[Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any of its characters...unfortunately :) This story is purely for entertainment purposes.]

A/N: This is my first published fanfic, so please bear with me. I'm currently in the process of writing an EXTREMELY long South Park fanfic (with a very complicated and irritating OC), so I'll try to make this one a max of ten chapters. I have the main ideas for this story already fleshed out, but if you have any ideas / requests / burning desires, leave 'em in the reviews section and I'll see what I can do! Thanks and happy reading! ^_^

"Wendy! Wen-dy! For God's sake, get your head out of your book and look at this!" I close my physics textbook, focusing my attention on my best friend, Bebe Stevens, whose lips are flying at a hundred miles per hour. "You'll-never-guess-wha—"

"What, Bee?" I interrupt, eyebrows raised.

She stops talking, closes her eyes, and exhales deeply. "It's a note," she articulates. One hand shoots out, her ring-laden fingers tightly gripping a white envelope.

"Oh-em-gee!" I gasp, palms pressed to my cheeks in mock excitement. Her smile transforms into a look of disgust. "What, not the appropriate response?" Bebe gets stupid little notes and letters all the time. Usually they're just crappy Post-Its crammed into her locker from guys who are infatuated with her (and, of course, most guys would be infatuated with the prettiest girl in school), and every year around Valentine's Day, her locker is flooded with heart-shaped cards and "be mine" stickers. Not that I'm jealous of Bebe or anything. I have Stan.

Bebe slaps my shoulder with the letter. "No, bitch, this one's for you." Now I understand: for the past few minutes, she's been helping me organize my locker—giving Stan an all-access pass has turned into a nightmare, my locker now littered with gym socks and crumpled bags of Cheesy Poofs. Apparently, that's where she found the envelope.

I grab it from her. "This is for me?"

"Ironic, huh?" she says with a smirk.

"Sure," I answer, fingering a small red heart embossed on the front. "I've never gotten a valentine before… Well, besides the ones from Stan."

She rolls her eyes. "Just fucking open it already." I turn over the envelope and slowly begin peeling off the flap. "Can't you just rip it open like a normal person for once?"

"I want to recycle it," I say simply.

"That's what recycling bins are for."

"No, I mean, I want to personally reuse it. Enough trees were cut down for this envelope; what's the point of killing more?"

Bebe blows a wisp of hair from her eyes. "You're such a buzzkill sometimes, Wenz."

I ignore her. "Plus, paper isn't cheap. In these hard economic times—"

"Oh my gosh—stop being such a Jew and open the goddamn letter before lunch starts."

I'm not sure whether or not to call her out on that. You know, the whole Jew thing. It's not like Kyle Broflovski, the only Jew in our grade, is my friend… More like a friend by association. Still, hearing Jew jokes spew out of Eric Cartman's mouth 24/7 has made me a bit sensitive to stuff like that. Whatever. I have more important things to do right now.

The adhesive finally gives, letting me lift the flap and catch a glimpse of the paper. "Cardstock," I mention.

"You would know that," Bebe teases. I gingerly pull out the note. "Well, what does it say?"

I clear my throat and read the small letters:

"Valentine's Day is coming up in 1 week. I know Marsh is your valentine, and that's OK, because I'm not looking for a valentine. I'm not just looking for a good fuck either."

I look up. "What the hell?"

Bebe's eyes are wild. "Keep reading!"

"…I'm not just looking for a good fuck either. I don't know what I want. I just want to tell you that I love you." I stare blankly at the words, searching for some hidden meaning.

"Well?" Bebe presses. "Is that it?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"Does it have a name on it?" She moves closer to peek at the letter. "Oh, crap, it's in those weird magazine cutout letters. Like in the spy movies."

I nod. "Looks like whoever it is, he really doesn't want me to figure out his identity."

"But we're going to, right?"

I look at her dubiously. "Bee…"

"Come on, we have to! It's…" She trails off. "What if it's some amazingly hot guy who's just dying to be your valentine?"

"He's not," I snap. "He explicitly stated that he doesn't want to be my valentine. Whatever the hell that means. Besides, Stan isn't going to like it very much if I go hunting for some mystery guy." She eyes me carefully. I see that mischievous twinkle. Oh, Jesus. "Bebe, I'm not going to dump Stan for this guy."

