Chapter four: You're rather complex, for a guy

AN: 3702 words. What to say, what to say. I never knew I could have such intense battles with the English language before, but it just goes to show. Now I'm back with a vengeance, and with the holiday in my eye I shall aim to have the next chapter up sooner. If anybody is still with this story (difficult, I can tell by the echo), please accept this chapter along with my eternal, non-transferable thanks.

The subsequent night of sleep was an uneasy one. The playmates that were recurring characters in Kenny's dreams all had their faces contorted to that of Wendy. As such, the unfortunate boy spend the night fending off twelve bunny-eared feminists acting very much like they were on Ketamine, which was more disturbing than it was arousing.

Luckily, when the five-thirty gust came and served as the metaphorical splash of cold water, he had already forgotten all about the dream.

Alone again in his living room, he waited for Cartman to come pick him up. Kenny doubted if the car ride was worth the fifteen minutes of psychopathic abuse, but this particular best friend wasn't a booger you could just thump off. There he was, bashing right through the door and – oh god he's got a knife.

"Cartman, what the..." Kenny demanded as Cartman flicked the blade. Apart from looking dangerous, its nickel grip was touched up with the Gothic engraving of a heart. Its design perfectly matched the skull rings Cartman called 'jewelry', but we know served as knuckle-dusters.

"Isn't it kewl?" Cartman asked. "Lola gave it to me."

"Your girlfriend gave you a switchblade?" Kenny racked his head. "That's just... wrong." But he knew his friend too well to bother explaining. This was what Eric did. A perfect man-at-arms, bred for the bad side of town.

"Just so you know," Cartman picked up as he revved the car, "the four of us are going to Raisins next week."

"What? No dude, I can't. Karen's declining."

Cartman spiked up the gas. "Don't lie to me termite. You've been using that excuse for weeks. No, months."

Kenny snorted. "Have you considered that maybe I don't want to make public appearances with Mussolini's retarted nephew. I have a reputation, you know." The mention of this left a pinch in his stomach, and Kenny fell silent, spilled medicine invading his mind like an overdue hangover.

Cartman didn't notice. "Seriosuly Ken, why are you such an asshole all the time?"

Hypocrisy had always been a forte of Cartman. His stint on Weight Watchers proved as much. Kenny just scowled. "Screw Raisins, that's why! Why not hit Denver and find bitches that will actually let us touch them."

Cartman laughed. "Ain't no such bitch in the world, my friend. Not until you can afford some fucking soap."

They parked the car and walked up to the school.

"Now I know you don't have any money, so it's my treat this time. But you better not get used to it. From now on, freeloaders get stabbed." He presented the knife once more. Kenny squirmed.

"And that includes cigarettes. You got that? I'm sick of you leeching of me like some jewish..." Cartman paused mid-sentence- Kenny had vanished. He looked around confused, not so much for the orange blob as for anything to insult. It came within mere seconds, in the form of an approaching girl with a pink beret.

In the school hallways, Kenny had bumped full-force into Craig, who was already marked by a 7-AM-cigarette scent. The boy in black was, though the casual eye would never notice, overloaded with excitement.

"Oh Jesus, Kenny, did you miss something." He smacked his lips, coal jeans flapping around his ankles. "Oh sweet, merciful lord and savior did you. miss. something. They'll be talking about this for years, I promise you."

Kenny glanced nervously over his shoulder. "Spit it out or hit the road, Craig,"

"All right, check this," Craig pulled Kenny next to him and got his cellphone to play a specky recording. A skirt which, by the deliberately uncomfortable chair backs of detention hall, was lifted to reveal a pink strip in-between two skin-colored mounds.

"That's it?" Kenny raised his brow, "that's your great moment? A recording of Millie's asscheeks? What the fuck's the matter with you?" He thumped Craig's shoulder and pulled away from the huddle.

Point five megapixel. That was all Kenny needed to put a name to an ass. Craig, not impressed, hushed him and pulled him back.

The camera shifted to Craig's lap, where lay a bright red tube with a fuse prodding out. A lighter was pushed against it, producing a flame with a single flick. The phone emanated a grungy kind of noise as the video turned to a blur. The last thing Kenny picked up was a spot of red flying low past desk-like shapes and through a doorway, finished by a pang and an hysterical wail.

"So," Craig was grinning five rows of teeth, "slick, huh?"

Kenny's face didn't commit, though a ghost of a smile was noticeable. "Who was that screaming bloody murder?"

"Heidi Turner, dude. Thing said 'bang' right at her feet and it startled her to tears. No jokes."

"Did they catch you?"

