Disclaimer: Don't own South Park or anything related, making no money. Lyrics lines are Spinning by Jack's Mannequin. Sloppy lyrics choice is sloppy because it's 7am and I want to go bed and maybe breaking my writer's block wasn't such an awesome thing because now I can't fucking sleep.
Note: WELP. I'm pretty damn certain Wendy is out of character for half of this and Cartman is out of character for all with it and that it's maybe fluff. But fuck it, I'm ninety percent sure Kenny's in character, and if I have to work this fandom out ONE CHARACTER AT A TIME then I fucking will.
Title is my mindstate at this moment in time. Also, is unrelated. I can't title South Park fics. There's no angst.
Read, enjoy, go read When You Have Everything To Lose by 1220McCormick because that is what SP fic is meant to look like, not this barrel of infected diarrhoea.
On the Crest of a Rainbow Wave
i keep forgetting when the earth turned slowly
so i just waited til the lights come on again
i've lost my place but i can't stop this story
i've found my way, but til then i'm only spinning
When Wendy was in eighth grade, she slipped down the stairs outside the cafeteria on the way to Biology. She went down pretty hard, twisting her ankle and sending notes from the broken binder in her bag skittering out across the tiled floor. She'd struggled to her feet, supporting herself awkwardly on her uninjured ankle, flushing under the stares and laughs of her classmates.
Then, seeming to come from nowhere in particular, Kenny McCormick had appeared next to her. He'd gathered up her things, tucked them under his arm, and then propped her up against him. The position was a little bit difficult – at fourteen, Wendy was a little shorter (and, if she was honest, a little plainer and clumsier) than she'd expected to be, and Kenny had shot up over the summer. But he got her all the way to the nurse's office, and once he had deposited her safely onto a chair outside, and sorted her notes back into their binder, he gave her a grin and slouched off.
The next day, when she heard him complaining to Kyle that he didn't understand a fucking word of their Spanish homework, she'd gone over and offered to let him copy hers. Kenny, a little surprised, had accepted, and the week after that, he'd asked her for some help on irregular verbs. Later that day, he'd punched Clyde in the eye for calling her fat.
A couple of weeks after that, by some weird process of gravitation and symbiosis, they found themselves just kicking back watching Terrence and Philip reruns. Kenny was trying to explain what was so fucking funny about it, and Wendy was correcting his Frankenstein essay, when she suddenly had a realisation.
This...this could work.
The downside to being best friends with Kenny McCormick was Cartman. Kenny, being the pussy-hearted bastard he was, was one of the few people who didn't tell Cartman where to go and shove it when he got too pissed off with his shit.
Wendy was not so forgiving.
"He's here again?" she hissed, as Cartman pushed past Kenny into her house.
Kenny grinned apologetically. "Aw, come on, Wendy, he'd have to hang out on his own otherwise."
"Not if he wasn't a soulless asshole," Wendy muttered, but conceded.
"Hey ho, get your ass in the kitchen and rustle up some snacks, ey?" Cartman's obnoxiously loud voice drifted towards her from the couch, and Wendy pinched the bridge of her noise.
Kenny help up his hands, defeated. "Okay, okay. Last time, I swear."
But it wasn't. It never was.
Eventually, Cartman just became a part of her life. Like homework, only with worse consequences if you ignored it.
Cartman asked her out for the first time the summer before high school. At first, she hadn't been sure she'd heard him right.
Then she did something that she made herself promise she would never do to another boy, and she laughed in his face.
"Oh, whatever, bitch," he scoffed, folding his arms. "If you don't wanna help me pull a super-awesome prank of Kyle, then don't. I'll get Butters to help me."
She was probably imagining the split-second look of devastation on his face. Kenny said she did that too much, she thought. Humanising Cartman.
It was a bad habit to get into.
When she was sixteen, Wendy blossomed.
Her dad's new job was awesome. He was paid nearly twice as much as he was in his last position, and the shift in hours meant he was around way more in the evenings to help her with her homework, or to just hang out.
It also meant that at twenty past six every morning, with depressing regularity, he would slam the door so loudly behind him as he left for work that Wendy would wake up. She would toss and she turn, but for the life of her, she couldn't fall asleep again. The first day it happened, she turned up at school grouchy and wound up, and got detention for kicking Cartman in the balls.
