Gold Digger Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/6956401. Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: South Park Relationship: Kyle Broflovski/Kenny McCormick Character: Kyle Broflovski, Kenny McCormick, Bebe Stevens, Wendy Testaburger, Stan Marsh, Butters Stotch Additional Tags: Attempted Seduction, Developing Relationship, Alternate Universe - High School, kenny this is a terrible plan, kenny no Language: English Collections: Purrsonal Picks, scream worthy Stats: Published: 2016-05-24 Completed: 2017-02-09 Chapters: 20/20 Words: 52349 Gold Digger by indirectkissesiniceland Summary When Kenny flunks out of Home Ec, his female classmates tease him about not having what it takes to "find a nice, rich man to marry." Well, he's going to show them. Everybody knows their future valedictorian comes from one of South Park's wealthiest families and will make his own fortune as a successful lawyer one day. Seducing him will prove that Kenny isn't a Home Ec failure. He'll be a trophy husband if it kills him (and it probably will, at least once). Chapter 1 Failing a class was bad enough, but failing Home Ec at South Park High School was just embarrassing. It wasn't even like a real Home Ec class that taught any sort of skills. Mostly their teacher just went over tips and tricks for picking and winning fights with a husband—what Kenny liked to think of as ninja lessons—or calculations for acquiring an archaic sugar daddy/trophy wife marriage. The actual curriculum was left up to the students themselves. Kenny could boil water, hem clothes, and balance a checkbook after a lifetime of steadily taking over his own household duties while his parents' alcoholism increased, but nothing seemed to satisfy his instructor. Pasta from a box and sauce from a jar wasn't a "real" homemade meal, and his stitches were clumsy and crooked, functionality overlooked for presentation. The checkbook was what really sunk him, though. "No, no, Kenny, you're being much too stingy," his teacher said, looking over his shoulder at his math. "Why, with a monthly allowance like that, you can barely buy yourself a nice meal." Kenny double-checked the number she was looking at; it was more than enough for new winter boots for all three McCormick siblings when you knew where to look—and Kenny did. "That's all that's left after payments on the mortgage, utilities, and groceries," he said, blinking up at her. She sighed. "Well, that's on you, then, for not pursuing a man who makes the kind of salary you deserve." It wasn't even the end of the class period when she finished checking everyone's "work" and called Kenny up to the front of the room to speak with him privately. Because in front of everyone was totally private. "I just don't think you're cut out for Home Ec," she said in a stage whisper that everyone could hear. Kenny jammed his hands in his pockets, knowing the tips of his ears were burning with embarrassment. "Why don't you transfer over to Shop class and pick up a more marketable trade?" The very idea of going into Shop class with all those saws and wires had Kenny sweating. "I don't want to transfer two weeks into the semester, if I can help it," Kenny said. "Is there anything I can do to improve my grade?" His teacher frowned. "Well...I don't know, Kenny. Your cooking and sewing skills are both average at best, and...well...I don't think the odds of your finding a rich husband are very good." The room had gone very still, and Kenny figured his blush must have extended to cover every inch of his body, he was burning so badly. On their first day, this very teacher had bubbled that some of her students would go on to have interesting careers while the prettiest ones would have the luxury of marrying a nice, handsome man to be the breadwinner. At the time, Kenny had struggled not to laugh, but now he was fighting off the opposite reaction. Not only was he failing the class, but now his teacher had basically announced to all of his classmates that he wasn't good-looking enough to marry rich, either. "I think you'll do well in Shop, Kenny." She brightened after a few moments of silence, Kenny unable to find his voice to retort. "Besides, that's more of a boy class anyway. You'll fit in better." When the bell finally rang, Kenny grabbed his things and stormed out of the room with his head down. Only in South Park would that sort of soul- crushing speech come