InsaneJournal

Stan flips his pencil over his knuckles, chin resting in his other hand. Twenty minutes into his college education and he’s already bored. There’s a sudden loud rustling, and he jumps when Kyle reaches over and flips his syllabus to the next page. Kyle scribbles something on the edge of the page before turning back to his own packet.

‘This is gonna suck.’

They look at each other out of the corners of their eyes. Stan just nods. Up at the blackboard, a short, stout man with wispy gray hair and a large belly sagging out around his suspenders scrawls ‘First lecture: Wed 9/24’.

“Is everyone clear on how this class is going to go?” he asks. One hand rises far off in the left corner, and if he squints, Stan can make out a head of neatly waved blond hair.

“Will the curving be based around a bell or simply skewed to make the highest score a hundred?” Stan wrinkles up his nose in disgust. Kyle turns to him and sticks his tongue out.

“Well now, that depends on how hard all of you try, I’d say,” the teacher says with a throaty chuckle. “If you give it your all, I’ll go with the skewing.”

Stan writes on the edge of his paper just beneath Kyle’s message and flicks the packet towards his friend.

‘If I fail Chem, can I still graduate?’

The teacher’s voice slips louder as he declares, “I’ll see you all in a week and a half,” and as everyone shuffles their papers into bags, Kyle jabs Stan in the arm. “You won’t fail.”

“I won’t?”

“Nah,” Kyle says, and he tucks both of their packets into his backpack. “I won’t let you.”

“Sweet. Thanks.”

Once they’ve left the classroom, Kyle adds, “By the way, we don’t have this class again until the middle of next week because the prof, Mr. Clayton, is going to some conference thing.”

“Where’s my next class?”

“Ugh. How should I know?”

Stan looks at him with a lopsided smile.

“Fine, fine, it’s in Coats 105, Introduction to Philosophy. I’m in it too, so we can go together.”

“Spaz.”

“Fuck you!”

--------------------------------------------------

“Now, when I said you should go to Drancy, I just meant you should visit the area around Paris.”

“No, Cartman. You were ripping on me for being Jewish. Again.”

Stan rubs his eyes hard. “Haven’t you guys gotten sick of this yet? Let it go.”

“Yes,” Cartman says, his face scrunching up with glee. “Just let it go.”

“I will when you stop doing this!”

“Doing what, Kyle?”

Pulling on the earflaps of his hat, Kyle chokes back a yell. “You somehow weasel your way into the same college as me, you manage to take the same section of the same social science I’m in, and you redirect a class discussion on Descartes into antisemitism!”

“I wish I hadn’t signed up for Philosophy,” Stan grumbles. Kyle whirls on him with angry eyes.

“You’d leave me to deal with fatass alone?”

“Ey!”

Stan pauses long enough to let the redness in Kyle’s cheeks spread across his face before he answers, “No.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Cartman sputters.

“What the hell took you so long to answer?” Kyle demands.

“Can we please just go get lunch?”

Kyle walks a little faster. “Fine.”

Cartman fails to hide his genuine smile. “About time.”

“Who said you could come?”

“Shut up, Jew!”

Stan shuts out their bickering and pushes on towards the main cafeteria on campus. At some point, Cartman mentions his late night American Lit class tomorrow, and Kyle practically screams in frustration.

“Stan,” he gasps, “is there any space left in your afternoon section?”

Shaking his head, Stan says, “You know there isn’t. I whined about being stuck alone, and you told me to get over it. It’s just one class. Remember?”

“I didn’t know Cartman would be in the night section then!”

“What’s wrong, Kyle?” Cartman says languidly. “I certainly hope you won’t do anything to threaten my academic endeavors.”

They set off again, voices waving high and frantic above the murmur of crossing coeds. Stan watches his feet swing out, straining to keep up with their racing steps. When he catches a lull in the argument, he grabs Kyle’s shoulder and with a forced casual tone asks, “Did you hear about Heaven vs. Hell: Skull Collector? They’re adding a co-op mode.” Thankfully, Kyle takes the bait, pondering how the mechanics will work and whether skull tally bonuses will be shared or individual. Cartman even joins in amicably. By the time they reach the cafeteria, all three are happily discussing possible custom skins – it would be a travesty if they didn’t include the Corporal Bloodribs model from HvH: Spinal Snap – and much to Stan’s relief, the conversation carries them straight through the meal.

Cartman remembers who he’s with just before they split off after lunch and departs with a cry of “Try not to kill Jesus today!”

--------------------------------------------------

“Hello?”

“Hey Kenny.”

“Oh, hey. (who i- -t?) What’s up?”

“Not much. Kyle’s in Japanese class, so I’m bored.”

“(te-- ---- ----- cal- --ck later) That sucks. (c-m- -n ken--!)”

