InsaneJournal

“Because it’s Craig’s birthday, and we always play Sardines at his party, that’s why.”

“Bt ll th grls lft...” Kenny grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest and kicking the wall in front of him.

“Dude, don’t kick shit, they’ll find us faster.” Stan sighs as he leans back, ducking under a shelf to rest on the wall. “And I know, it sucks that the girls went home before we started playing. Squishing up against only guys is...”

“Gy.”

“Yeah,” Stan says with a nod. “Really, really gay. You didn’t have to hide in a closet, though.”

“Hy, fck y! F I ddn’t hd n a clsd spc, w’d hv t crm tgthr clsr t sty hddn!”

“Good point.”

The closet door swings open, revealing Craig’s blank face. Without a word, he steps in, closes the door, and leans on the wall next to Stan. Stan raises his eyebrows and looks at him without turning his head.

“Craig, if you’re bored, why are we playing this?”

Craig flips him off. Sighing again, Stan slides his feet out to butt up against the opposite wall, and groans, “This stupid closet isn’t even big enough to sit down comfortably.”

For a few minutes, there’s nothing but silence. Kenny fiddles with the ends of his parka’s drawstrings, and Stan and Craig stand still against the back wall. Finally, Craig mutters a strained, “Just the fucking hall closet, how hard is it to find?” Before Stan can respond, a slat of light shines in from the doorway and a vivid green hat pokes in.

“Kyle,” Stan sighs once more, “get in here and close the door.”

The door shuts with a muffled click against the back of Kyle’s jacket. “You guys look bored.”

“We are bored,” Craig says in a monotone, scratching the edge of his nose with his middle finger.

“Wht’s tkng vryn s lng?”

“They’re all looking outside now. I tried to get some of them to come inside with me, but Cartman insisted he saw Stan’s hat behind some trees.” Kyle’s frame goes tight, eyebrows drawing deep creases over his eyes. “Dumbass.”

“That’s Cartman.” Stan pushes himself off the wall and starts wedging himself in front of Craig. Through some pushing and a couple cries of “Fucking fag!” he manages to squeeze past and resume his leaning next to Kyle. “So what do we do now?”

“What do you mean ‘what do we do?’ We wait for everyone except Butters to find us, like every other time, and then we start all over again.”

“Dude, I don’t want to play anymore.”

“Y nvr wntd t ply,” Kenny hollers from his far corner.

“Me neither,” Craig adds, and all three turn wide eyes to him.

Kyle leans across Stan to glare at him. “But this is your party! We’re playing this because of you!”

“Hey, I never wanted to play this game, not even when we were ten,” Craig responds levelly, his voice still tired. “Butters always suggests it, and Stan agrees because he has a boner for Wendy or Token or something. Blame him.”

Kyle’s glare is redirected up at the boy next to him, and Stan can’t help but tilt his head away just a bit. “Thanks a lot, dude.”

“I didn’t agree this year,” Stan mutters. There’s no response. Kyle fumes beside him, Craig absently picks at his fingernails, and Kenny’s face is completely obscured by his cinched hood. Stan wishes boredom felt nicer.

The next time the door opens, both Token and Clyde slip in and scramble past Kyle and Stan. In low tones, Clyde starts telling them how he saw Bebe’s bra when he went to her house for their group project, and soon the whole of the closet is buzzing with dirty jokes and choked laughter. Stan catches phrases here and there, snickering when Kenny mentions a “fr-fngrd ssg rckt”. He’s just about to pipe up with his own favorite story when Kyle nudges his shoulder.

“Bail?”

The horror of the situation floods back into him, and Stan nods with no hesitance. “Definitely. What are you planning?”

“Just wait,” Kyle says with a smug smile. “I’ll take care of everything.”

“Awesome... hey, did I ever tell you about Butters telling Heidi he wanted to munch her rug?”

“Oh man, I love that one! I can’t believe I was absent that day.”

“Want to hear it again?”

“Dude. Of course.”

Stan’s halfway through his story (So Butters goes, “I’m sorry, do you have a bare box?”) when the door flies open and a thick “Aha!” booms through the tight space. Kyle tumbles away from the intrusion, slamming into Stan’s shoulder, and growls, “Goddamnit, Cartman!”

“What’s wrong, Jew, did I interrupt your faggy little tea party?”

“Like you’re one to talk, fat ass!”

“Pfft, whatever, sorry you have so much sand in your vagina,” Cartman says as he plants one hand on Kyle’s arm and shoves him further to the side.

Stan coughs as Kyle’s elbow digs into his stomach, his other side pressing flush against Token, and gasps, “Cartman, what the hell are you doing?”

“Making space for myself, what does it look like?”

“Cartman, cut it out!” Clyde yells from somewhere between Craig and Token. “The ceiling slants down! We can’t fit any further over!”

“Well, I can’t fit here, goddamnit!” Cartman shouts back. He gives one more hard shove, and a wet crack slices through the noise. All the boys turn to see Kenny’s head tilted, wedged against the low ceiling, his neck snapped. Stan spins around to face Cartman, mouth hanging open.

“Oh my god, you killed Kenny!

“You bastard!”

“Nuh, no I didn’t, you guys,” Cartman whines as he shimmies his fat middle into the space he made.