from a teacher and inevitably go unaddressed; even if he complained, the administration wouldn't bother with their poorest student from an infamously lowbrow family, and it's not like his parents would bang down the doors to fight for him. He really didn't want to go to Shop class. "That was absurd, Kenny!" Wendy said, running up to his side and accompanying him down the hallway towards their lockers. "I can't believe she said all of that, and in front of everybody. That kind of behavior is inexcusable!" At least he had the student council president on his side. Kenny threw her a wry grin. "It's okay, Wendy, you don't need to start a movement." The thought was enough. He really didn't need Wendy rallying the troops so Kenny could take Home Ec. He'd dealt with enough of Cartman's crap when he initially signed up. "I guess I'm just not cut out for it." "Sorry about that, Kenny," Bebe giggled, she and Red passing on Kenny's other side. "Guess you don't have what it takes to be a trophy husband." She hip-checked Kenny affectionately, and he knew she was teasing, but it still stung. He hid the hurt behind an eyebrow waggle. "Too bad I can't be graded on other spousal duties , eh, ladies?" Bebe and Red shrieked with laughter, and Wendy swatted him with her cinder block of a math textbook. Kenny feigned innocence and shrugged. "What? My grade would skyrocket." Truth be told, Kenny didn't have a whole lot of practical experience, but he read and had an internet connection. If there were a test, he'd pass with flying colors. "Sorry, Kenny," Red said, finger-combing her hair back behind her ears. "This class is old school. You want a man, you gotta go through his stomach with cookies you baked just for him ." Her voice pitched up, and she put on a Southern belle accent for the last few words. "Or," Bebe pointed out, "you could darn his socks for him. Men can't control themselves when a lady darns his socks." "That would be true if you said it differently," Kenny said. "As in, make 'darn his socks' not darning his socks." At the girls' perplexed smiles, he rolled his eyes. "You know. Men love it when you..." He let the rest of the sentence roll off his tongue, a practically perfect purr. " Darn their... socks ." Another peal of laughter was his prize, and Kenny reveled in the fact that he basically had the three hottest girls in the senior class as his attentive entourage. There was still plenty of pride to take in success with the ladies, though success with guys was a teensy bit more thrilling these days. Though Kenny would never say so out loud, he'd been a little excited taking a class that promised to mold him into a house husband who could nab a wealthy man. All his life he'd been prepared to work his way from dirt poor to passably middle-class, but being able to charm his way into a life of luxury...well, he wouldn't say no to it, that was for sure. If some trust fund babe would pay Karen's tuition in exchange for a plate of cookies and stitched-up socks, then sure, what the hell, Kenny could do that. It was a pipe dream, sure, but that didn't make it easier to be told to his face in front of an audience that it was never going to happen. "You're lucky you get to take Shop now," Wendy said with a sigh. "I signed up for it, but they kicked me over to Home Ec." "You're too pretty for a career, girl," Bebe teased. "You can find a nice man instead." Wendy scoffed. "Unlike Kenny," Red added. At this point in the conversation, it was all part of the joke, meant in good fun, but Kenny couldn't help his reflexive bristling. "Hey, one opinion doesn't make it fact," he said, playing up a roguish tone so he didn't hurt any feelings in the process of defending himself. "I could bag myself a sugar boyfriend if I wanted." Kenny held his hand out, palm up, and gestured up and down his body. "I mean, come on." The flicker of sympathy in Wendy's eyes told Kenny she knew he was defending wounded pride, but Bebe and Red just giggled right along with the conversation. "Yeah, okay, Kenny," Bebe said. They'd been friends since they were kids. Kenny liked Bebe. But he wasn't losing this one. "How much you wanna bet?" he asked. "Bet?" Bebe echoed, the lighthearted humor in her voice finally faltering. "That I can seduce a nice, rich boy into spoiling his trophy boyfriend, AKA me, rotten." Red rolled her eyes, still smiling. "Okay, Kenny, I'll bite. We need a time limit