“Yeah... are you... busy?”

“Hang on.”

A female voice whines, and Kenny says something in a bluntly dismissive tone. A door slams.

“Not busy anymore.”

“Dude, you didn’t have to kick out... wait, who did you kick out?”

“Eh, Red. No big deal. She was overstaying her welcome anyway.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You chose to call me.”

“I’d be hanging out with Kyle if I could.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m aware of where I stand. Anyway?”

“Anyway, I was thinking maybe you could come over and we could play some games or something.”

“Do you have enough controllers for all of us?”

“All of us?”

“Kyle’s Japanese class’s got to let out sometime, and who knows when Cartman will show up?”

“Oh, yeah, we’ve got four. We’re good.”

“Cool.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“... Japanese, huh?”

“He said it’d be easy, since we learned it once before.”

“Why aren’t you taking it?”

“Because most freshman don’t take a foreign language. He’s being a douche.”

“Ah.”

“...”

“... I’ll be right over.”

“Kay.”

--------------------------------------------------

AssMaster thrusts one fist into Raven’s abdomen, sending out a spurt of blood. He pulls out a loop of intestines, and as Raven stumbles backwards, he reels out more, fist over fist, until the guts are wrapped around his arm like a coil of rope. Springing forward, AssMaster flings out a lasso loop of bloody intestine, catching Raven around the neck. He spins, jerks the loop closed, and Raven’s head shoots off like a bottle rocket, dousing the screen in spatters of red.

“Goddamnit Kenny, cut it out!” Stan elbows Kenny in the side.

“Not my fault Raven’s a pussy.”

“That’s such a cheap move.”

“Spoken like a true loser.”

The door squeaks open and Kyle peeks in. “Oh,” he exhales when his eyes land on Kenny, “you guys are playing video games.”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “What did you think was going on?”

“Drop your guard and you’ll just die faster,” Kenny warns as he jams the buttons at a feverish pace.

“I... heard moaning and grunts, and...” Kyle adjusts the backpack strap on his shoulder and shrugs. “Honestly, I thought you’d gotten back with Kia.”

Kenny bursts out laughing, and Stan takes advantage of the distraction to bust Raven’s fist straight through AssMaster’s skull. He whoops with victory, then turns to look at Kyle and says, “It’s been months. I’m over her.”

“Good for you.”

“Yeah, good for you. Rematch or what?”

“Hang on, let me join in,” Kyle says, kicking off his shoes and narrowly missing Kenny’s head with one.

“Sure you don’t need to do some studying?” Kenny asks with a smirk. Kyle smiles smugly right back at him.

“I don’t study. I’m gifted.”

“Not when it comes to this game,” Stan says as he unwinds the cord of another controller, plugging it into the console. “By the way, I renamed your character.”

Kyle eyes him with a frown. “I’m not Bunraku anymore?”

Menus flick by on the screen, and the picture finally settles on a lithe ninja character, clad from head to toe in pink. In the upper corner, crimson slashes spell out “Bunny”. Without looking over, Stan holds out the extra controller. “And I changed your color scheme.”

Kyle tips his head back and sighs at the ceiling. “Thanks.”

--------------------------------------------------

Stan leans against the headrest of his bed and thumps the back of Kenny’s head with his fist. Kenny doesn’t move from his spot on the floor, doesn’t even bother to turn around. “What?”

There’s no response, and Kenny heaves a breath before twisting his head around to look at Stan. The expression he catches there, the furrowed brow and bit lip, surprises him. “Stan?” he says slowly. “What is it?”

“Did you see that?”

“See what?”

Stan runs his fingers through his bangs and sinks the heels of his hands over his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“That doesn’t help me.”

“I know.”

“So...?”

“It was...” He flops over to one side, his arm falling off the edge of the mattress. “Something in the shadows. I’ve seen it a couple times now.”

Kenny pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and gets it halfway to his mouth before Stan smacks him hard and points at the smoke detector on the wall. He settles for twirling it around his thumb. “I thought I saw something moving around when we were playing games yesterday. Figured it was a rat.”

“Uh uh,” Stan cuts in. “Definitely not. Too big. Besides, the rats don’t show up until after you’re dead.”

“Fuck you,” Kenny says half-heartedly, and he wedges his elbows up onto the bed. “Has Kyle seen anything?”

“No. He said I’m stressed or whatever. Under pressure.”

“Pfft. You?”

“I know.”

“Well,” Kenny says as he bites the end of his unlit cigarette, “if something’s really wandering around, eventually he’ll have to see it, right?”

In a dimly lit room nestled near the back of the Humanities building, Kyle rubs his eyes to no avail. When he sneaks a look behind him, he can still see something twitching in the shadows beneath a chair. The thing lurches to one side, and a glassy shine slides over one round eye. Kyle locks his gaze on the board, suppressing shudders and the feeling that it’s staring right at him.

