A/N: I'm am SO sorry that this update took so long. About two months, right? UGH!

Thank you so much for the reviews, follows, and favorites! They really motivated me to continue this.


Chapter 2

I wake up Friday morning to some R&B song that I don't even remember the name of. After about fifteen minutes of the song on repeat, I'm finally awake enough to turn the damn alarm off. My eyes are half-closed as the bright rays of sunlight shine through my thin curtains.

When my eyes finally adjust to the bright light, I glance at the time on my cell phone. 6:47 a.m. Groaning, I remember that I'm supposed to be at Cartman's house by 7:30. Speaking of him, I discover that I have a text message sent last night from him:

"Hey jewfag. Dont 4get 2 be at mah house by 7:30. if u arent there then I'll kick u in the nuts. k bye"

What a delightful message to wake up to. I simply reply, "K. See you then, lard butt. Make sure you're ready by then or I'm leaving without you."

I send the message and walk into the bathroom to take a shower and get ready. I've already packed everything I need yesterday evening, so I don't have to rush. My mom insists that I have two huge jugs of water in my trunk, as well as a blanket. I find it completely unnecessary. What the hell does she think will happen that I'll need so much? Probably she wants me to be prepared, in case of a car accident or something. I guess if that makes her feel more comfortable, there's no point in arguing.

Once I'm out of the shower, I rush back to my bedroom wearing only a towel. After a short debate on what to wear, I decide on red, baggy gym shorts and a gray v-neck shirt.

By 7:15, all of my belongings are packed in the backseat of the car. Since I have about fifteen minutes left, I make a bowl of cornflakes to eat at the kitchen table and relax before I have to endure the torture of spending twelve hours in a car with my worst enemy.

Not long after I take a few bites of my cereal, my mom walks into the kitchen wearing a light pink bathrobe. That's odd, I didn't hear her come downstairs.

"Morning, Mom," I say cheerfully, a fake smile plastered to my face. She returns the gesture.

"Good morning, Kyle. How did you sleep?"

"Pretty well," I answer, absentmindedly stirring the cornflakes with my spoon.

"That's good." She takes out a carton of eggs from the fridge.

We go on with our own business until it's twenty-five past and we're standing in the driveway. I'm packing my things into my car. It's sunny outside and fairly warm.

"Are you sure you have everything you need, Bubbe?" she asks worriedly.

"Yes, Mom." I roll my eyes.

"So you didn't forget to bring your insulin, sunscreen, and cellphone?" I nod. "And are those jugs of water still in the car?"

"Mhm," I confirm once more. She sighs but then smiles up at me.

"Okay, Kyle. I trust you. You're an adult now and you've shown that you're responsible enough for doing this." I smile at her. This time it's genuine.

As I head into the black SUV, my mom once again stops me.

"Just don't drink at the party, and please, drive carefully."

"Don't worry, Ma." I smile reassuringly. "I'll be fine."

The two of us wave our final goodbyes as I drive off, heading to the Cartman household.

I park in the driveway of his house with a few minutes to spare. There's a slight feeling of dejá vu in me as I gaze up at the forest-green house. Jesus, I haven't been here in years, but the house looks exactly the same as when we were kids. I almost feel dejected at how much my life has changed since the fourth grade.

The garage door is open, but Liane's blue car isn't inside. That's odd. Why would she be out this early? I sputter, remembering that she's the town whore and is probably sleeping at some pervert's house right now.

When I reach his front door, I gingerly bring my finger up to the doorbell. Wait... I could just leave him here and drive off on my own. It's not like I'll ever see him after this, so why not ditch him? He deserves it for being an asshole all of these years.

I turn on my heel to leave, but involuntarily stop and stare at my car parked in the driveway. What am I thinking? If I just ditch him after I already told him that I would give him a ride, it would be rude to just back out like that. Cartman would most likely do it to me if given the chance, but I'm not Cartman.

"What the hell are you doing, Jew?" The voice from behind surprises me and I gasp. I spin around and see Cartman with a puzzled expression. I wonder how long he's seen me here, looking like a fucking idiot?

"What do you mean 'what am I doing'?" I respond defensively. "I'm picking you up, like I told you I would!" He rolls his eyes. I notice that he's wearing a black T-shirt and tight denim jeans. They fit him well.

"Well, you do realize that my door isn't facing the driveway, right?" he mocks giving me a shit-eating grin.

"Whatever, dumbass. Are you ready to go? Where's your stuff? 'Cause I'm not going to wait for your—"

"Right here." He interrupts with a smug grin, tossing a bright-yellow book bag in front of me.

"Okay, good. What about the forty bucks?" He grunts, taking out two twenties from his back pocket. When we were discussing the plans for the trip via text, I told him to bring forty bucks for gas. Since I'm the one taking him on the trip, he needs to help with payments. At first he didn't want to at all, but I told him if he doesn't help pay, then he can just sit his sorry ass down and miss the party. Finally, he caved in.

"Alright, now just go to the car and put whatever you want in the backseat next to my stuff and get in the passengers seat."

"Wow, I didn't know Jews were so bossy," he remarks, locking his door. I ignore him and open the car doors. He puts his things in the back while I hop into the drivers seat and start the ignition.

"Hold on, asshole! I'm not done!" Cartman hollers, still arranging his things in the back.

"I know, I'm just starting the car. Do you mind?"

Shortly after, he slams the back door roughly and plops into the passengers seat.