or something, so we know when you gotta pay up." "And an amount to be spent," Bebe added, "from this mystery rich boy you have access to out here in the mountains." Kenny's mind raced. A flyer hanging up on the locker behind Bebe caught his eye. "Homecoming's in three weeks. Let's say...three store-bought gifts before that, and we show up to the dance in a limo as a couple." "You've gotta be kidding, Kenny," Wendy said. Bebe didn't share her disbelief, though, eyes gleaming. "Okay," she said. "Three weeks, three store-bought gifts—but they have to be gift-gifts, not, like, a cheap pack of chewing gum. Like, luxury items you wouldn't get otherwise." Tip-toeing around the McCormicks' poverty, but Kenny was too drunk with competition to bat an eye at it. "And a limo." She nodded. "One more provision—you can only use skills we covered in Home Ec. Baking, sewing, emotional manipulation." Kenny snorted. "None of your alternative spousal duties to tip the scale." "Bebe, I will agree to that only because you just conceded that my alternative spousal duty prowess is an unfair advantage." She shook her head. "What do you get if you win?" "Bragging rights via gossip," Kenny said. "I want you ladies to get that whole Home Ec class buzzing about my conquest." And stick it to that teacher who didn't think he could. "Done," Bebe said. "What about if you lose?" Wendy asked, and Kenny could see her curiosity bubbling beneath the surface in spite of herself. He gestured to Bebe and Red and raised his eyebrows for their answer. "We get any and all gifts you received in the process," Bebe said immediately. "And a homemade present each that you make in Shop class." "I'd like the lamp that looks like an elephant," Red said. "You can surprise me," Bebe added. Kenny made an okay sign with his hand. They'd reached the senior hallway where all their lockers were and would have to disperse. "Now all I gotta do is find a target," Kenny said. "Token, maybe? Really go for the gold in gold-digging?" Token Black's family was almost obscenely wealthy. Two of Kenny's entire house could fit in their garage. "No, not Token," Wendy said quickly, and Kenny flashed her an apologetic look. He'd forgotten they'd dated for a while and she would be protective of him. "Hmm...that drops the bar quite a bit for boyfriend income," he mused, "but considering my starting point, I think I still get credit for bagging middle class." "In South Park?" Bebe asked. "Absolutely." "You can still shoot a little higher," Wendy said, and this time Kenny turned to face her fully. He hadn't expected her to get behind this scheme so quickly. Her attention was focused down the hall, and she lifted her chin in the direction of the lockers a few homerooms down. Kenny followed her gesture, his eyes finding their target immediately. Dark red hair that had tamed from wild curls to waves sometime around Driver's Ed; an orange North Face a shade and brand too conspicuous for someone who wanted to blend in at South Park High; and a stack of intimidating textbooks—AP Calculus, AP English, AP Everything—to pave the way to law school to high-profile lawyer and the salary that came with it. The undisputed future valedictorian of their class, captain of the varsity basketball team, and only student other than Token to have his own car bought new instead of used. Good-looking, well-liked, the poster boy for parent-approved boyfriend. " Kyle Broflovski ?" Red hissed. "Are you kidding me, Wendy? You trying to sabotage Kenny before he's even started?" "If tagging that sweet ass doesn't give you bragging rights, I don't know what does." Bebe sighed. "But yeah, not gonna happen. Kyle's never dated anybody ever, not for a lack of trying." There was a distinct streak of bitterness in her voice. "We gotta pick somebody Kenny has a shot with." Kyle leaned back to examine his locker, probably wondering if he'd forgotten anything. He reached up and brushed his curls back from his face, his fingers arcing over the shell of his ear and resting lightly on his neck. Apparently satisfied, he slammed his locker shut and crouched down to pick up his books. Nice, handsome, rich. Check, check, check. Well, that settled it. "If you'll excuse me, ladies," Kenny said, raking a hand through his hair, "I've got a bet to win." Chapter 2 Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes As Kenny made his way down the hall, he cycled through