The cold, harsh wind ripped at my skin, and pulled at my shoulder-length orange curls. I shivered, being without a coat in South Park, and sighed. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and flipped it open.

1:24 am. I shook my head. It had been over a half hour since I'd called Stan, now. I pointlessly glanced around the cold area, stupidly surveying it for any form of life.

Something creaked behind me and I jumped, turning around quickly. A crow had landed on the parapet behind me. The iced concrete beneath my bare feet burned at my skin, but I paid no attention.

The high school's roof was completely barren. (Except for the crow and I.) I glanced back down to the phone in my pale fingers, and sighed again, flipping it shut.

I started towards the edge of the roof. I looked over the ledge at the ground. It was so far away…

With a deep breath and one last glance around the area surrounding the school. The stupid building I hated so much. It seemed only fitting that I would die from it's height.

"Stan's not coming," I painfully thought to myself. "He only cares about her. He doesn't care if you live or die." Tears rolled down my face as I heaved myself onto the brick ledge. My mind swayed, and I was suddenly overcome with a terrible dizziness. I crouched on the ledge and stabled myself.

I looked around the street again, hoping to catch sight of someone, anyone. Everyone had left an hour ago, probably including Stan. "He's not here. He never was."

Silently, I agreed with myself, and stood up, getting ready to breathe for the last time.

Chapter 1

I blindly followed my best friend outside. I couldn't see anything, as Stan's hand was clasped across my eyes, his hand on my shoulder to guide me. Sadly, I think I was more focused on his hand on my body than the 'huge surprise' he was about to show me.

I was only in this situation because I didn't have the heart to tell Stan that I already knew about his new birthday present. But I said nothing as he guided me out of his house and onto the street.

He removed his hand and I gasped. It was more beautiful than Stan's mother had accidentally told me. Before me stood a broken-down pickup truck, clad with dirt and rust. I think it was supposed to be red, but I could barely tell. It was a piece of shit, but it was a vehicle, so I smiled.

"It's not much," Stan began. "But it'll take me to and from North Park this weekend," he said. I smiled, and said nothing in return. I hurriedly flung open the passenger door and hopped in. Stan got in the driver's seat and closed his eyes with a smile.

"Damn," I said. "This is awesome. Can't wait 'till you actually get your license so you can drive it,"

Stan sighed. "Just one more week," he commented. I nodded. Stan was so lucky. My parents would never let me get a car of my own until I move out and don't speak to them for a few years. Luckily, that is exactly my plan for next year.

"So," Stan began, not opening his eyes. "You apply to Denver yet?"

My heart sank. "Yeah, but my parents want me to go to Harvard." Stan scoffed and I smiled weakly. "I don't think I'll make it though, I only got a ninety average last year."

Stan pondered this for a moment. "Wendy just got accepted to Denver last week," he stated. I said nothing. Wendy and I had never really gotten along – not because we were academic rivals or even because of her relationship with Stan. It had something to do with her knowing my deepest secret.

"What about you?" I asked, ignoring the Wendy comment.

Stan shrugged. "Have to wait 'till football and wrestling are over before I apply. I know sports are the only thing a college would want from me," he said with a chuckle. I glanced around the truck awkwardly. We both knew what he'd said was true.

With a sigh, Stan sat up and opened the truck's door, but remained where he was. "So are you gonna come with me to the DMV on Friday?" I smiled and we both got out of the vehicle.

"Sure," I said calmly. Usually, a four-hour drive (four hours both ways) on a Friday night would be the last thing on my list of things to do, but seeing as I was being invited instead of Wendy, I agreed. It could very well be the last time I'd get to spend time with my Super Best Friend before the winter break ended. Then it would be back to school, where Stan was too busy with Wendy to spend time with anyone – even his best friend.

I frowned at a thought. "I thought Wendy was going with you,"

Stan made a face and shrugged. "Wendy and I kind of had a fight," he said quietly as we started back towards his house. I gave him a look. "Well, we broke up. Again."

