Much, much thanks to everyone who reviewed for this story! I'm so glad y'all liked it! This is the last chapter. Sorry if it came too soon for anyone. I love y'all. Please review and enjoy!
NOTE: UPDATE! Gah, I went back the other day and looked at this and realized how un-Cartman like Cartman is at the end of this. GAY! I must have been smoking crack or something when I wrote this. So, since I was sitting here in the most boring class on the freaking planet, I decided to re-write the ending. It's just the last few paragraphs, nothing big, just done to make me feel better. Enjoy.
EDIT: same as chapter 1 and 2
The next two weeks were hectic. On Monday right after her first test, Kyle had driven her to Hell's Pass to get an x-ray. Her mother had been very confused as to why she wanted Kyle to bring her until Wendy began fretting loudly about how much study time she was wasting just going. If Kyle was there, they could at least quiz each other. Thankfully, all Wendy had done was twist her ankle. The doctor just told her to keep off it for at least a week and use crutches. It didn't make lugging her backpack around easy, but at least she wasn't in a wheelchair.
Of course, she had immediately told Kyle what had happened after the party on Saturday and Sunday morning. Kyle had looked thrown for a loop. After all, Eric Cartman didn't blush, nor did he do anything nice for someone without demanding something in return. Wendy was sure Kyle and Stan were pouring over it in their spare time—or at least Stan could. Kyle was just as busy as she was.
So finally on Friday, Wendy limped out of her French exam, too tired to even wonder how Kyle was doing with his Spanish. In fact, the only thing running through her head was the Dreidel Song, which was odd because she wasn't Jewish, and it wasn't the holiday season. She wandered out to the front of the school and sat down on the steps.
A few minutes later, the doors opened again, and the few students taking the Spanish AP test filtered out. A hand reached down and picked up Wendy's backpack. "How'd you do," Kyle asked, holding out his other hand to help her up. Wendy just offered him a tired smile and hummed a few more lines of the song. Kyle raised a brow at her. Wendy bit her bottom lip and shrugged. "Brain fry," Kyle half asked. He laughed when Wendy stuck her tongue at him. Together they walked out to his car. Kyle dropped her off at her house, yelling as she walked up to the door, "Get your brain functioning again. Dinner's at seven!"
Wendy waved him off, smiling. She and Kyle, along with Stan, Kenny, Bebe, and Cartman, were going to dinner to celebrate the end of exams. It would be wonderful, a night out with no worries over their heads. They would have fun and relax, and Kenny would get a free meal. It worked in everyone's favor, unless Kenny chocked on a meatball or was run over before seven. Wendy passed out for a few hours before waking up to get ready.
Dinner, along with the next week, was uneventful. Kenny hadn't been dying, and he was walking around on eggshells, sensing plots for his demise at every corner. Well, there was the incident when the robot chickens tried to take over the post office, but they had easily been dealt with by the magical—although cracked—conk shell that had once held Moses prisoner. Wendy ran from her closet, her limp a thing of the past. Her ankle only hurt now if she rolled it around. She pulled out a lavender sundress and slipped it on. It fit her wonderfully. She wiggled into her shoes and put in earrings. Turning to look in her full length mirror, Wendy smiled. She looked gorgeous.
She bit her bottom lip to keep from grinning to broadly. She just hoped Cartman thought she looked good.
Shaking her head, Wendy's smile turned into a frown. She seriously needed to stop this. She hadn't even spoken to Cartman since that dinner a week ago. And that could hardly be considered a decent conversation. They had nearly been kicked out of the restaurant. But still, she hoped he would be impressed with her.
"Wendy," her mother called up the stairs. "Let's go. We're already running late!" Wendy licked her cherry flavored lips and drew in an excited breath. This was it. In just a few hours, she'd be a high school graduate. She ran downstairs to meet her family.
The after party was insane.
No party like this had ever been thrown in South Park. Sure, parties, especially those of the high school students, tended to be drunk fests where even the nerds got at least tipsy. But this, this was amazing and astounding. Very few people seemed to be able to stand. Everyone wore broad smiles, and hugs were being exchanged every few seconds. Wendy had been in the death grips of people she hadn't spoken to in years. They were all acting like this was the last time they'd ever see each other, which was silly, of course. They still had summer, and holidays, and most people didn't escape South Park for long.