"Oh, but you want to."

"No, I don't. I don't even know him!"

"But he knows you! And he effing loves you!"

That's true. He does claim to love me. And Stan has never said…

No! Stop it! What am I thinking? Of course Stan loves me! We've been together for years! "Listen," I say stoically, "we're going to drop it. Right now. I'm going to rip up this letter and go have lunch with my boyfriend. End of discussion."

"Wen—"

"End. Of. Discussion." I shove the letter in my bag and head off to the cafeteria.

As I make my way down the hall, I hear Bebe shouting, "What are you so afraid of?" I shudder involuntarily. Nothing, I tell myself. I'm not afraid. Except that I am. I'm terrified…terrified that this mystery valentine is that guy, the guy I've wanted for so long to stop liking, the one whose face sometimes pops up when I'm making out with Stan. I shake my head. No. It's not him. And I don't like him anyway. I love Stan. I tell myself this as I enter the lunch line.

But Bebe's last words are still ringing in my ears.

...

His smile. That's what gets me every time. Every time we have a fight (rather, he screws up), we make up almost immediately; I can never stay mad at him for long. All he has to do is flash that beautiful grin, and I'm spellbound all over again. The best part is, he has no idea how much I love his smile.

I watch him stroll through the caf, making his way to the end of the lunch line. As if Stan Marsh would ever dream of cutting someone in line. Of course, Stan's so popular that any freshman in his right mind would give Stan his place in line. Especially those lowerclassmen on the football team. It's a basic societal law… The quarterback rules the school.

It's not surprising that most girls at South Park High hate my guts. "What the hell is Stan Marsh doing with the fucking editor of the school newspaper? The one nobody reads?" Um, sorry, but where were you guys when Stan and I started going out in third grade? When he wasn't the it-boy with the perfectly tousled hair and defined abs and broad shoulders? Well, I was there, watching stick-thin, sensitive Stan puke all over my shoes on a weekly basis. I helped him get through his parents' divorce at age ten, tutored him when he almost failed math at thirteen, and became his first kiss at fourteen. That's why I'm his girlfriend, you stupid whores.

Yep, the nerd can get the jock.

Stan stops at his usual table and drops off his overloaded backpack with Kyle Broflovski and Kenny McCormick before stepping behind me in line. "Hey," he whispers, leaning in to kiss my cheek. I meet his mouth with mine, our lips parting for a brief moment. He wraps his arms around me from behind and gently nibbles my earlobe.

Hmm. Stan is usually pretty prudish about kissing me in public, so if he's acting like this, something good must have happened. "Did you just ace a test or something?"

"Nope," he replies, his eyes half-lidded. He jams his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a small square package. Trojan.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"My parents are gone all weekend," he breathes. "We have the house to ourselves."

I can't believe it. We've been planning this for a while, but we could never find an extended period of time during which one of our houses was free. Even though he just got his driver's license, and we're two responsible seventeen-year-olds, our parents won't even consider letting me and Stan drive down to a B&B by the lake for the weekend. My dad would have an aneurism if he knew that Stan and I are ready to…well, you know.

Have sex.

There, I said it.

Anyway, back to Stan, who's being completely un-Stan-like. "First some PDA, then pulling out a condom in the middle of school?" I poke him playfully. "Who are you and what did you do with my boyfriend?"

He blushes and puts the condom back in his pocket. "You're always telling me to be more assertive…"

I capture his lips in a kiss. "Mmm-hmm. It's not a bad thing." Stan flashes his pearly whites and envelops my hand in his. We move forward in the line a bit. "Hey, Stan?"

"Yeah?"

"You love me, right?"

Ouch. As soon as I ask it, I wish I could take it back. His smile sours, a pained expression taking over his features. "This isn't the place to talk about that, Wendy."

"I just…" I sigh, trying hard not to come off as a bitch. "I don't want to rush things if you don't feel strongly enough about me."

Stan looks flummoxed. His hand drops from mine, and his eyes dart around nervously, trying to see if anyone is looking. "Are you breaking up with me?"

I take his hand again. "Look, just forget about it. I'm having a weird day—"

"Because, you know, I'm trying to be as respectful to you as possible. I don't want to say I'm madly in love with you and then something happens and…" He looks down. "I don't want to hurt you."

