Call It What You Want To - Style

06. Wendy

It's embarrassing to admit, but Kyle can't look at Stan for too long without spiraling. When he thinks of Stan, he thinks of Wendy. He thinks of how he abandoned him. It's not that big of a deal, he tells himself. But why is he so upset over it?

He can't face Stan. He can't talk to him. He just... He can't. He doesn't know why. He can't. It's awkward, avoiding your best friend. But it's better than facing him. Call Kyle a coward; he doesn't care. This is better.

Stan seems to get the hint by lunch. Between ignoring him in the periods they have together and between classes in the halls, Stan gives up and sits with Wendy again.

The rest of the day goes by painfully slow. Kyle never realized how much his enjoyment of a day depended on his best friend.

Kenny pulls up to his house at 9:30 in a truck that's even more ragged and battered than Stan's. One of those old two-seaters that are half rust, half chipped paint with mud caked around the fenders and doors that sound like an animal screeching and feel like they could pop right off if you pulled hard enough. Kyle swears he can see a plume of dirt and dust follow the door as it turns on its hinges.

Kenny's still dressed in his day clothes from school, and Kyle's glad to see that because he is too. He didn't feel any need to dress up. Unless... Will Stan be there? Not that he wants to dress up for Stan, but maybe just to show off. He doesn't need him, even though he totally, definitely does. It doesn't matter, though, because Kenny's already started driving.

"You good?" Kenny says after a few minutes of silence. His head's still facing the road, but his eyes flicker to Kyle.

Kyle bites the inside of his cheek before swallowing his thoughts. He can't tell Kenny. He nods casually, turning to look out the window. "Yeah. 'M good." In his peripheral vision, he can see Kenny turn to him, but he doesn't say anything, so Kyle doesn't either.

They're at Tolkien's house within ten minutes. When Kyle gets out, he doesn't turn to see Stan's farmhouse, where this all started. He just walks forward, past the weed field, past people making out on the porch, and through the door.

It's surprisingly like what TV makes high school parties out to be. There's loud music, far too loud for anyone to genuinely enjoy, people are crowded into Tolkien's living room, some dancing lazily, but most are just sitting around with drinks in their hands and talking to friends, and it absolutely reeks of alcohol. The lights are dim, and other lights are set up somewhere, so the whole house is tinted purple. He can barely see, barely hear, and barely think. It feels... good. To not be stuck with your own thoughts.

He hesitantly steps further into the crowd and soon finds himself among Clyde and Tolkien.

"Cool party," Kyle nods because he has no idea what to say at parties. Tolkien nods back with appreciation.

Clyde holds a tilted blue can out towards Kyle with a raised eyebrow. He considers it for a second before shaking his head with a "Nah" that comes out utterly silent under the din of the partygoers and music. He's seen what alcohol can do to a person, from the many times Stan's shown up at his door drunk out of his mind and crying and from Stan's dad. It's rude to say, sure, but it's true. Kyle has never once felt comfortable in the presence of Randy Marsh. Clyde shrugs, and it looks like he says, "Suit yourself," but Kyle can barely hear himself, let alone others. He takes a swig of the drink, and his face contorts weirdly. Kyle can tell he's pretending to like it, the way he looks back with a gritting grin and a nod. It's so obvious he doesn't.

Tolkien's already gone by now, and Clyde, too, has disappeared into the endless void of drunks.

Then, a hand grips Kyle's shoulder and flips him around. It takes a second for the dizziness from the force of the spin to subside, but when it does, Kyle sees a sickeningly familiar sea of black hair. Stan opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, a whiny voice goes first.