Wendy hopped over Annie and Mark, who had fallen of the couch, not that something so trivial had interrupted their make-out session. The wild waving of a pair of arms had caught her attentions. Over by the keg was Kyle, who was being used by a red cheeked Stan as a crutch. Wendy ran over and leapt at Kyle. The Jewish boy dropped his boyfriend and caught Wendy in a tight hug. Stan fell unceremoniously to the floor, but it did nothing to dampen his jolly mood. In fact, he seemed to find it very funny.
However, in his stupidity, he also thought it would be funny to trip Kyle. So, he punched the backs of Kyle's knees. This sent both Kyle and Wendy toppling onto Stan. Wendy let out a low moan of pain, but Stan and Kyle just laughed, soon dragging Wendy into it. Bebe, Token, and Jason, who were standing on the other side of the keg, were all holding their sides.
Wendy vaguely wondered why falling was so funny when people were drunk.
Wendy suddenly noticed that it was strangely quiet underneath her. She looked down to find Stan and Kyle making out. "Aaw, aaaw," she cried, scrambling up and kicking lightly at their sides. The boys flipped her off good-naturedly before standing to find a more secluded place. She smiled after them and wandered outside.
She settled herself onto the swing in Clyde's backyard. She, for some reason, didn't really feel like getting completely wasted tonight. She wished everyone had been keener on sitting around talking and reliving memories. She knew that it would happen sooner or later. They would do it within their own groups and as a class. But everyone else had different plans right now. They were making out with people they hadn't before or their current significant other. Wendy never made out with random people, and she didn't exactly foresee the one she wanted doing anything with her. She sighed and leaned against the rope.
Some time later, the noise level increased, and the sliding door slammed shut, followed by an annoyed snort. Wendy looked over her shoulder to see Eric Cartman. He looked up and noticed her for the first time. "Oh," he said, "hey, ho."
Wendy had long ago stopped taking offense to that comment. She offered him a little wave and turned her gaze back out to the backyard. She heard snow crunching behind her as he walked forward. "Why aren't you inside drinking it up," he asked. "I thought that was your thing." He was wearing a smirk.
Wendy rolled her eyes. "Hardly," she said. "I don't feel like it tonight." She was silent for a few more seconds before saying, "I just sort of wanted to just be with everyone, you know. But they're too busy playing tonsil hockey." There was a grunt of acknowledgment from Cartman. "So why aren't you celebrating?"
"Who says I'm not," he countered.
"Well, you're not drunk," Wendy said.
Cartman shrugged. "Like you said, you don't have to be plastered to celebrate something. I'm just as happy as the next asshole that school's over," he said. Wendy smiled. He blinked down at her.
Wendy fought down a blush as she looked away. She lowered her gaze to the snow covered ground. She kicked a bit at the white slush with her pointed shoes. "It's probably a good thing you aren't getting shit faced," Cartman said suddenly. Wendy looked up at him in confusion. He motioned to her shoes with his head, as he couldn't be bothered to uncross his arms. "Unless you wanted a repeat of Craig's," he finished with a raised brow.
Wendy smiled. "No," she said, "I learned my lesson." They made idle small talk for a while, recalling obscure events from childhood and several of the weirder occurrences that frequented South Park. They talked briefly of college plans and career hopes. It was all small talk, none of it significant or deep, but Wendy's heart was fluttering the whole way through. It brought her down quite a few pegs to know that she could only dream that Cartman would ever feel the same. She bit her bottom lip and hugged her arms to her stomach.
Wendy's head jerked up as something warm folded over her shoulders. She looked down to see the coat Cartman had previously been wearing draped over her. She brought her chocolate eyes up to his honey ones with a questioning expression. Cartman just shrugged. "You looked cold."
Wendy couldn't stop the words from leaving her mouth. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
The warm honey color darkened as Cartman glared coldly at her. "Why does it matter," he asked sharply.
Wendy's brows knitted at his harsh tone. "Because it's you being nice to me," she said. "You hate me as much, if not more, than Kyle. We have never gotten along, and all of a sudden, you're taking care of me when I'm drunk and giving me your coat?"