Jesus. Why is he so damn nice all the time?

I look him straight in the eye. "I get it, Stan. Like I said, something weird happened, and I wanted to make sure you're really in this for the long haul. And of course you are, and I never should've doubted you." I grabbed two trays, handing him one with a small smile.

He eyes me warily. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but, uh, what, happened today?"

"I'll tell you," I say, grabbing a small salad and some OJ, "but you have to promise not to get mad."

He piles up his tray with two slices of pizza, a chocolate chip cookie, and a carton of milk. When he sees my reaction, he replaces the cookie with an apple. "It depends on what it is."

"Alright." As the lunch lady rings up my food, I procure the letter from my bag. "Here you go."

Stan reads it and frowns. "What is this?"

"A love letter to me, apparently. I found it in my locker."

"I see." He scans the room. "One of these bastards is trying to steal my girlfriend."

I roll my eyes. What is he going to do about it, anyway? It's highly unlikely that a guy with a Save-the-Whales t-shirt and a journal full of sad goth poetry stashed in his closet is going to beat someone up anytime soon. "Just let it be. There's no point in figuring out who did it unless I'm interested in him, which I'm not."

"Fine." He jams his hand into his front pocket and gestures for me to follow him.

"What, you want me to sit with you?" I usually sit with Bebe and the rest of my friends, and on the rare occasion that I do sit with Stan's little clan, arguments ensue. Always.

"Yeah, I do," he says. Aw, how sweet. "I don't trust any of the guys here alone with you." Okay, maybe not.

"Stan!" But it's too late. We're standing at the table. I can't just leave now. That would be rude.

Damn my social etiquette.

Stan plonks himself down in a huff, biting into his apple with all the fury of…well, a guy whose girlfriend has another suitor.

"Don't forget to chew," I mutter. He shoots me a look.

"Uh oh, trouble in paradise?" Kenny jokes, flipping his shaggy blonde hair to the side.

Kyle stares at me— No, through me. "You're breaking up again, aren't you." He says this in a monotone, more as a statement than a question.

I find this offensive. Sure, Stan and I have broken up a number of times, but it's gotten a lot better over the past year. Kyle seems to be a grudge-holder, and even though we get along perfectly well when we're doing a project or working on the school paper, he's pretty protective of Stan, his "super best friend." Ugh. That's the annoying thing about dating Stan: I've never doubted that he cares about me, but it's so obvious that if Kyle were a girl, Stan would be head-over-heels. Thank God Stan is the straightest guy I know.

"We're not breaking up," I inform him.

"Then why is Stan doing that?" Kyle retorts, arching an eyebrow.

I look at Stan. He's pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut, a habit usually reserved for special occasions—when he loses a game, or when Kyle punches Cartman in the face, or when his dad tries to become a celebrity chef…

"Why are you freaking out about this?" I murmur, nudging him softly.

Kyle looks genuinely concerned. "Freaking out about what, dude?"

"This," Stan replies bitterly, sliding the piece of paper across the table.

Kyle picks it up and carefully examines the note. His brow furrows, ruddy curls wilting into his face. He pushes them away and looks up, perplexed. "I don't understand what this is."

I begin. "Someone put a—"

"Some 'tard put a love letter in Wendy's locker!" Stan exclaims. "'Cause apparently it's totally cool to do that to someone's girlfriend."

"Do you know who wrote it?" Kyle asks quietly.

"Not a fucking clue, Kyle."

"And what about you, Wendy?"

"I don't care," I reply wearily.

"So, what you're telling me, Stan, is that some douchebag likes Wendy, and you don't know who he is, and Wendy doesn't reciprocate his feelings."

"Yeah," Stan mumbles.

"Then I gotta ask, dude, why do you care?"

"Because he could steal Wendy away from me!"

I laugh. I try really hard not to, but it kind of slips out. Stan and Kyle look surprised. "Stanley Randall Marsh, I can't believe you're worried that I'm going to leave you." He looks at me blankly. "Oh, come on, you know the way girls look at you. You could have any pretty girl you want. I wouldn't be surprised at all if one day you threw caution to the wind and got with Red, or Bebe."