his mind everything he knew about Kyle Broflovski. He was smart, like, Harvard smart. Kicked all kinds of ass at basketball and didn't take it easy on anybody, even in gym class. He grew up in Jersey until high school, at which point his dad moved his family to his own hometown of South Park to open up his own legal practice. No sooner had he stepped foot on South Park soil, Kyle was insta-besties with resident varsity football star and all- around good guy Stan Marsh, who was on-again-off-again with Wendy. Currently off. And Cartman hated his guts, which could only be a compliment to Kyle's character. Oh, and one more thing. He was even better-looking up close. Kenny leaned against the locker beside Kyle's while Kyle continued packing up his bag. Propping an arm up in what was certainly a casual-cool pose, Kenny flashed a confident smile back at the girls, who were giggling in their cluster around their own lockers. A flash of red caught the corner of Kenny's eye, and he returned his attention just in time to meet Kyle's gaze as he stood. "Oh!" Kyle stepped back, disapproval flickering in his eyes, probably at having his personal bubble invaded. "Well, hello," Kenny said, winking. "You come here often?" Kyle frowned. "To...my locker?" "Yeah," Kenny said, waggling his eyebrows. "'Cause if you hang out more in another hallway, I gotta change my route." Kyle blinked. "...What?" Kenny paused. Kyle didn't seem to be acting dumb, just genuinely confused. Here Kenny thought he'd open with a joke. The guy was in all AP classes, so he had to need a smile right about now, right? Or not. You know. Whatever. "I'm Kenny McCormick," Kenny said, sticking his hand out. For a second, he didn't think Kyle was going to shake, but he did, warily. "Kyle Broflovski." "Oh, I know that," Kenny said. "Captain of the basketball team, future valedictorian. Have to be dead not to have heard about you. Which I am sometimes, but I always come back." Over-the-top, goofy humor: nothing. Morbid humor: success. Or maybe it was just the ego boost. Either way, Kyle smiled. "Death defiant, eh? Okay, I'll bite. What can I do for you?" "When's your free period?" "Fourth." Last period of the day. "Me, too." That was a lie. Kenny had English fourth period. "Want to hang out?" "You want to hang out?" Kyle echoed. Kenny chuckled. "You're future valedictorian, dude, this conversation shouldn't be this hard." Ooh. Bad move. The slight, however joking in its delivery, was apparently offensive enough that Kyle pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. "Can't," he said tersely. "I use my free period to practice." "Practice...basketball?" Kenny asked. Kyle hefted his backpack strap over his shoulder and side-stepped Kenny to start moving down the hallway. Kenny turned on his heel and shadowed him. "What, conversation too hard for you to follow?" Kyle snipped. Hmm, temper. This could be fun. Kenny tried to overlook the less-than-sparkling people skills. "No, just, that's—uh, what I wanted to hang out about. Um." Maybe he shouldn't be blowing off English. "I've been thinking about trying out for the team. Since you're captain, I figured I'd—" "Try out?" Kyle pulled over to the side of the hallway so he could stop, turn, and shoot Kenny an incredulous look. "Aren't you another senior? You haven't played a single game for three years and figured you'd try out in the fourth? For varsity?" Kenny smiled as bashfully as he could and spread his arms. "Yep!" When Kyle scoffed, he added, "I figure I've got a whole two months to get good before tryouts, so why not get tips from the best, yeah?" Kyle appraised him, tilting his chin up a bit. While he looked up, maybe evaluating Kenny's height—which had at least eight inches on Kyle's— Kenny made a mental note that flattery got him everywhere with this guy. Top grades, top dog on the court...who knew he'd have such a fragile ego? What the hell did this guy have to prove? "I practice in the gym," Kyle said finally. "If you show up, I can't stop you." Kenny batted his eyes. "Wouldn't miss it for the world." "Ha." Kyle's mouth twitched into a smile even as he quirked one eyebrow. "Okay." He turned and hurried up the stairs to the top floor, while Kenny loped downstairs for his next period in the basement. The basement, the baseline, the dungeon. There were plenty of names for it, and those weren't counting Cartman's contributions. South Park had