"You want me to take it back," he snarled. "And I could have left you there to get alcohol poisoning. Everyone else was too drunk to have noticed. You would have probably died if I hadn't stepped in."
Wendy hated to think that he was right, that she did owe her life to Eric Cartman. "I never said I wasn't thankful," she snapped back. "I just don't understand. What are you plotting?"
"Who says I'm plotting anything," he asked.
Wendy rolled her eyes. "Point A: you are always plotting. Point B: you don't do anything without getting something in return. It's how you've always been. I think after knowing you for my whole life I can figure that out."
Cartman frowned. "You're something else, Wendy. I help you out, asking nothing in return, and you, being the everlasting bitch that you are, complain about it. Most people would have said thanks and left it at that," he said.
"I never said I wasn't grateful, and I did thank you," Wendy cried, cheeks turning pink at the memory of kissing his cheek. "I just don't understand why you've so suddenly taken to being so nice to me. I'm just trying to figure out what your motives are."
"Who says I have any motives," Cartman snapped. "Who says I fucking need a reason to be nice to you?"
"Because it doesn't make sense!"
Cartman scoffed, "When has anything ever made sense in South Park?"
Wendy frowned. He had a point there. Nothing in South Park was normal. But there was a sense of what was usual in the town, what was expected. It was expected that aliens showed up at random intervals during the week. It was expected that Kenny would come back after each of his horrific deaths. It was expected that Eric Cartman hated everyone and was a manipulative, deceptive jerk.
Wendy had stood from her seat on the swing. She and Cartman were leaning towards each other in anger. Wendy jabbed her finger into Cartman's chest as she spoke, "You are such an asshole!"
"You're a bitch!"
"I hate you!"
"I hate you more!"
Wendy was sure there was steam pouring out her ears. "You're such a jerk! You've always been so insulting towards me, and you've never had a valid reason. And before you say anything, being a hippie—which I'm not—isn't a valid reason!"
"Like I said, I don't need a reason for anything that I do," he yelled back. "And you are a hippie!"
"I am not!" she screamed. "Just because I care about things relating to a larger whole doesn't make me a hippie. Just because I care about the world that my children and grandchildren will have to live in doesn't make me a hippie! I hate pot!"
"You are," he countered. "You're a fucking hippie bitch. I can't fucking stand you. I can't stand your self righteous attitude. I can't stand your whinny voice. I can't stand your fucking shoes!"
Wendy's angered expression faltered for a second. Her shoes? But Cartman hadn't stopped yelling.
"You fucking break your fucking shoes and make me fucking take care of you! You fucking ruin my night of otherwise drunken pleasure because you can't take care of yourself! It's all got to be about you, doesn't it? Wendy Testaburger has to steal the limelight and be the complete center of attention, of everyone's thoughts. You just can't stay out of my head, can you, you dumb bitch!"
Wendy took a small step back. She was in his head? What did he mean?
"I fucking do something for you, and you shove it in my face," he snarled. "And you people wonder why I get pissed off all the time. It's because of assholes like you! Not being decent enough to just let a good deed be a good deed. No, Eric Cartman must have twisted motives all the time." His eyes flashed dangerously. He grabbed hold of her arms and shook her slightly. "Why do you have to fucking make caring a chore?"
He glared down at her. Wendy drew in a shuddering breath, unable to tear her eyes from his. Her heart was beating at the pace of a humming bird's. He was so close. He had to have been able to see the burning desire in her eyes. "Eric," she breathed out.
His eyes widened slightly, and his grip on her arms slacked enough that Wendy could have pulled away if she wanted. Needless to say, she stayed still. His eyes were an explosion of emotions that were racing by at a pace too quick for Wendy to determine. Suddenly, his walls returned. His eyes were stony, and his grip had tightened again. "Fuck it," he muttered.
He then, without warning, pulled Wendy to his chest and brought his lips crashing down to hers. Wendy's eyes were so wide, she was amazed that they didn't fall out. She was frozen in shock, incapable of any form of movement. Eric Cartman was kissing her.