I had to fight the urge to laugh. It seemed to me that Stan and Wendy broke up every other week. But Stan gave me a sad look, and instead of laughing, I put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. "Don't worry, man," I told him as we made our way into the living room. "She'll be begging you to take her back by tomorrow morning,"

Stan smiled slightly. "Yeah. I love her, but she can be such a bitch sometimes," he informed me. He kept talking, but I couldn't pay attention. I tried shaking it off, but for some reason, my best friend being in love with the likes of her pissed me off.

"… I mean, she's so clingy," Stan ranted. I simply nodded dumbly. I don't know why he was telling such things to me – it wasn't like I could relate. I'd only ever had one girlfriend, and I later found out that she'd been dared by the other girls to ask me out. Yeah, that one hurt.

"Enough girl talk," I said when Stan seemed to be finished. "Let's play Guitar Hero, man. I'm gonna kick your ass," I announced. Stan laughed as he stood up to plug the game in. He came back to the couch and handed me the tiny, plastic Les Paul I'd grown to loathe for it's size. I think Stan likes to give me the smallest guitar just to make a point.

Whenever Cartman was around, he always got a good laugh of my religion, (as it had been since before I could even remember,) my mom's bitchiness, (sometimes I'd even have to agree with him there,) and lately, my size.

Kenny had been a good six feet since ninth grade, and Stan had recently shot up to just under him. Until this year, Cartman I had been about the same – until he grew about a foot over the summer. So now, I was a beautiful five-foot-six, which was a dream come true for Cartman.

Stan jabbed me in the ribs with his guitar, and I jumped back to reality, where some song on the game had already begun. I scrambled to put my fingers in position, but gave up quickly. Until recently, we hadn't played the game since fifth grade, and I was certainly losing my gift for the game.

A few rounds of the game later, (on Easy, for my benefit) Stan had gone off to take a phone call. I could tell from the hushed tone he was speaking in in the next room that it was Wendy. When he returned, phone in hand and a pissed look on his face, I knew I was right.

He rolled his eyes and threw me an apologetic look.

I stood up, knowing that Stan would be arguing with his "girlfriend" for a while, probably saying things I couldn't bear to hear. I flashed Stan my house key and pointed towards his front door. Stan muttered something into the phone, and put one hand over the receiver.

"Sorry, Kyle, I'll see you later?"

I nodded. "It's fine," I told him starting towards the door with one of the fakest smiles I'd ever worn.

Since Cartman and Kenny were technically the only ones old enough to drink, they sure made us remember it whenever we went to the bar.

"Beg, Kyle!" Cartman commanded with a snigger, turning to me in our regular booth in the back. He held a can of our regular, cheap-ass beer above my head.

"Please, fatass, don't you have Butters to beg for you?" I commented. Kenny chuckled.

Cartman dangled the can closer to my face, but I made no attempt to grab it. "Maybe if you weren't such a short Jew bitch, you could get it yourself," he commented. I was almost impressed with his ability to kill two birds with one insult.

Kenny rolled his drunken eyes. "Oh, sit down, fucktard," he told Cartman. He slid a can across the tiny table to me, and I smirked at Cartman. He muttered something about poor people, but we ignored him as per usual.

"Where's Stan?" Kenny wondered aloud. He took a drag on the cigarette he was holding and glanced around the crowded room. I shrugged.

"Dude, I thought the bitch behind the counter said you're not allowed to smoke in here," I told him.

He gave me a smirk. "Not since last weekend," I shuddered. "That's also why she lets us buy beer for you guys," he must have caught my alarmed face, (if my mother found out…) because he added, "It's okay, Kyle, she's cool." He winked at me, but I rolled my eyes.

A few (illegal on my part) consumptions of alcohol later, Stan finally showed up. He muttered some excuse about homework, but I figured it must've had something to do with Wendy. His eyes were slightly red and his face was pale, but I said nothing about it.

It probably sounds horrible, but I was almost hoping that Wendy had dropped him for good.