lights, mom? As we're not losing enough money as it is!

He walked down the hall towards his room, mumbling under his breath and turning the lights out on the way. Just as he was about to collapse in bed, he noticed a bulge.

"Mom?" he asked a little wary. "Dammit mom! Get your drunk ass outta my bed!"

She mumbled something incoherent, then went back to sleeping.

"Goddamnit, fine." He walked out and slammed the door, hoping it gave her as big a headache as she was giving him.

He sat down on the couch and looked at the clock.

2:36 AM.

He fell into a fitful, yet somewhat relaxing, sleep.

XXX

"Dude, where the Hell is fatass?" Kenny asked, not actually caring.

"Beats me," Kyle replied. "He's probably skipping."

"Again?" Stan asked. "Maybe he's sick."

"No, I doubt it. I don't think Cartman has ever gotten sick before," Kenny replied.

The boys continued walking towards first period, Government. Stan noticed someone behind the teacher's desk.

"Aw! Sweet! Substitute!" he said happily.

"Foxy substitute," Kenny added.

"I got dibs!" Kyle shouted, smirking.

"Come on, man," Stan complained. "You got dibs last time! When will we get a chance?"

"When you learn how to speak up faster. Now watch how a professional does it." Kyle grinned and walked up to the sub.

"Hello, babe," he said in a husky tone. "I was wondering if you weren't busy-"

"Mr. Broflosvki, I suggest you learn how to close your mouth. If you haven't noticed, I am wearing a wedding ring. And even if I wasn't, I wouldn't spend time with a student," she stated.

Kyle stood, mouth agape, eyes wide open, and he was pretty sure he was blushing.

"You can sit down," she said sternly.

He turned and walked towards his friends, who had seen the whole thing. Stan patted him on the back. "I would wish you 'better luck next time' except next time it'll be my turn!"

Kyle smiled, already feeling better. The boys took their seats. About halfway into class, Eric Cartman burst through the doors. He took his seat behind Kyle. He took out the homework from the night before, plus another piece of paper.

Kyle, he wrote, what's the answer to number one?

He then folded the paper neatly and threw it onto Kyle's desk.

Kyle frowned when he realized who the note was from. He started to write a reply. But he was shaking.

Shit! What the Hell?

He grabbed for his pencil again, this time dropping it.

"Ah. Goddammit."

"Mr. Broflosvi? Do you need to take this to the office?" the sub asked. God he was hating her more and more.

"N-no. I'm…I'm good."

"Then keep your thoughts to yourself."

Something was poking him in the back.

"Kahl!" Cartman hissed. "What's the answer to number one?! Come on, stupid Jew."

Kyle was ready to fire something back, but he couldn't form any words. Stupid, stupid headache. He put his hands on his forehead. It was hot.

"Shit," he mumbled. His temperature had been a whopping one-hundred degrees this morning and now it felt hotter and everything hurt and he was dizzy and he still hurt and… "GOD!!! MAKE IT FUCKING STOP!!!!"

He froze and glanced around the classroom. But nobody was staring at him.

Why aren't they staring?

"Kahl," Cartman whispered, a bit louder. "Answer the effing question!"

Oh, I must've shouted in my head.

"KAHL!"

"WHAT?! What the FUCK do you WANT?!"

"Jeez, dude. Don't have to be so prissy. What's the answer to number one?"

"Number one? Really, fatass? Did you even study?" Kyle asked, obviously irritated.

"Uh…duh." Cartman stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh, suuure. If you had actually read the book, you would know…" Shit! Headache's back! "You would know…you…would know…"

"Yeah? What the Hell would I know?" Cartman asked a bit annoyed at Kyle's reaction. "What. The Hell. Would. I. Know?"

"Shut-up," Kyle muttered. "Please, for the sake of humanity, shut-up."

"I will. When you answer the question. Now, Kahl. Answer the damn question!" He screamed loud enough for the class to hear.

"Eric Cartman! Office! NOW!" Damn. She was pissed.

"Yes ma'am. God, you're almost as bad as Kyle's bitch mom," he mumbled under his breath.