“As I was saying earlier, this is a small class,” the teacher, a gangly woman with pale grayish skin, drones. “I’d like the class to split into pairs and I will assign each pair a novel to read and report back to the class on.”

An elbow nudges his softly, and Kyle glances sideways to meet and match Wendy’s smile. It’s lucky, he decides, that one of the smartest kids from his high school ended up at this same college, in this same class. He starts to write to her on the edge of his notebook paper, but the teacher calmly adds, “I will select your partners,” and Kyle’s face goes white.

‘Please,’ he silently prays to whatever deity will listen. On his other side, Cartman bites off a hangnail and crunches it loudly. ‘Don’t pair me off with him.’

“Bebe and Token.”

Kyle perks up. Boy-girl pairs? He just might be with Wendy after all.

“Wendy and Eric.”

Wendy can’t suppress her disappointed whine. Crossing his arms behind his head, Cartman chuckles.

“Lexus and Kyle.”

Kyle blinks. There are only six students in the class, he’d noticed that much. He’s just not sure how he missed who the sixth person was. Past Cartman and Token, Lexus leans forward and waves with a bright, closed-eye smile. Kyle forces himself to keep a straight face. ‘At least it’s not Cartman.’

“Please move to sit with your partners and I will give out your assignments,” the teacher says as she flips through her notebook. Kyle swears he sees a human anatomy diagram on one of the pages, but it flashes by too quickly for him to be sure. Someone behind him hisses his name, and he briefly panics, wondering how the creature under the chair knows who he is, before he recognizes Lexus’s musical giggle. He slides back from the table and, after scanning the floor surreptitiously for any movement, settles into a half-desk against the wall next to her.

“You’ll be surprised,” Lexus says airily, looking forward at the neatly printed class details on the blackboard.

Again, Kyle blinks. “Excuse me?”

“I know, ex-Raisins, how ya doing, sweetie? All that.” She gives him a small smile. Something in her eyes hardens. “You must be disappointed. But you’ll be surprised.”

He opens his mouth to deny it, to lie about his reaction, but a papery hand slaps a sheet down in front of him before he can say anything. At the top of it, tall black letters read “Autobiography by Benjamin Franklin”.

“Let’s see here,” Lexus mumbles, skimming the report guidelines beneath the title. Kyle flicks the corner of the page as he reads over it. Everything points towards a standard essay assignment, and he wiggles into a more comfortable slouch in the chair.

Ignoring the gentle prodding at his heel – nerves, right? Stupid overactive imagination – he points at the word count requirement on Lexus’s sheet. “This ought to be cake.”

“Strawberry cake?” she chimes.

“Uh...”

She leans over to him and whispers conspiratorially, “That’s my favorite.”

“Okay.” He can’t help shaking his head a little. “Strawberry cake.”

“Okay!” Her voice suddenly drops to a serious tone as she continues, “I figure Ms. N’ll want a report written by both of us together rather than chunks by us individually pieced together. We should probably read some, meet to discuss, read some more, yadda yadda, and then write this thing out in one big burst. We can proofread and tweak it separately after that. Cool?”

“No,” Kyle huffs. “You stole my thunder.”

“We can pretend you came up with the plan. I don’t need my cover being blown anyway.”

“I did come up with the plan,” he objects. “You just said it first. Besides, I think we’d do better to write the rough draft in chunks as we meet to discuss, then clean it up and merge it all together in one big burst.”

“Oooo! Nice thought, partner!” She shoves his arm playfully. “Glad I got a smartie.”

“What are you doing on Friday?”

Lexus sobers up immediately and writes “Part One – Friday” on her paper. “The girls always throw parties, but I can claim I’m on a date,” she says as she circles her writing. She taps it with her pencil. “We’ll discuss Part One then, right?”

“Sounds like a reasonable reading pace,” Kyle says. “That gives us two weeks for reading and discussing, and leaves all of the third week for revisions.”

“I vote yea.”

“There will be class on Thursday,” the teacher blurts out suddenly in a loud voice, and all heads snap to look at her. “Attendance is mandatory.”

She turns to stare at her desk. Kyle sits up straight in his seat, struggling to see what she’s looking at so intently.

“Uh, teach?” Cartman tentatively wobbles to his feet and unzips his backpack. “Are we done here?”

Without a word, she points to the doorway, and with hushed confirmations of plans, the six of them pack up their papers and wander towards the door. Kyle rounds the table in the center of the room, passing near the teacher’s desk before circling around to the exit. As he passes, he glances at the center of the desk, where the teacher’s spindly fingers are splayed out over...

Nothing. She’s staring at absolutely nothing.

Kyle sprints out of the building, past the others, and heads directly back to his dorm.