The fourth day it happened, she just got up. There was no damn point in lying in bed so she might as well just do something. Bored, she wandered into the bathroom to brush the taste of sleep out of her mouth. She started idly fingering the myriad of products her mother bought in the hopes her daughter would start taking some care in her appearance, and after a couple of minutes, decided to try a couple out.
Within a week, she had a morning skincare regime. But it still only took fifteen minutes (even if it did make her skin glow, according to Kenny), so didn't go nearly far enough towards filling in the two hour void her dad's inability to be quiet had created. With a moderate degree of initial reluctance, she took up jogging.
Over the next month or so, she shed what was left of her puppy fat. As she started feeling healthier, and as a result, happier about her self-image, she stopped resisting her mother's attempts to steer her into the trendier shops at the mall on their odd Saturday outings. When Bebe suggested she lose the baggy jumpers in favour of that cute blue jacket she'd spotted in her wardrobe, she listened to her. And when it came round to her birthday, she offered polite thank-yous for the gifts of makeup and jewellery, instead of scowling and condemning it as an attempt to pressurise into conforming to the female ideal.
And all of a sudden, boy started noticing her.
"I don't like it," Kenny scowled over lunch one day.
Wendy gave him a bemused look. "I can tell," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, the more guys start hitting on me, the more guys you start hitting on. Literally. With your fists."
Kenny's scowl deepened. "Look, Wends, don't take this the wrong way –"
"- never a good way to start –"
"- but you've got kinda hot lately."
Wendy raised her eyebrows. "And that's...an insult?"
"Wendy!" Kenny exclaimed. He fixed her with a serious stare and placed his hands firmly on the table. "These guys clearly only want one thing from you."
She stared back at him for maybe four or five seconds before bursting into laughter.
"What are you, my dad?"
"All I'm saying is you're a nice girl, you deserve a nice guy."
"Like Stan?" she offered, grinning.
"Yeah, he'd be okay. Stan's pretty awesome."
He'd changed his mind the next day, when Stan had asked to sit next to her in English, and Kenny had told him that the seat was taken, forever.
Cartman asked her out for the second time at Christmas, their sophomore year. This time, she'd had the good grace not to laugh. Instead, she'd rolled her eyes.
"So what, now I'm wearing skirts and doing my hair up pretty I'm not such a dirty hippie anymore?" she'd asked scathingly.
"No, you're still a dirty hippie," he'd assured her. "You're just a hot one. But that's not the point here, Wendy." He had put his hands on her shoulders and given her the same 'a girl like you just wouldn't understand' look Kenny had given her in the cafeteria. "The point is: we can totally fuck with McCormick. And it will be hilarious. All you have to do is be my girlfriend."
"I can't oppose your idea in theory, Cartman. But in practice, you're a fat, sexist bastard, and I would rather have Kenny force me into a nunnery than do anything that puts you even remotely in the vicinity of my vagina."
"Wendy!" Cartman had whined. "You're being totally lame."
But he'd dropped the subject. Or at least, she thought he had, until he turned up at her door on December 29th with a new proposal.
"Okay," he'd begun. "One date. Staged so that Kenny is there to watch it. It's a good deal, Wendy, don't turn it down."
"Go home, Cartman."
Bebe's dress for that year's New Year's Eve party was very short, very red, and very shiny. Perhaps it was one of these factors, or a combination of them, or maybe the fact that her legs seemed to reach all the way up to Canada in it, but no guy could tear his eyes off her.
No guy, except the one Wendy wished would go and bother Bebe instead of her.
"Wendy, I don't get why you're being so stubborn about this."
"Because it's disgusting, Cartman!" Wendy had exclaimed, almost slopping her drink down herself.
He'd put on a pretty hideous pout at that. "Hey, you're hurting my feelings. Come on, I've made the deal even better for you. Now you don't even have to go on a date with me. We can just make out in front of Kenny. You can even blame it on the alcohol."
She shook her head incredulously. "I don't really see how it's a deal, you know, seeing as I'm not getting anything out of it."
"Er, the chance to make out with me?" he'd snorted, before catching her expression and quickly adding, "and, er, the look on Kenny's face. Obviously."
"Go away Cartman, seriously. Look, Bebe's going upstairs, you can look up her dress!"