Craig shook his head before letting it drop. "I am sorry to say they didn't. I'll have to land

new detention some other way."

"Hey Ki-nny- whatcha watchin'?"

Kenny jumped three feet when the girl's voice addressed him. Relax, Ken. It's only Rebecca, with her voice so drawlingly coy and cherry, not shrill and demanding.

"Lemme see," Red asked. There was no reply, only a blank stare. "Oi, my eyes are up here!"

"I'll take your word for it," Kenny replied, at which Red huffed and turned away.

"She digs me."

"Totally."

Like usual, the day's classes were dreadful. Mr Locke, who still left the competition eating his dust in the rally for most hated teacher, had decided to disagree with the principal on her given punishment, and that an afternoon of detention would be in order. And so, at three-fifteen, while torrents of teens trampled each other to get home, Kenny was left pushing against the grain to get to detention hall up on first floor, aka Death Row. He thought of Karen. Maybe, hopefully, she wouldn't wake up before he got home.

Barely in sight of the class he already got to the first commotion. Craig, of the specked recordings and self-idolizing badassry, was slowly shrinking to a puddle, all the while pleading and clinging to the suspenders of a very stern-faced teacher. "There's no way. I have to have detention today. I need to be disciplined."

But the teacher was relentless. "You're not on the list, so I can't let you in."

"Please sir," Craig begged, "please. I know I can better myself. I know I can. Please don't give up on me like all the others."

"Oh chrissake Craig, grow up." Behind him a girl hissed and tapped her feet, hair so blonde it hurt and a hip-to-waist ratio in the triple digits: Bebe Stevens.

Kenny nodded to the pair of them and walked past. Craig dripped off in defeat, Bebe followed Kenny into the classroom and took an adjacent seat. "So what are you in for, champ?"

"Harassment," Kenny fantasized. "Total bullshit. She came on to me first."

Bebe chuckled. "But of course. What stuck-up bitch would say no to you, aye?"

And for a moment they shared a silent look, just before, as irony would have it, she made her entrance.

"Wendy!" Bebe called, happy by default. "What are you doing here? You're not on the list."

Wendy raised an eyebrow. "You mean the roll-call list that's locked away in a desk and strictly forbidden for students to look at?"

"That's the one," Bebe smiled. "Oh don't give me that look. Students deserve to know which of their peers are a bad influence," she glanced sideways at Kenny, who was staring at the both of them. He never could grasp how those two had been best friends all these years. But then again, he never understood how he and Cartman ended up together either.

"No doubt," said Wendy. "Do you mind? I was actually here to have a few words with Kenny."

"Oh, that sounds important. I shall humbly shut up."

Wendy leaned in and started talking in tones hushed and furtive. "I couldn't help but feel you were avoiding me, so I wanted to double-check you wouldn't 'forget' our agreement. I'm still expecting you at my house at eight PM sharp, well-fed, well-clothed and well-smelling. You will have with you your history and trigonometry books, and a free schedule up till ten-thirty at least, at which time I will offer you an option of snacks, soda and smalltalk."

Kenny sat frozen, taking it in and scanning for loopholes. "How'd you get past checkpoint Charlie anyway?" He pointed at the teacher, who was currently barking at a freshman and batting his ruler and enjoying the hell out of it.

"I have my ways. What I also wanted to set straight with you was your snack preference. I'd like you to at least pretend to be happy for all the hours you're stuck with me."

"Anything not past expiration's fair game," Kenny spat. He wasn't planning to play along with any of her games. No matter how small, she wouldn't get anymore victories.

Wendy finally left a good forty minutes later, now bearing the McCormick family tree with favorite pastime refreshments of twelve generations and, admittedly, victory.

"What was that all about?" Bebe asked curiously as Kenny slackened in his desk.

"Tits," he said curtly. "What else?"

He was grouchy all the way home and because of it, he may have jumped the gun when he got to his house. At the McCormick dinner table, all his family members were seated around the table. And this included the youngest of the set, Karen.

Concluding the worst, Kenny went straight for his father's throat. "What the hell? Way to fuck things up, dad." His father just peered at him, through them same old liquor curtains, nonplussed. "You know Karen's unwell, and you still made her come down just because you were too god-damn lazy to climb one set of stairs?" he raised his arms, near-disgusted.

Stuart finally realized he was being shouted at. "Oi, only your mother can take that tone, got that? And I didn't make 'er do nothing. She came down 'erself, aint that so?"

Carol nodded. Kenny's eyes shifted too Karen, and he softened. "Dammit, Ka. You are supposed to stay in bed 'til you feel better."