never been a town of subtlety, and its high school followed suit. AP and honors classes were on the top floor, furnished with Smart Boards and top-notch teachers who would pave the way for the scholarship-guzzling smart kids. The basement was for kids who weren't going anywhere special after graduation, assuming they made it that far. Basic math, basic English, basic computer skills. Kenny spent most of his time at school replaying his favorite superhero movies in his mind and mastering the art of sleeping without lurching forward and hitting his forehead on his desk. Trig was trig, but longer and duller than ever, and Kenny had his bag packed and was hovering with his butt an inch off his seat by the time the bell rang at the end of the period. He shot past his English classroom, praying his teacher wouldn't look up as he passed, and jogged around to the back of the basement where the staircase led up from the locker rooms to the gym on the first floor. Kyle was already there, changed into a jersey and basketball shorts that were spectacularly flattering, and taking shots from half court. When Kenny walked in, the ball was arcing from Kyle's hands, across the court, and through the net with a swoosh Kenny threw his hands up over his head and called out, "Whoo! Nothin' but net!" Apparently Kyle heard him, because he laughed when he glanced over. As Kenny crossed the gym, he stripped off his orange hoodie. Kyle evaluated his ratty white tee shirt and blue jeans. "Jeans aren't the best thing to wear to play basketball," he said. "Well, that's what I'm working with," Kenny said. "Besides, why bother? I'm not gonna look better in shorts than you do." "Why do you keep saying weird things like that?" Kyle asked, and for the first time since he made this bet, Kenny wondered if he might be hindered by heterosexuality. Then Kyle flashed him a bemused smile and turned around to retrieve the basketball, running his hands through his wild curls, and all articulate thoughts fled Kenny's mind. Kyle had seemed pretty confused earlier, so he didn't want to count his chickens before he hatched, but maybe his dishonorable intentions were becoming clearer. "So, what're we doing?" Kenny asked, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Horse? Knockout?" "One-on-one," Kyle said. "Usually I practice on my own, but if I've got a nice, tall opponent..." He rested the basketball on his hip, holding it with a crooked arm. Kenny rolled his shoulders and leaned back into a pose under Kyle's studious gaze. "Have you ever played before?" "As a kid. I know the rules." Kyle dropped the ball from his hip and went right into a dribble. "Perfect." Captain was not a title given out lightly. In minutes Kenny was huffing and puffing, feeling sweat seeping into the fabric of his shirt. Kyle literally dribbled circles around him. Kenny was certain that he looked like a cartoon character, spinning himself dizzy, three steps behind, while Kyle faked him out one way and darted the other, sinking basket after basket. Kenny might have held the ball twice, Kyle immediately pawing it away from him. Even though Kenny clearly wasn't anywhere near his level, Kyle didn't seem to mind. He grinned wildly the entire time they played. Without a real challenge in front of him, Kenny thought, maybe Kyle could just get into the game. Or maybe he was like this all the time. Kenny wouldn't know; he never went to school games. It was precious time that could be spent earning a paycheck. As the game continued, Kenny started to notice the patterns in Kyle's strategy. The jerk of his shoulders when he was faking versus the fluid movement of a breakaway, the way his arm instinctively raised in front of himself as he advanced on offense. A spark lit in Kyle's brown eyes, and Kenny threw his hands up again, just in time to block a shot. The basketball slapped against his forearms and ricocheted back over Kyle's head. Kenny happened to look down and his eyes locked on Kyle's burning stare. Distantly, the basketball landed, its bounces against the hardwood floors echoing across the gym. Kyle clicked his tongue. "Well, you have no idea what you're doing," he said, "but you are tall." "I totally blocked that shot!" Kenny let his arms drop from over his head to spread wide in front of him. "Fair and square, babe." "Fair and square," Kyle repeated dryly, rolling his eyes. "Aw, come on, Ky, you mopped the