That had caught his attention, if only for a few seconds. It gave her the opportunity she needed to scoot over a few feet, and for a very dazed-looking Kenny to drop himself in between them.
"Dudes," he said, grinning goofily. "I totally just made out with Bebe."
"She did say she was gonna do that," Wendy admitted.
Kenny stared at her blankly. "Huh?"
"She told me she wanted to make out with you tonight."
Kenny kept staring. "Wendy. Baby. We've been buddies how long now and you didn't tell me?"
She shrugged. "Bebe's my friend too, and she wanted it to be a surprise."
The faraway look came over Kenny's face again. "I was surprised alright. Some parts of me more than others, if you know what I mean."
"...Kenny, you're such an ass."
He'd slung an arm around her shoulders and kissed her sloppily just underneath her eye.
"You know you're the only one for me."
Wendy giggled and pushed him off her. "Follow her upstairs now or I'm just going to have to listen to both of you moaning for weeks."
It wasn't until he'd disappeared up the stairs after Bebe and Cartman slid into his vacated space that she realised how completely she'd just managed to fuck herself for the rest of the evening.
"Good job getting rid of poor boy," Cartman congratulated her. "We need our alone time." The arm he put round her shoulders wasn't as bracing or familiar as Kenny's. She tensed.
"Aw, come on Wendy, cut me a break. Seriously, it's like, an hour or something until midnight, you can play nice 'til then."
The alcohol was burning off most of her objections, and the crook of his arm was warm, and undeniably comfortable. He had enough padding, she thought, and giggled to herself.
What could it hurt? It wasn't as if she was going to do anything with him, after all.
And it was kind of...well, nice, for him to be paying all this attention to her, and not Bebe. For all of her beliefs, Wendy was also honest, and she wasn't afraid to admit that it was always nice when someone thought you were pretty.
Cartman's big hand closed over her upper arm as she leant into him. It was kind of nice, just sometimes, to be hugged.
And Cartman, he wasn't – well – and he clearly -
She warned herself not to confuse romantic interest with persistent pig-headedness, and to put a stop to those kinds of thoughts right there.
"So what happened with Kenny?"
"What happened with Cartman?"
Wendy's jaw dropped. "Wha –?"
Bebe gave her a triumphant look. "You know what I'm talking about. You have to spill first, Wends. I mean, Cartman?"
Wendy shook herself out of it. "Yeah, Bebe. Cartman. Really, don't you give me more credit than that?"
"You two seemed pretty cosy the other night," Bebe said, raising a sceptical eyebrow.
"Come on, I've been hanging out with Cartman as long as I've been hanging out with Kenny. I just hugged him. I was drunk. Let it go. Look, I already promised you, if I'm in a scandal you'll be the first to know."
Seemingly satisfied, Bebe nodded twice, and said, "I got to third base with Kenny."
Wendy grinned. "...he told me."
The next time she heard from either Kenny or Cartman was the night before term was due to start back up. There was the all-too-common sound of stones being hurled against her window, and a hiss of, "Ho! Sneak out!"
She knew it was only a matter of time before Cartman, at least, moved up to bigger rocks and breaking glass, so she pulled on some sweats and a couple of thick jackets and headed outside.
"It's like, fucking one in the morning, you dickwads," she told them. "What the fuck is wrong with you two? We have school tomorrow!"
Kenny pressed a long finger against her forehead. "You are only young once, Miss Testy-burger," he said, dragging out his words.
"Oh, God. You're drunk."
"I am drunk," Kenny confirmed, "and I got to third base with Bebe."
"Dude, you don't have to keep bringing that up!" Cartman complained.
"Keep it down, you're gonna wake my parents up!"
Cartman grabbed her hand clumsily, trapping her fingers together so she couldn't pull it free. "We're going down to Stark's, come on."
When she saw the set-up down by the pond, she groaned. "Oh no, you guys aren't camping out here in January? What the hell is wrong with you? Are you fucked up in the head? I mean, Cartman, I know you are, but Kenny? Seriously? Do you want to catch your death?"
Kenny shrugged, and Wendy remembered that it wasn't actually much of a threat.
"Come hang out for a bit," he said, dropping to the grass and patting the ground next to him.
"As if I have a choice," she muttered, but she sat down.
Looking up, she had to admit – it was a pretty damn stunning night to be out in the open.