"So what's the plan?" Cartman asks, closing his door and buckling his seat belt

"Well, the drive itself will take approximately twelve hours. Add how long stops will take and we've got fourteen hours at most." Cartman sulks a little in his seat.

"It would be so much easier to take an airplane," he mutters.

"No one forced you to ride with me. If you wanted to go on a plane then I don't see why you're here."

"I didn't realize it would take so damn long!" he sits up suddenly.

"Well that's not my fault!" I retort. Ungrateful bastard. I'm spending hundreds of dollars on gas and the least he could do is thank me for letting him tag along!

"What time is the party, anyway?" Cartman asks, changing the subject.

"It starts around three tomorrow. We'll meet Stan and Kenny at a motel tonight. We probably won't get there before midnight."

Cartman nods tiredly and rests his head against the car window. I'm almost jealous since I'm tired as well, but I have to keep my eyes on the road. Is this party even worth the tiring drive?


After Cartman got his precious beauty sleep, he's back to his usual self - constantly nagging about how we should go to a rest stop or that he needs to go to the restroom. Shit, it's only been an hour and I don't know much longer I can take this.

"Stop being such a Jew!" he whines. "I'm fucking hungry." God, he's such a baby.

"That's because you're a fatass," I reply simply, not looking away from the road.

"Ay! Screw you!" he exclaims angrily. "Besides, I'm not even fat anymore."

"Keep telling yourself that, tubby." He grits his teeth which makes me crack up. He's so ill-tempered that it's hilarious. I hate to say it, but arguing with him can be entertaining.

"Anyway, I have to take a piss so just hurry up!"

"It's only been an hour!" I exclaim.

"You try drinking four liters of Diet Double Dew the night before and try holding it."

"Why in hell would you still drink that shit after what happened in fourth grade?!"

"Dude, have you had Double Dew? It's so good." He smiles dreamily as if picturing the yellow liquid in all its glory.

"That's not the point! You don't drink something that makes you constantly have diarrhea."

"That's only if I eat Arby's Ultimate Angus with it, dipshit."


I really have no clue how an argument about a carbonated beverage turned into one on my sexuality, but in a little less than an hour, that's exactly what happened.

"Seriously, Kyle, you're such a fag. Don't even try to deny it. I bet you even fantasize about screwing Stan," Cartman snickers obnoxiously. "Who knows? Maybe you two actually are screwing!"

"You are so disgusting!" I snap.

"I don't see you denying it." Without even looking at myself in the mirror, I can tell that my face is flushed from both anger and humiliation. My face probably matches the color of my hair!

"Goddammit, Cartman! Stan's my best friend and nothing more! I'm not even gay, anyway." Well, half of that statement is true. Stan is like a brother to me. All the crazy shit that's gone on in South Park, we've been through together. Hell, we've saved each other's lives on several different occasions! I love him more than anything, but not like... THAT! Sick, dude! So, Stan is my best friend. That's true. However, I'm fairly sure that I am, in fact, gay. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a nice set of boobs every now and then, but that's as far as attraction to girls go for me. I used to have a few crushes on girls back in elementary school as well, but I never felt an actual attraction to them.

Guys, on the other hand, are just so... hot. Their broad, muscular figures take my breath away. I don't get many crushes on guys either, though. It's more of a physical attraction, I think.

I haven't told anyone of this yet. If I do decide to come out, the first person I tell will be Stan. He's probably the only one I can trust to keep it a secret and not judge me for it. My mom has always wanted me to marry a sweet little Jewish girl, so I'm not gonna break the news to her yet.

"So, if you're not gay, why do you always get jealous when him and Wendy make out?" he interrogates.

"What the hell are talking about?" He clicks his tongue in exasperation.

"Oh Kahl, you're so dense it pains me." I glare forward, trying to concentrate on the road. "I see you grimace at them when they kiss. You're obviously jealous that Wendy gets to have him all to herself." Shit. He sees me doing that?

"It's not that I'm jealous," I start, pushing my messy bangs out of my eyes. "It's just kind of gross seeing them sucking their faces off. It has nothing to do with jealousy."

"Hm, maybe it's not jealousy then." I crinkle my nose in confusion. "It probably just grosses you out seeing heterosexual couples kissing, since you're gay." I bang my right hand on the steering wheel.

"Fuck you, Cartman! If anyone's a fag here, it's you!"

"What have I ever done that was gay?"

"Let's see here," I mockingly ponder, tapping my index finger to my forehead. "Oh, that's right! The time you were so eager to have me suck your balls. If that doesn't spell out 'gay', I don't know what does." That took Cartman off guard.

"I only wanted you to for the sole purpose of humiliation. Besides, at the end of the day you willingly sucked them in Imaginationland." I grit my teeth. When will he understand that I wasn't the one to suck his balls? It was an imaginary version of me sucking imaginary Cartman.

"That wasn't me! That was something you imagined!"

"Haven't we already settled this, Kyle? Imaginary things are real."

I groan. I would slap the shit out of him if I wasn't driving. "That's not the only gay thing you've done, anyway."

He looks like a deer caught in headlights, but tries not to show it. "Like... what?"

"You want me to make a list?" I say, rhetorically. "You gave Ben Affleck a hand job, you sucked Butters' dick, dressed up as Britney Spears and danced with a Justin Timberlake cutout while saying 'touch my hot body.'" Cartman opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it. I can't contain my laughter any longer.

"Well, I... Whatever, Kahl! You're still a fag."

"Still not as much of a fag as you!" I tell him, in between giggles.

No matter what he says, I've won this time.