floor with me. Give me this one." Kenny gave his best puppy dog eyes. Flattery was definitely the way to go. Kyle shifted his weight into a more confident stance and smiled. "Ky?" he said. "We met two periods ago and we're on a nickname basis?" "I mean, you call me Kenny. That's a nickname." "I haven't called you Kenny once." Kenny wanted to argue, but it was true; Kyle hadn't called him by name yet. "Dude, what's up with that? If we're going to get to know each other, you've gotta call me Kenny." Kyle fixed him with an amused smirk. "Kenny." "See?" Kenny leaned into Kyle's personal bubble, and Kyle tipped ever so slightly backwards. "Doesn't it just feel right ?" "Are you going to hit the showers now?" Kyle asked. "Or are you just going to do it at home?" "Uh. Home I guess." "Me, too." Kyle shrugged. "Heading out?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the back of the gym, outside of which would be the parking lot. "I take the bus." With the number of times Kyle's eyes searched his face, Kenny was beginning to feel like an exhibit at a museum. Something must have been working, though, because these pauses of observation all seemed to lead to Kenny getting closer to his goal. "Do you want a ride?" Karen would be catching the late bus with friends after drama club, so Kenny was on his own anyway. He grinned. "Sure." Chapter End Notes Whispers please refer to my fave K2 artist while reading; this particular fanart may or may not have factored into my inspiration for this chap: http://candyunicornsateme.tumblr.com/post/145485245977/tbh-i-love- the-idea-of-them-playing-basketball Chapter 3 Trig might not be Kenny's specialty, but his brain worked wonders with financial math. Getting up close and personal with Kyle's car, a not-even- two-year-old model kept in pristine condition, he was able to calculate the cost of the car, gas with its sensible mileage, and resale value. It was more than he would make all year. Kyle, having thrown a pair of sweatpants over his shorts and pulled a green ushanka down over his mess of curls, dumped his backpack in the backseat and slid into the driver's seat; Kenny, orange parka tied around his waist, kept his backpack between his knees on the passenger's side. Despite being a sensible, sturdy car for a teen driver, the engine roared deliciously to life when Kyle pressed the ignition button. Kenny let his eyes rove the dashboard. "So, where to?" Kyle asked. Kenny hesitated. A part of him thought maybe he should just ask for a ride to City Wok. Mr. Lu Kim wouldn't complain if he showed up half an hour early for his shift. But his uniform was at home, and that was something his boss would notice. He wouldn't let Kenny work in his ratty parka and sweat-stained tee. Trying to hide his resignation, Kenny said, "635 Avenue de Los Mexicanos." Kyle blinked at him. "Where is that?" He sounded more than a little embarrassed not to know, and Kenny fought down a blush. South Park wasn't that big, so pretty much everybody knew where everything was. The only addresses that might slip through the cracks were from his side of town. "Next to the railroad tracks, by the park," he said carefully. Kyle's brow furrowed. " I live next to the railroad tracks, by the park," he said. "Eastern side," Kenny mumbled. Kyle's fingers skittered on the wheel, and he made an effort to cover it up by putting on his seatbelt. "Oh. Okay." He put the car in gear and drove out of the parking lot quietly. Kenny wondered if he ever drove with the radio turned on; it hadn't even been on when he first started the car. "So, what made you want to try basketball?" Kyle asked as he pulled out onto the street. "Basketball is my favorite sport," Kenny said. Kyle side-eyed him at the red light. "I like the way they dribble up and down the court." Kyle's snort of laughter was one of the ugliest noises Kenny had ever heard in his life. Charmed, he grinned as Kyle shifted from brakes to gas. "I'm being serious." "You think I'd lie to you, Ky?" Kenny let his head roll lazily against the headrest, a smile crawling across his face as he watched Kyle bite the inside of his cheek. "I like slam dunks that take me to the hoop. My favorite play is the alley-oop." "I regret offering to give you a ride," Kyle said around a smile. Relief washed over Kenny. After flubbing his initial move with the valedictorian remark and getting completely schooled on the court, Kenny