After about half an hour, Kenny stopped talking. Wendy wasn't sure if he'd fallen asleep or passed out – all she knew was he'd been pretty drunk when he turned up, and hadn't stopped drinking since. Cartman, on the other hand, was sitting on her other side staring up at the stars.
"Hey, Wendy," he said.
"Go out with me sometime?"
She gave him an exasperated look. "Again?"
"Dude, come on, it's totally our thing."
Wendy opened her mouth, but couldn't quite seem to find the right words to express her sheer confusion. "What?" she settled on.
"It totally is. Like, when Kenny's not around, I always ask you out. It's completely our thing."
"We don't have a thing, Cartman," she said, and it took her a few seconds to realise it had come out a lot more harshly than she had intended it to.
"Yeah, just 'cause you keep fighting it."
"I-" She stopped, and shook her head. No. There was no point fighting with Cartman, there really wasn't. She shivered. "I should head home."
Cartman got to his feet. "I'll walk you."
Wendy stared up at him. "Huh?"
"I'll walk you." He held out his hand, and taking it, she pulled herself to her feet.
"What, like – you'll walk me home?"
"Yeah." He gave her a weird look. "Why?"
"It's just...not like you."
Cartman snorted. "Hey, if you get raped, Kenny's just gonna be a bitch about it for like, forever. So move your ass, I want to get to sleep."
She should have know there'd be a catch, though, because when they got to her door, he crossed his arms in a pointed fashion.
"What?" she asked, immediately suspicious.
"You know what."
"...I'm not going on a date with you."
Cartman jabbed his finger her. "Oh come on, hippie, I walked you to your door like a goddamn gentleman, now you have to be a goddamn lady and give me a fucking kiss goodnight!"
Wendy rolled her eyes. "If it means that much to you," she said. Stepping forward, she splayed one hand on her chest to steady herself, and she raised herself onto her toes. Before Cartman had a chance to respond, she planted a quick, chaste kiss on his lips, and dropped back down. "Happy?"
To her slight horror, Cartman was just staring at her.
"That didn't mean anything," she told him uncomfortably.
Cartman still didn't respond.
"Um," she said, really not sure what to do next, and honestly confused by his lack of reaction.
"Er. Goodnight," he said, and he turned abruptly on his heel and marched off down her path.
"Night," Wendy called after his retreating form, and headed inside to a night of even more confusing dreams.
For the rest of the term, and well into their junior year, Cartman kept asking her out. Always when it was just the pair of them, and always in some obnoxious way that made it seem like he was doing a massive favour for her. Then, suddenly, just after Easter, he stopped.
"What's the matter?" she teased. "Gone off me?"
When she saw him talking to Heidi after third period English, and noticed how she was laughing at his jokes, she realised that that was exactly what had happened.
She didn't consider that it bothered her. It just felt...off, in some weird way she couldn't put her finger on. It had her frowning through until lunch the next day, when Clyde Donovan asked if she wanted to go to the movies that Friday, and she said 'yes' without thinking.
She couldn't quite explain why, later, when she heard Heidi pissing herself laughing talking about how Cartman had thought she was actually into him, she found herself feeling stupid about her decision. And, even afterwards, she couldn't work out the source of the abrupt discomfort that made her stomach curl up into a tight ball when Clyde asked her, in front of Cartman, what time was alright for Friday.
And she certainly didn't know why she'd had the sudden urge to cancel on him at that moment. Though, she was pretty – and sickeningly – sure that it had quite a lot to do with the fatass standing next to her.
But a promise was a promise, and out of absolutely nowhere, Clyde swept her off her feet.
She fell for him fast and hard.
Which was probably why it hurt so fucking badly when he broke up with her by fucking Red. On her bed, in the middle of the first ever house party her parents had let her have.
She'd gone up to get a CD for Cartman. A CD. And she'd found her boyfriend –
She realised, then, that she didn't know how to deal with this. Clyde had caught sight of her, started reeling off some spiel about how it wasn't what it looked like, but she remembered herself saying quite calmly that it was fine, if it was someone else he wanted to be with, that was okay. That she didn't mind that they were breaking up, and that could they please strip her bed when they were done.
And then she had turned around and headed back into the living room. She could feel her chest tightening and her breathing getting shallow, and she knew she had to get somewhere private now.