"Don't even think about it, man," Kenny interjects, smiling wickedly. It's common knowledge that Kenny and Bebe are fuck buddies. They try to keep it under wraps—hell, Bebe even denies it to me—but the color of the lipstick smears that magically appear on Kenny's neck after he and Bebe "go to the library" during study hall coincidentally match up with Bebe's trademark fire-engine red lips. And they think we're the stupid ones. I guess it's true what they say about blondes… They're dumb, and they have more fun.

Stan blushes for the second time today. "I don't know if all that is true…"

"Sure, dude, whatever," Kyle snorts. "Not like the quarterback gets all the girls or anything."

Thankfully, this tangent to our conversation leads off in a whole new direction, and everyone forgets about the letter…until, of course, Cartman comes and ruins everything. What else is new?

He struts into the caf after a few minutes, pushing Kyle to the edge of the bench in order to sit next to Kenny (possibly the only person besides pathetic little Butters Stotch who can tolerate copious amounts of Cartman). If Kyle is agitated by that, his face doesn't show it, but he's gotten better at ignoring Cartman's obnoxious behavior. He had to, after the Big Fight of '09… I won't get into that now, but let's just say that after getting suspended for a week for kicking the shit out of Cartman, it's in his best interest to keep his anger under control. Although, it should be noted that Kyle gained some serious respect after that; now Cartman is the only one to ever make fun of him for being a Jew.

God. What an asshole.

"'Sup, dudes," Cartman yawns, stretching in such a way that he almost whacks Kyle in the face. He catches my eye and lifts his chin. "Dudette."

Hey, anything is better than hippie. Or bitch.

"Do you really need three hamburgers?" Kyle asks pointedly, glancing at Cartman's tray.

"Yes, Kahl, I do. I burn a lot of calories, you know. I need to keep up my strength."

"You lift weights, Cartman. Not burning too many calories there."

"Just shut your goddamn Jew mouth, okay? I'm way more in shape than you."

Kyle frowns and continues eating. The sad thing is, Cartman is actually buff now. Still pretty chunky, but less fat and more, well, large.

"So," Cartman says, "what'd I miss?"

"Wendy got a love letter," Kenny announces. "And Stan's being a big pussy about it."

Cartman smirks. "I gotta see this." Kyle pushes the note in his direction, and Cartman flips it open. Immediately his smile fades. "Wha… The fuck? Windy got this?"

"What?" I ask sharply.

He looks honestly confused. "This isn't… I mean, you shouldn't…" He notices everyone staring at him and clears his throat. "What I mean to say is, you couldn't possibly have gotten this note. I bet you wrote it yourself."

Kyle's mouth makes a flat line. "What?"

"Seriously, you guys, there's no way Windy Testaburger got a love letter. Who the hell would love her?"

Stan grits his teeth. "One more word, asshole—"

"I didn't write it," I say evenly. "And I don't care who did."

"I do."

"I know you do, Stan."

"I kinda want to know now, too," Kenny adds, leaning forward.

"I'm sure you could figure it out pretty easily if you wanted to," Kyle remarks. "All you'd have to do is ask around, and eventually you'll get to a guy who acts funny, or blatantly denies it in such a way that you know it's him. But it won't be easy. 'There's no way to read a man's mind by looking at his face.'"

"Macbeth," I note.

Cartman folds his arms. "Y'know, I think it could very well be Kahl. He's always so jealous of Windy for spending time with his so-called 'best friend' Stan… Maybe he's actually jealous of Stan for spending time with Windy."

"No," Kyle says.

"And all this time, he's never had a girlfriend because he can't find someone as nerdy as him, when all along it's been right in front of him: Windy!"

"No."

"And now, Kahl, you're trying to get her to look for the source of the letter when, in reality, it's only a cover-up for yourself, you crafty little Jew-rat! Trying to steal your best friend's girlfriend, and then lying about it? Oh, I knew you were devious, Kahl, but not this much. But it makes perfect sense, you and the hippie. You're both liberal assholes, you don't cut your hair, you get off on calculus textbooks… Kahl! Kahl, are you listening to me?"

He snaps his fingers in front of Kyle's face, but Kyle has completely spaced out. We look to see what has Kyle so spellbound. It's Token. His shirt is lifted up, showing off his amazingly toned torso to a couple of giggling sophomores.

Oh, did I forget to mention that Kyle is an unabashed homosexual?