Kyle was rubbing his temples. "Fuck off."

"With pleasure, Jew." And with that, he stomped out of the room making as big a scene as possible. Nobody payed attention.

Only ten minutes had passed and Kyle was starting to feel dizzy again.

"Uuuhhh…." he moaned, his head nodding dangerously close to the desk.

"Dude, stop jacking off in class," Kenny said, laughing.

"Uuhh…" WHAT IS WRONG?!

"Yeah, dude. Save it for the bedroom," Stan snickered.

Kyle gave him a nice view of his middle finger. He slowly stood up and stumbled to the front of the room.

I wonder if this is how a drunk person feels?

"Uh…Miss. Lacen? Can I use the bathroom?" he asked.

"Yes, you may use the restroom. Sign out, please."

God. They still had to sign out. We're not in fucking grade school anymore.

His hand shook when he picked up the pen and it shook when he opened and closed the door.

About halfway down the hall, he couldn't take it anymore. He leaned against the wall, sighing. The cool cement felt good againt his aching body. Slowly, he slid down to a sitting position, trying to forget about the pain.

"Uuuhh…" He put his head between his knees and it felt a little better. But not enough. His eyes closed, but he didn't fall asleep.

He heard someone walking down the hall. A group of people, actually. He looked up to see a bright orange parka bouncing over. Over to Kenny's left was his "Super Best Friend." Stan had recently decided to stop wearing his blue puffball hat, showing off his silky black hair.

"Dude, where the heck were you?" Stan asked, seeming a bit concerned.

"Yeah. And why are you sitting down?" Kenny wondered.

"No reason," he sighed. "It's nothing. Just a damn headache. I'll take some Tylenol or something."

"Alright. Let's go! Football at my place!" Stan shouted, already three classrooms down the hall. Kenny was swiftly following. His best friend turned around as Kyle was standing up.

Ha! Two Stans. Sweet.

He meant to say, "Stan, why didn't you tell me you had a twin?" but all he got out was a feeble, "Stan…" and everything was sideways and something thumped and his head hurt and there was something wet and sticky by his neck and he couldn't breathe and people were rushing over and he was screaming his head off.

"AH!! FUCK!!! SHIT SHIT SHIT!! MAKE IT FUCKING STOP!!!!!"

"Hey, man? Jeez, um, I'll go get someone." Who was that? Kyle turned his head slightly. Token?

"Token?" he said weakly.

"Yeah, dude. It's me."

"Token, make it stop," he said on the verge of tears. "Please."

His black friend looked worried. "Okay, man. I'll…I'll try." And he was gone, going to get help.

"Oh Mary mother of Jesus wife of Joseph., it's all sticky."

"Goddammit, Butters," Kenny muttered. "Why don't you be helpful and get Kyle a washcloth?"

"Oh, Jesus, son of God…" he said walking towards the boys bathroom.

"Hey, Kyle?" Stan? He thought so.

"Yes?"

"You'll be alright." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself that fact more than Kyle.

"Yeah," he groggily replied. Everything was fading out. His eyelids were heavy. They closed and his breathing evened. And for the first time, he didn't feel any pain.

He started to write a reply. But he was shaking.

Shit! What the Hell?

He grabbed for his pencil again, this time dropping it.

"Ah. Goddammit."

"Mr. Broflosvi? Do you need to take this to the office?" the sub asked. God he was hating her more and more.

"N-no. I'm…I'm good."

"Then keep your thoughts to yourself."

Something was poking him in the back.

"Kahl!" Cartman hissed. "What's the answer to number one?! Come on, stupid Jew."

Kyle was ready to fire something back, but he couldn't form any words. Stupid, stupid headache. He put his hands on his forehead. It was hot.

"Shit," he mumbled. His temperature had been a whopping one-hundred degrees this morning and now it felt hotter and everything hurt and he was dizzy and he still hurt and… "GOD!!! MAKE IT FUCKING STOP!!!!"

He froze and glanced around the classroom. But nobody was staring at him.

Why aren't they staring?

"Kahl," Cartman whispered, a bit louder. "Answer the effing question!"