But she couldn't bring herself to go back upstairs. She couldn't go – she couldn't go to her room. And there was nowhere down here that she could...
She needed Kenny.
But it was Cartman she found first, just as the room was starting to blur as she began to lose the battle against her tears. He grabbed her by the shoulders and squinted down at her.
"Clyde –" she began, but discovered that she didn't have the right words just yet.
Cartman kept looking at her for another few seconds, and then spun her around. "Come on," he said gruffly, and steered her towards.
"Hey Wendy, where are you going?" Bebe asked her, as Cartman grabbed his jacket out of the pile next to the door and tossed it over Wendy's shoulders. "Isn't this your party?"
"Hey, hey Cartman," said Craig, from somewhere just underneath Bebe's boobs, "you better not dick about with Clyde's bitch, or he'll dick on you, big time."
Through bleary eyes, Wendy saw Cartman round on him with thunder in his eyes. "Call her Clyde's bitch again. Go on."
Craig held up his hands. "Man, I was just fucking about!"
Pressing his hand against the small of Wendy's back, Cartman pushed her out the door.
He didn't say a word until he had bundled her into the passenger seat of his car and driven a couple of blocks away from her house. Wendy just pulled his jacket tight around her, rubbing her eyes against the fleece lining its neck, and focused on the sound of the engine.
When they'd stopped, he just turned to stare at her. Swallowing, she said, "Clyde – he – Red – my bed."
Cartman was stonily silent for a second or two, and then he said, "Why did you think I asked you for that fucking CD?"
And then, she started to cry in earnest.
She didn't notice when Cartman shifted her across onto his lap, until he put his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. She wrapped her hands in his shirt, and just kept crying.
When she calmed down, three things had happened. She had ruined her make-up, she had ruined Cartman's shirt, and she was over Clyde.
"That was quick," Cartman remarked, when she told him of her revelations.
She laughed weakly. Cartman looked more than a little out of his depth. He had a look on his face like he was treading on china cups and trying not to break any. "You know me. Don't get sad, get man."
Cartman held up a hand. "Don't get mad, get even," he reminded her.
She laughed again. His arms were still around her.
"Why did you stop asking me out?" Wendy asked suddenly.
"What?" He stared at her. "Oh come off it, hippie, you hated that shit."
She bit her lip. "It was...our thing." She didn't meet his eye.
She was surprised when she felt his hand on the back of her head.
"Don't get pissy, ho. You know you're the only one for me," he said, affecting the same easy, jocular tone Kenny had that one time at New Year's.
It didn't feel like when Kenny said it, though. It felt weird. It felt significant. It felt –
And then Wendy took a step back and just plain stared at herself – alone with Eric Cartman, in the middle of the night, in his car, sat curled up on his lap, with him telling her she was the only one for him.
Oh my God, she thought. There are so many things wrong with this. For a start, this is Cartman. Plus, I've literally just broken up with Clyde. And – and – it's Cartman!
And it didn't feel wrong.
And that was probably the most wrong thing about it, because she was right, it was Cartman, and it should feel wrong.
She waited. It didn't. All that happened was he tightened his hold on her a little and said, "What now?"
For a suspended second, Wendy's mind went blank. What does he mean? came the panicked thought from one forlorn corner of her mind. Does he think – does he want me to -?
"Do you want to go back to yours?" he asked, and she felt herself relax. "It's your party. But, er, honestly, if it were me –"
She shook her head. "I've gotta go back. My parents..."
Easing her off his lap, he pulled a face. "You're such a goddamn goody two shoes. The biggest douche in school just fucked another ho on his girlfriend's bed. The girlfriend deserves the right to be pissy and go on some mad rampage beating things to death with a bunch of carrots, or something."
Wendy stared at him. "Carrots?"
"I dunno, you're a hippie, you like that sort of shit, right?"
Still wrapped in his jacket, she laughed.
When Cartman pulled up outside her house, he paused before getting out.
"I have a couple of questions."
Wendy's stomach clenched. "What?"
"Okay, number one. How much of a scene are you comfortable with me creating?"
"As long as nothing gets broken?"
"Good answer. Number two. Do you care when everyone finds out about Clyde and Red?"
She shook her head, a little miserably. "They're going to find out anyway."