Whoops. Sorry about that.

"So much for Kyle liking Wendy," Kenny snickers.

"It could happen," Cartman mutters.

Stan steals one of Kyle's fries, happily munching away while Kyle continues to stare at Token. "Dude, you don't seem to get that he's gay. Like, he's not interested in girls. At all."

Cartman waves him off. "I know, I know. It's just that it's a lot less fun to call him a fag if he actually is one."

That word snaps Kyle back to attention. "I told you I was gay over a year ago, Cartman. Get over it."

"I can't. It's hard enough to sit at lunch with a daywalker Jew, but a faggot daywalker Jew? That's too much for my po' widdle brain to handle."

Kyle's face turns the color of his hair. "You…" He closes his eyes and blows some hair out of his face. "I'm going to the library for the rest of lunch. Anyone besides the fatass care to join me?"

"Sorry, can't," Stan replies with a grimace. "I have way too many overdue books and I don't feel like dealing with the bitchy librarian today."

"Me too," Kenny pipes up.

"And it's worse for you," Cartman says to Kenny, "since you can't afford to pay the 25-cent late fee."

Kenny looks at Kyle, then at Cartman, then back at Kyle. He lifts his tray. "Fuck this shit, let's go to the library."

Kyle looks back at Stan. "Sure you don't want to come?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I actually have to talk to the coach about some scheduling stuff." Stan squeezes my shoulder and gets up. "You mind taking my tray back, babe?"

"No problem," I say, happy that he's mellowed out a bit.

Once Kyle, Kenny, and Stan are gone, I'm left with Cartman. Alone.

"Why didn't you go to the library with them?" Cartman questions, narrowing his eyes. "Don't you, like, live there?"

"Are you kidding? I'm not going anywhere with Kenny and Kyle. Can you imagine? All I'd hear is, 'Whoa, did you see Clyde in those jeans yesterday?' 'Oh, yeah, totally, so hot.' 'Guys are awesome.' 'I know, guys are so hot.'"

"That's true. It kinda fucking sucks that Kenny is a fag. I thought he was one of the good ones."

"He's not a 'fag', dick-head. He's bi."

"Same difference." He slurps his milk. Ugh. Table manners, please.

"What, you don't have any names for bisexuals?"

He looks thoughtful for a second. "Um… AC/DC."

"The band?"

"No, like alternating current and direct current."

"I don't get it."

"You know… It goes both ways…"

That makes me chuckle. Eric Cartman made me chuckle. What are the odds? "That's actually pretty clever. I had no idea you knew anything about current. Did you come up with that all by yourself?"

He smiles his smug smile. The one I hate. "Hey, I pay attention in Physics, bitch. I may look like I'm spacing out, but my grades don't lie."

I wouldn't be surprised if he gets straight A's. He's actually a fucking genius. Not that I'd ever admit that to anyone ever. I've never even admitted it to myself before. I don't want to, but it's true. He's done some stupid things in his life, but he's a future CEO if I've ever seen one.

He'll probably become evil dictator of the free world some day.

This is when I realize, wait, I'm having a conversation with Cartman. Not a screaming match, but an actual conversation. Maybe he's not such an asshole.

I finish the rest of lunch with him, and as we head to English, we bump into Kyle and Kenny. "You guys fuck in the reference section?" Cartman sneers.

Yeah, so maybe he's still an asshole.

Kenny starts talking to Cartman, and I fall instep with Kyle. "So," he says offhandedly, "you really don't want to know you wrote that letter?"

"Nope."

"Come on, you do. Admit it. Your brain is currently running through every guy in our grade, wondering who wrote the damn thing. You're an intelligent person, Wendy. And that means you're curious."

He's right. Of course he is. I do want to know. Not because I want to run off with this mystery guy, but because I want to satisfy my curiosity. Kyle knows me all too well.

"What if I help you find the guy?" Kyle whispers. "We don't have to tell anyone what we're doing, especially Stan. It could be like a secret project. We could each try to find the guy, and see who finds him first."

"A little friendly competition?"

"You could say that."

I bite my lip. "And what's your motivation to do all this?"

Kyle grins mischievously. "Isn't it obvious? I want to win."

So? What did you think? Leave a review, friends!

xoxo,
FonicsMonkey