Oh, I must've shouted in my head.

"KAHL!"

"WHAT?! What the FUCK do you WANT?!"

"Jeez, dude. Don't have to be so prissy. What's the answer to number one?"

"Number one? Really, fatass? Did you even study?" Kyle asked, obviously irritated.

"Uh…duh." Cartman stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh, suuure. If you had actually read the book, you would know…" Shit! Headache's back! "You would know…you…would know…"

"Yeah? What the Hell would I know?" Cartman asked a bit annoyed at Kyle's reaction. "What. The Hell. Would. I. Know?"

"Shut-up," Kyle muttered. "Please, for the sake of humanity, shut-up."

"I will. When you answer the question. Now, Kahl. Answer the damn question!" He screamed loud enough for the class to hear.

"Eric Cartman! Office! NOW!" Damn. She was pissed.

"Yes ma'am. God, you're almost as bad as Kyle's bitch mom," he mumbled under his breath.

Kyle was rubbing his temples. "Fuck off."

"With pleasure, Jew." And with that, he stomped out of the room making as big a scene as possible. Nobody payed attention.

Only ten minutes had passed and Kyle was starting to feel dizzy again.

"Uuuhhh…." he moaned, his head nodding dangerously close to the desk.

"Dude, stop jacking off in class," Kenny said, laughing.

"Uuhh…" WHAT IS WRONG?!

"Yeah, dude. Save it for the bedroom," Stan snickered.

Kyle gave him a nice view of his middle finger. He slowly stood up and stumbled to the front of the room.

I wonder if this is how a drunk person feels?

"Uh…Miss. Lacen? Can I use the bathroom?" he asked.

"Yes, you may use the restroom. Sign out, please."

God. They still had to sign out. We're not in fucking grade school anymore.

His hand shook when he picked up the pen and it shook when he opened and closed the door.

About halfway down the hall, he couldn't take it anymore. He leaned against the wall, sighing. The cool cement felt good againt his aching body. Slowly, he slid down to a sitting position, trying to forget about the pain.

"Uuuhh…" He put his head between his knees and it felt a little better. But not enough. His eyes closed, but he didn't fall asleep.

He heard someone walking down the hall. A group of people, actually. He looked up to see a bright orange parka bouncing over. Over to Kenny's left was his "Super Best Friend." Stan had recently decided to stop wearing his blue puffball hat, showing off his silky black hair.

"Dude, where the heck were you?" Stan asked, seeming a bit concerned.

"Yeah. And why are you sitting down?" Kenny wondered.

"No reason," he sighed. "It's nothing. Just a damn headache. I'll take some Tylenol or something."

"Alright. Let's go! Football at my place!" Stan shouted, already three classrooms down the hall. Kenny was swiftly following. His best friend turned around as Kyle was standing up.

Ha! Two Stans. Sweet.

He meant to say, "Stan, why didn't you tell me you had a twin?" but all he got out was a feeble, "Stan…" and everything was sideways and something thumped and his head hurt and there was something wet and sticky by his neck and he couldn't breathe and people were rushing over and he was screaming his head off.

"AH!! FUCK!!! SHIT SHIT SHIT!! MAKE IT FUCKING STOP!!!!!"

"Hey, man? Jeez, um, I'll go get someone." Who was that? Kyle turned his head slightly. Token?

"Token?" he said weakly.

"Yeah, dude. It's me."

"Token, make it stop," he said on the verge of tears. "Please."

His black friend looked worried. "Okay, man. I'll…I'll try." And he was gone, going to get help.

"Oh Mary mother of Jesus wife of Joseph., it's all sticky."

"Goddammit, Butters," Kenny muttered. "Why don't you be helpful and get Kyle a washcloth?"

"Oh, Jesus, son of God…" he said walking towards the boys bathroom.

"Hey, Kyle?" Stan? He thought so.

"Yes?"

"You'll be alright." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself that fact more than Kyle.

"Yeah," he groggily replied. Everything was fading out. His eyelids were heavy. They closed and his breathing evened. And for the first time, he didn't feel any pain.