“Yes, Cartman, yes you did.” Kyle launches himself off of Stan and pokes an extended finger into the roll bulging out from under Cartman’s arm.

“Nuh uh, I didn’t even touch him.”

“You pushed us!”

Stan grabs on to Kyle’s upper arms, pulling him as far back as he can manage in the cramped space, and says softly, “Dude, don’t let him get to you. Ignore him.”

“How can I ignore something the size of Africa?!”

“Ey! Don’t call me fat, you donkey-fucking Jew rat!”

“I didn’t! Fat doesn’t even begin to cover how huge you are!”

The door opens once more, the knob sinking into Cartman’s gut, and Kyle laughs maniacally.

“W-well hello there, f-f-f-fellas.” Jimmy flashes the cramped closet a bright smile. “Got any r-room for m-m-muh-maaaah-me?”

Everyone groans in unison. They shift further into the closet, a tangle of waving arms and red faces, wiggling until there’s a small gap just large enough for Jimmy to fit into. The sheer crunched mass of bodies slams the door closed the instant he moves into place. Arms pinned between his chest and Kyle’s, Stan scrunches his eyes closed and exhales loudly. “This can’t get any worse.”

Kyle grins and bends his arm down from over their heads to pinch the bridge of Stan’s nose for him. For a moment, Stan quashes his annoyance and grins back at his best friend, but his snickers are forced out of his lungs as the door opens and everyone shifts to make room. He can’t see the newcomer, but he can smell him – DogPoo. “Aw awww!” he cries as the crunch tightens and the door slams.

“Great,” Kyle says with an edge of anxiety. “We can barely breathe, and now what we can get smells like shit.”

“You realize,” Stan starts, casting a worried glance around the closet. “You realize we have to fit one more person in here? Butters, Tweek, or...”

Right on cue, the doorknob jiggles and an excited “Timmy!” sounds from just outside. “Oh no,” Kyle says, his voice sliding louder and louder. “No, no, no, no!”

The door opens and Kyle throws himself towards it, sending DogPoo headfirst into Timmy’s knees and Jimmy and Cartman to the floor in front of him. Timmy shouts, stunned, and wheels away from the closet just in time to avoid the rest of the boys stumbling out. From the ground, Cartman takes a swing at Kyle’s balls, but Stan manages to yank him away just in time. “Goddamn you, Kyle!” Cartman screams as he struggles to his feet. “You ruined the game!”

“Fuck the game, dude! I couldn’t take it in there anymore!”

“Aw shucks, did I lose again?” Butters says, rubbing his knuckles together and peeking down from the staircase.

“No, Tweek didn’t find us either,” Clyde answers, and Tweek yelps from right behind him.

“I was headed this way!”

“Doesn’t matter,” says Token with a thoughtful look back at the open closet door. “You weren’t in there with us.”

“S-s-so then, who’s i-it?”

“Duh!” Cartman points into the closet accusingly. “Kenny’s still it.”

“Kenny can’t be it, you idiot, you killed him!”

“Shut up, Jew!”

“It’s not my fault your fat fucking ass crushed him to death!”

“Guys, guys!” Stan moves to stand between them. “We should just pick someone else to be it.”

“I vote Kyle,” Cartman snaps, and Kyle clenches his fists.

“You can’t make me it just because you hate Jews, Cartman.”

“I’m not, Kyyyyle,” Cartman says, his voice slathered with insincere innocence. “You should be it because you’re the one that ruined the gaaaaaame.”

“He’s right, dude,” Stan concedes, and he catches a brief smirk on Kyle’s face before he scowls.

“Fine,” Kyle says in a huff. “Whatever.”

The other boys file out the front door to count to a hundred, Clyde already telling stories about the wonders of Bebe’s bedroom again, and Stan glances back only to see Kyle positively beaming at him. Outside, he only gets to twenty-four before he spots Kyle leaning out from behind the house, waving silently. Stan snaps a small nod back and turns his attention back to Clyde’s frantic pantomime of Bebe bending over for something, counting just loud enough to let the others hear. At his shout of “One hundred!” the stories stop and the boys flood back into the house, scattering up the stairs, into the kitchen, towards the back door. Stan turns on his heel, striding over to the edge of the house, and waits for Kyle to come sprinting up to him.

Kyle bumps Stan with his shoulder as they walk down the street, away from Craig’s house. “How was my acting? Did I fool you?”

“No way, dude. You can’t fool me.”

“Liar.” Stan watches the word puff out from Kyle’s lips, billowing white in the crisp winter air. “I had you for a second.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They walk in amiable silence for a moment, jacket sleeves rustling against each other with every step they take. Kyle laughs under his breath, and Stan raises his eyebrows.

“What?”

“They’re going to be so pissed at me.”

“They’ll be pissed at both of us.” Stan shrugs. “And who cares?”

“Yeah.”

At the stoplight, they pause. “So,” Kyle says with a brightness in his voice that wasn’t there before, “where to now?”

Stan squints up at the sun and bares his teeth in a fierce grin. “Let’s raid Cartman’s house for snacks and go up the hill back there. We can watch them look for us.”

Kyle can’t help but cackle. “Perfect.”