"I do feel better," Karen threw in. "When you said I wouldn't have to take that stuff anymore, that helped."

She said this most earnestly. Reverse placebo, Kenny thought, and he wondered if his sister could be lying. "All the more reason to take it easy. Turnabout can go either way."

"No," Karen's voice turned loud and shrill. "How can I take it easy when we're already struggling to get by? All I hear is that we 'need money to help Karen', and I hate it! You just have to stop worrying so much about me, all right? I can't take it anymore."

And then Kenny knew that she was speaking the truth. She was still fading, but it wasn't physical no more. Mentally, that's where she was growing worse. He could tell from the stardust on her cheeks.

Kenny sighed. "Fine then. But I leave at eight, and you better be asleep before that."

Humans, as a species, are not logical. We plot and make priorities and think about the stupid stuff we'd never do, then toss it straight out the window when our renegade brain feels like it.

Take, for example, Kenny on his way to the Testaburger household. He had, like many of us often do, promised himself beforehand he had enough to worry about, and that he wasn't allowing himself any irrational fears this night. Still, walking there in the snow, he was twiddling his thumbs at the thought of a certain event: Facing Mr. Testaburger

Judging by his daughter, odds were he would meet a respectable, tie-wearing gent, nothing like his own dad. And honestly, he just couldn't deal with that first impression, the one he was all too familiar with. The foul look; the wrinkling nose; that awkward greeting as fatherly alarm bells would make him think one thing only: I'm not letting you anywhere near my daughter.

He needn't have worried, however. Wendy would later reveal that her parents got divorced a few years ago, and her mother was always on the night shift these days. For now, she was home alone, greeting her guest with an amused twinkle in her eye. "Well I'll be. Look what the cat dragged with."

Kenny chaffed. "only street rats, I'm sure," he said, careful as he walked into this, in his mind, spotless home.

With Wendy's help, he shrugged off his jacket and pack, then followed the hostess into her living room where he was gestured to the couch, Wendy taking place on an old armchair herself. Sitting down, the first thing he noticed were the paper cartons with foreign lettering, invitingly spread out on the coffee table in front of him. Chinese takeout, catching his attention with the seasoned smell of meatballs and cardboard.

"Go ahead," Wendy said by means of explanation. "Just in case you, you know, didn't have time to eat at home."

Kenny looked at the food with a hundred Celsius in his eyes. The silence was prolonged, tilting into a noodle-flavored staredown of sorts. Finally Kenny ripped open the first of the cartons, seemingly hating himself for it. "Fine then," he said. "But for a girl, you're not really subtle."

"And you're rather complex, for a guy."

It wasn't long until our starving boy was finished with the Chinese. He resisted habitually wiping his hands on the couch and instead accepted a tissue from Wendy, who now rested her chin in her hands, trying to stare into him as deep as she could. "So," she opened with a frown, "what's in it for you..."

Kenny let the tissue pass his lips before tossing it with the empty cartons. "Whatcha mean?"

"Well you're not here because you want to, that much is clear. So, in your own words, why are you?"

Kenny's eyes tore away and started darting around the room. The stern tapestry, the abstract paintings, the couch he was sitting on. All was modern, streamlined like turbojets or the knick-knacks you find at hospitals. Meant to be practical, not comfortable. No warmth, at least not on the outside.

He answered her bitingly. "Well, you were gonna make my life livin' hell if I didn't, weren't you?"

Wendy looked away, a little embarrassed. "I was afraid you'd say that," and with little prelude she added, "I'm the bitch, right?"

"Your words, not mine."

"It's all right," she assured, "I am. It's just that," she paused, "I think I have more going for you than you may think. I wonder if I can convince you of that."

"Go ahead. Not like I'm going anywhere," Kenny said, insinuating and with a hint of dare. He was drawing her out now, waiting for his chance to plug the knife.

"Let's paint a little picture," Wendy adjusted herself more upright in her seat, "What I'm seeing is a lot of rust. So much of it actually, I can almost smell it. It's like, an old folks home metal or something," Kenny huffed and rolled his eyes, but Wendy took little notice. "And in this garage, because that's what it is, we find a man. He's pretty young still, and would look rather handsome if it wasn't for all the tears and oil stains in his clothes. And this man is hard at work. Lifting and straining and getting his head smashed in by engine parts three times a week and all for just twenty-thousand yearly. Luckily, he doesn't mind that lead poisoning is perpetually killing his lungs and muscles because, in his own mind, he is a right total badass."

A short pause. "You know what I call this picture?" Wendy took in another lungful of air, "'best case scenario'."