"Alright, so far so good. And number three: Will you go on a date with me?" His exression was perfectly serious.
She was seized by the reckless desire to say yes. But all her instincts were screaming at her that she was vulnerable enough right now, and she didn't need to make matters worse by giving Cartman more ammunition to throw at her when she was back on her feet. Instead, she gave him the wickedest grin she could manage, and said, "Get the fuck out of the car, asshole."
They were barely through the door when she spotted Clyde.
He was standing at the foot of the stairs, scowling, and talking to Craig. Craig had his hands shoved in his pockets and an unreadable expression on his face. When the door fell shut behind them, Clyde looked over. His eyes skimmed over Wendy in a heartbeat, but when they fell on Cartman, they narrowed.
"A'IGHT," Cartman shouted. "EVERY FUCKER OUT, NOW."
A chorus of complaints echoed back at him. "Wendy!" Bebe moaned, appearing at her side, pouting. "What?"
"If you have a problem with the abrupt ending to tonight's festivities, please take it up with Clyde, and the fact that he boned Red on Wendy's bed to compensate for having a tiny weiner."
That got people moving.
Wendy slipped deeper into the house as quickly as she could, avoiding the stares as her classmates shuffled out of the door, fumbling around for the arms of their coats. The only thing she didn't manage to avoid was Craig muttering nastily as he walked past her, "you moved on quickly."
She didn't feel the need to deny it. "At least I waited until I was single," she shot back, and Craig slunk off.
"You know," Kenny said, appearing behind her and wrapping his long arms around her chest. "That's going to start one helluva lot of rumours come Monday."
Wendy reached up to hug his arms. "...worth it."
Fighting off tiredness, the three of them set to work tidying up the fucking mess that had been left in the party's wake. Every couple of minutes, Cartman or Kenny would find some excuse to make a disparaging comment about Clyde, and little by little, even as she felt herself getting more and more exhausted, she felt her mood brightening.
"..Yeah, but Craig totally thinks you two are getting it on now," Kenny said, finishing some long rant about how Clyde was probably infertile, insecure about his cock size, and gay for Craig.
"What?" Cartman asked, jerking his head up.
"Ask Wendy." Kenny nodded towards her, and then gave Cartman a sidelong look. "...Is it true?"
"No!" they both said, at once, and Kenny chuckled.
"Methinks they doth..." he said, poking his tongue out when Wendy flung a used paper towel at his head.
When they'd finished, Wendy collapsed onto the couch. She was spent. She couldn't wait to go upstairs and –
"Where am I going to sleep?" she asked despondently, to no one in particular.
"On the sofa, obviously." Kenny answered her without pause. "And me and fatass are going to sleep on the floor."
"We are?" Cartman asked disbelievingly.
"We are," Kenny affirmed.
"We are," Cartman conceded. "But Kenny's getting blankets."
"He's a decent guy, you know," Kenny remarked, a couple of days later, when Cartman decided a minor rule infraction in the lunchtime football game was deserving of pummelling Clyde into the ground.
Wendy looked at him. "No, he's not."
"...No, he's not," Kenny admitted. "But he has a heart."
"No, he doesn't."
"Okay, okay, okay, he is a soulless cruelty machine. But he is a selfish soulless cruelty machine, and that means that if it's something he wants, or something that'll benefit him, or something he's decided he cares about, he'll break his back for it."
Wendy raised her eyebrows. "There's a point on its way, I can just feel it."
"My point, Miss Testy-burger, is..." He paused. "Okay, no point. Just fucking get with him. Seriously, I can't take it anymore."
"I don't want to get –" Wendy began, but Kenny had already crushed out his cigarette, and headed inside.
A couple of minutes later, Cartman jogged over. He was red in the face from all the exertion, but he was grinning.
"I fucked Clyde up."
"He nearly fucking cried. It was beautiful."
Wendy couldn't stop herself smiling.
"Oh, and I totally bribed Kenny's brother to hit on Red. She's a slut, she'd definitely fuck him, and Clyde can see what it feels like."
It disturbed her, just a little, that the act truly touched her. "Aw, Cartman."
"Gonna go out with me yet?"
Kenny's words came back to her. Smiling a little coyly, she said, "Yeah, okay."
She'd been sat inside the cinema waiting for ten minutes when her cell phone buzzed.