Wendy's heart was suddenly soaring through the heavens. She was flying through the clouds. She was invincible. Nothing could touch her. This had to be what it felt like to be high. Wendy was positive that no moment would ever top how she was feeling right now.
He pulled away. Wendy's lips were met with the bitter cold air. She had forgotten about that. She had forgotten that they were still in freezing Colorado. It had felt like a cloudless summer's day in the Caribbean.
She looked up. Cartman was staring down at her in shock. He dropped her arms and took a step back. "Shit," he muttered. "Shit. Fuck. I—I didn't mean to do that." Wendy's heart dropped somewhere around the area of her feet. "That wasn't my place. You hate me. I shouldn't have done that."
Was—was he trying to apologize to her? Was he trying to say sorry for having jumped down her throat, almost literally? Eric Cartman was apologizing for something?
Wendy grinned slyly. He was. His face went stony again at the sight of her grin. But before he could say a word, Wendy pushed him up against the trunk of the tree and pressed her lips hungrily to his. He stood in shock for several seconds before snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. Wendy dug her hands into his silky hair and opened her mouth to invite his wandering tongue.
Cartman ran his hands up and down her back, resting one at the base of her neck. Wendy moaned into the kiss as their tongues did physical battle for a change. She grinded against him, trying to mold herself as close to him as was physically possible.
The sound of the sliding door opening broke into her world, accompanied by a call, "Hey, Wendy, are you out—" The voice dropped off. Wendy's natural reaction was to jump back, but Cartman kept a tight hold of her waist, preventing her from moving away from him. Wendy laid her hands on his chest, secretly glad that he wasn't pushing her way. They turned to look towards the house, where Stan and Kyle were standing with their jaws hanging loosely.
Kyle could only stare very openly as Stan muttered, "Dude, no way. No fucking way."
A few seconds later, Kenny appeared from behind them. "Hey, you seen Cartman?" He looked out into the yard to find the one he was looking for clinging onto a girl. His reaction was infinitely different than his other two friends'.
"Oh, FUCK yeah," he yelled, "fuck yeah!" He turned to face Stan and pointed in his face. "One hundred bucks, mother fucker! One hundred bucks!" He did a quick victory dance. "You lucky son of a bitch, Cartman," he called out.
Wendy felt Cartman remove a hand from her waist and knew he was flipping them off. Kenny just laughed and grabbed hold of Stan and Kyle's shoulders to lead them away. "Give the love birds some time alone," he said. "It's about damn time."
The door slid shut, and Wendy and Cartman turned their attentions back to each other. Wendy rested her head on his chest but kept her eyes locked onto his. "How long," he asked lowly .
Wendy smiled up at him. "Years," she whispered.
"Yeah, same," he said. He smiled at her. Not a smirk. Not a sneer. Not a sadistic grin. He smiled at her.
"You know," Wendy said snaking her arms up to circle his neck, "I think I could almost say that I love you." He smirked. Wendy smiled up at him. She blinked, waiting. "Well," she asked after a few seconds.
"Well what," he asked in confusion.
"Are you going to say it too," Wendy snapped.
Cartman blinked at her for a second before laughing his most obnoxious laugh. Wendy snarled. "Oh, fuck no, bitch," he laughed. "I'm not saying any pussy emo-fag shit like that."
"It's not emo to say you love someone," Wendy yelled jerking out of his arms.
Cartman rolled his eyes. "Whatever, ho," he said. "Now get back here."
Wendy crossed her arms. "Excuse me," she asked. "I certainly won't. In fact, screw you, Cartman." She turned her back to him with a huff.
Cartman smirked and stepped forward. He grabbed hold of her waist and ignored her as she shrieked for him to let her go. She tried squirming out of his grasp, but his hold was too tight and he was decidedly stronger than her. Finally she just gave up and collapsed against him, her cheek squished on his chest. "I hate you," she grumbled.
"I hate you too, bitch," he said grabbing her chin and kissing her again. Wendy let out a muffled squeal of surprise but then almost immediately relaxed into the kiss. Cartman wasn't the most experienced of kissers, but it was still a sweet kiss—or as sweet as something could be coming from Eric Cartman.
It was official in Wendy's mind: graduation kicked ass.