She was finished, and Kenny genuinely couldn't control a mocking chuckle. "No way!" he grinned. "That was the money shot? The old taco-bender story from Hollywood I've heard a million times since last weeks?"

Wendy kept rigid. "Yes. Only this time it's not a story," it was the way she said it that made the laughter stop. "Now you can either keep this up, have some broad carry your son and continue the cycle, OR you can decide to follow my lead and break out of it right now," she took to spreading her arms in a half-baked spoof of some modern messiah. It probably turned out more surreal than she'd wanted it to be. "It's time to make promises, and I'm making one to you now."

A silence came between them, and for defining seconds there was nothing but thought. Then Kenny's mouth opened again, quite abruptly. "What sets you apart?"

"Excuse me?"

"All those teachers, those tutors, the guys on TV. They're all claiming they will help me if I'm prepared to change, but I found out none of them know shit," Kenny was finding himself more and more engaged. "You've got a lot of sweet talk, but I want to know, what's your pitch? What have you got that all of them don't?"

"Ah," Wendy put a finger on her lips as her voice obtained an enigmatic flair, "the ace in the hole. Well you'll just have to wait and see, wont you?"

Kenny then saw something that hadn't been there earlier today. A necklace, the pendant of which was resting on her chest. It looked like a kind of flower, a waterlily perhaps, cast out in silver. Funny how he didn't notice it earlier.

"You know what," Kenny decided at long last, "I'm with you 'till I proof you a hack."

His agreement was met with a smile, warm and promising. "Good. That's more than I hoped for from you," Wendy said as she rose. As she got up, Kenny noticed her armchair was the only piece of vintage furniture the Testaburger's had, looking out of tone with the rest of the room. An heirloom perhaps?

"Now, time to get busy." She grabbed the old backpack, sat down on the couch and heaved out the first of the books.

As she was searching for the right page number Kenny started wondering again. "Hey Wendy?"

"Hmm?"

"What's in it for you?"

She flinched a little, losing track of the pages. However, she was quick to answer. "Doing the right thing is reward enough for me," she smiled serenely before adding, "hard to believe, huh?"

For Kenny, it was indeed. "But then, why me? I mean, there's plenty of starving Africans and little orphan girls that aren't total assholes to you. So then why you waste time hoisting jerks like me out of the trailer park?"

Wendy tapped her chin, intrigued and amused by Kenny's self-reflection. "Good question. Why do we fly to the moon?"

Kenny looked at her quizzically. "I dunno. 'Cause the Russians do?"

"Because we can," Wendy answered. "I mean, anyone can bring food to an African orphan, and there's plenty that do. But when it comes to, quote unquote, 'jerks like you', most prefer paying them some welfare booze to keep to themselves, because they're written off as stinking, uncivilized hillbillies who'd rather shoot beer cans with a sawed-off," she halted for a moment, just to see if the imagery she painted had hit home. "You're a challenge. A very smelly, but also rather fun, challenge."

"Wow," Kenny scratched his head, "all that for karmic masturbation then?"

"Well, I think it's worth it," Wendy concluded steadfastly, "I'll believe in you even if you don't."

You know, I think that even then, Kenny must have known that there was something you weren't telling him. Something small, something that wouldn't even have mattered should you have told it straight away. You know, about why you were doing this. Honestly I don't see why you needed to withhold that little detail. I mean, I get why, but I don't agree with it. It was just so starry-eyed for your doing. Too fairytaily.

It's good to see that it didn't bother you though. You could still sit close to him, enjoy the conditional trust he had placed in you and fulfill your misrepresented intentions without ever feeling guilty.

Seriously Wends, how could you?

It was ten-thirty rather quickly, and the teens could proudly say that they had spend their time working with maximum efficiency. At the end of it all, Kenny was actually thinking there may be hope for him yet, though he still felt rather squirmy at the notion.

"Guess that's it for tonight," said Wendy. "So, you feel like breaking open a bag of chips? Catch some nighttime programming?"

"Nah I'm fine," Kenny decided, then got second thoughts, "that wasn't a trick question, was it?"

"No," Wendy admitted, chewing her bottom lip. "It wasn't. You're free to go."

A bit reluctant she guided him out, fetching his coat and pack. They were already in the doorway before Wendy remembered something. "Oh, before you leave, you need to come see me during lunch tomorrow."

Kenny perked up and scowled. "Why?" he bit. "What for?"

Wendy smiled, not all to bothered by Kenny's anger at the prospect of lunchtime labor. She knew he'd be pissed, and she knew he'd show regardless. So she smiled. "You'll see."

Behind his back, Kenny flipped her off.