"Look, seriously, this date shit? It's so fucking fake. Come outside, let's go hang."
After he hung up, Wendy stared at her phone, a weird mix of emotions churning in her chest.
Don't be disappointed, she told herself. That's the first step to admitting it. And you promised you wouldn't do that.
Cartman was leaning against his car, hands screwed up in his pockets. When she reached him, he straightened up, and said, "Okay, first: this whole thing is making me nervous as hell. And I don't get nervous. Which is why I'm saying fuck that shit. Seriously, I'm never nervous around you, I'm not getting myself into that."
"Er...okay..." Wendy said, a little confused.
"Secondly," he ploughed on. "You're not supposed to fucking say yes to the date. You're supposed to keep resisting me, 'cause you're the only one that still does, and it's sexy as hell. Right. Get in the car, my mom said we can order pizza."
Wendy could feel the colour in her cheeks rising, but she got in the car, and leant her face against the window. The coolness was welcome.
Honestly, she thought, I don't even fucking know what's going on anymore.
It was the first party of senior year, and Wendy was very drunk.
That, though, was because it was a mansion party. Mansion parties, or 'parties at Token's house', always came with absolutely fucktons of free alcohol. And now that a couple of them were actually starting to turn eighteen, the shit was much easier to come by.
She found herself, at twenty to one, draped across Kenny's lap, singing at the top of her lungs to a song she was pretty sure she only knew half the words to, when Kenny tugged on her arm, and said, "Wendy, Wendy, this is important."
She looked down, bringing him into focus. "What, what?"
"...I have to grope your boobs."
"You have to?"
"I have to."
Well, she thought, if he had to, she couldn't say no.
"'Ey!" came Cartman's voice from somewhere behind her. "What the fuck?"
Wendy tipped her head back and looked at him upside down, just as Kenny's hand came down on her left breast.
"All I gotta do to feel your titties is say I have to?"
Wendy gave him a topsy-turvy smile. "I am so, so drunk, Cartman. I don't even remember buying boobs."
Kenny laughed, and damn near face planted into her chest. "Wendy, dude, you're so wasted."
Then, she felt herself being pulled to her feet, and the room was spinning violently. When everything settled, she found herself pressed against the wall, Cartman in front of her, and Kenny looking up at them interestedly from the chair.
"I'm dizzy," she complainted, squeezing her eyes shut.
"Wendy," Cartman whispered, and she realised suddenly he'd brought his lips right to her ear, and their faces were very close. "Guess what?"
"I have to feel your titties."
She giggled. She should have seen that one coming. Quite unaware she was doing it, she brought one hand up and traced the line of his jaw.
"Well, if you have to," she grinned.
He shifted closer to her, and one hand closer on the same breast Kenny had had hold of, just as his lips game gaspingly close to hers.
He looked straight down into her eyes. "Yeah?"
"I...don't know." And she didn't. She giggled again. "I have no idea why I just said your name."
"Jeez, Wendy, you're fucking blasted."
She brought her other arm up and wound it round his neck, leaning her forehead against the crook of his neck. "So everyone keeps telling me."
Somewhere in the middle of it all his hand had left her breast and found her ass. And if she just tilted up her head slightly, she could –
"Wendy, Jesus Christ!"
She jerked backwards, alarmed but the sharpness of his exclamation. "Huh?"
Cartman was standing frozen on the spot, his eyes fixed on her. "Your leg, bitch!"
Looking down, Wendy saw she'd somehow started to work her leg up between Cartman's. Her thigh was pressed pretty high up, which meant his outcry had been about –
She giggled a third time.
"Fuck me, you are such a slutty drunk."
"I've never been this drunk before," she admitted.
"Good thing, too, or Clyde wouldn't be the only guy you'd screwed."
Wendy tilted her head up. "I didn't sleep with Clyde."
Cartman stared at her blankly. "You're the only girl I've ever kissed," he said, though quite how that was any kind of appropriate response, she wasn't sure.
"You're such a loser, Cartman."
"'Ey, shut the fuck up!" He scowled down at her. "You gonna fucking make out with me or what?"
Wendy had to admit, she was pretty damn tempted to say "what", but Cartman took that option away from her by leaning down and pressing his mouth against hers.
Honestly, though, she wasn't complaining.