was wondering if he were up to two strikes already. Confidence revisited him. Now that he'd seen a little temper and a little competitive spirit, it was nice to see Kyle relax. Taking advantage of the string of green lights they hit, Kenny examined Kyle's profile. Definitely a good-looking guy. Even better- looking up close. Best-looking when smiling. "Why do you play b-ball?" Kenny asked. Kyle hummed. "Dunno. I was always good at it as a kid." He stared straight ahead through the windshield, and Kenny suspected there was more to it than that. "Yeah, but, dude, you clearly love it." That earned an appraising glance. "Despite all that intensity—which, side note , was not necessary against a newbie—you were grinning like a maniac the whole time. You like dribbling up and down the court even more than I do." Kyle snorted, a more composed version of his earlier, uglier sound of beauty. "I do love it," he said, a filter of softness coming over his lips. Voice. Lips. Kenny was right the first time. Future sugar boyfriend here. Kyle didn't seem inclined to share more than that, but Kenny suspected he'd glimpsed a shard of Kyle that wasn't on display every day. Triumph stretched Kenny's smile. "Do you ever listen to tunes when you drive?" he asked to fill the silence. The comfort lighting Kyle's face sobered into seriousness. "Sometimes. When I'm by myself." Kyle tapped his index finger against the steering wheel. "My mom heard somewhere that more drivers are distracted by the radio than cell phones, so she's kind of a freak about my driving in. Well. Radio silence." The very corner of his mouth quirked upward. "I'm careful about not getting caught." Kenny waggled his eyebrows and hummed, being conspicuous on purpose as he reached for the radio knobs. "Trying to get me in trouble, McCormick?" Kyle raised a single eyebrow, something Kenny had never seen an actual person do in real life. He grinned in reply. "Your secrets are safe with me, Broflovski." The tiniest, most microscopic exhale through Kyle's nose rang in Kenny's ears. A stifled chuckle? A sound of approval? An oh, you scoff? Whatever it was, it was positive and all the motivation Kenny needed to click the radio on. They blasted electronica through downtown South Park, Kenny alternating between freestyle rapping and saying "Wub-wub-wub" along with the music, Kyle tapping out an intricate beat against the steering wheel and bobbing his head in time with Kenny's vocals. Kenny imagined Kyle like this in the center of of his teammates on the bus back from an away game. To go from that fire-eyed, capital-C Captain on the court to victorious goofball singing off-key at the top of his lungs. When they got to the end of Kenny's street, the nice end, Kyle abruptly powered down. "Sorry, that's my limit," he said. "Stay-at-home mom. No radio on my street." "Which house is yours?" "The green one next to the tracks." Kyle tilted his chin up towards the other end of the street as they drove closer to Kenny's side. "I just kind of came this way on autopilot, but since you live near here..." "This is my street, dude. It's just got a different name when you cross the tracks." Again Kyle's hands stuttered on the wheel. Kenny watched him swallow in slow motion as they pulled to a stop in front of Kyle's house, the tracks dead ahead. The stupid-happy smile Kenny had caught all over his face while he was rocking out shrank away into the furthest corners of Kyle's expression. "We're neighbors?" Kyle asked, his voice suddenly soft. "I...you live right next door to me, and I..." "Dude, don't beat yourself up over it," Kenny said. He unclicked his seatbelt and Kyle's head snapped in his direction. "What are you doing?" "What?" Kenny's hand was already on the door handle. "I'll get out here. No need for you to shake, rattle, and roll fifteen feet over the tracks just to turn right around." "I'll drive you to the door," Kyle said with more conviction than necessary. Kenny wondered if he were trying to make up for the fact that he had no idea that the projects across the tracks he'd probably never spared a second thought in the four years he'd lived in South Park were home sweet home to his new friend. Future boyfriend, Kenny corrected mentally. Eyes on the prize, Kenny, come on. The fact that Kyle wanted to drive him to the door was a good sign. Let the spoiling commence. Kenny relaxed back into his seat. "...Thanks."