The Scenic Route

Chapter 8

"Well, I hope you're happy, Stan," he says, bellowing. "I had to crap in the woods and wipe with leaves."

"Jesus, sick!" Kyle says. Stan just laughs.

"You'd better swim in the lake, then," he says. "And take some soap with you, dude."

"I already used the hippie shower," Cartman says, glowering. "It was horrible. Will you listen to your Jew boyfriend and get us a goddamn motel room already?"

"No," Stan says. "We're just about to start fishing. You want to help?"

"Ha! Yeah, right. And I'm not eating any bottom-feeding goddamn hippie fish, either."

"Suit yourself," Stan says. He elbows Kyle. "Want to get the poles?"

"Put your shirts back on and quit talking about your poles in mixed company!" Cartman shouts as he walks off. Kyle rolls his eyes.

"Thank God he doesn't know about this Butters thing," he says when Cartman is gone. "He'd have a goddamn field day."

"Cartman thinks everyone but him is gay, anyway," Stan says. He stands and offers Kyle his hand, grinning as he pulls him up. "You know what I've always thought would be really funny?"

"What?" Kyle asks, warily.

"If me and you pretended to be gay together, just to like, deflate all of his stupid jokes."

"Ha." Kyle lets go of Stan's hand, heat spreading through his chest like a fever. "Yeah. But no. He'd love that. He'd just gloat, 'cause that would mean he was right all along."

Stan shrugs. "I don't know. I still think it'd be pretty funny."

The heat leaves Kyle's chest as they walk back to the campsite, and he feels colder than he did in the lake, his hands shaking. It would be a joke to Stan, the two of them. He would ham it up, keeping his arm around Kyle, taunting Cartman with made up stories about what they do during their sleepovers. Just thinking about it makes Kyle's stomach pitch, and when he crawls into the tent that Kenny has set up for them, dry clothes clutched to his chest, he has to sit on his knees and concentrate on breathing steadily for awhile, afraid he'll throw up.

"You okay?" Kenny asks when Kyle emerges, dressed and still shaky. He nods and sits down beside Kenny on a flat stone beside the fire pit area.

"Um," Kyle says. He rubs his hand over his face. "Do you have any more alcohol?"

"What a question," Kenny says, grinning. He digs out his flask and passes it to Kyle. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"No," Kyle says. He drinks from the flask, winces, and drinks again. Kenny slides his arm around Kyle's shoulders.

"I know you're not okay," Kenny says. Kyle could scoff, refute this, tell Kenny that he knows he's not okay, too. He just nods, staring at the ground and hoping Kenny won't make him talk about it. Kenny squeezes Kyle's shoulder and takes a deep drink from the flask when he passes it back.

"What the hell, man," Kenny says. "Everything ends."

"Yeah." Kyle can't imagine how he'll ever accept that, but he doesn't really think that Kenny has, either. Stan unzips the tent and crawls out, dressed in jeans and a clean t-shirt. He gathers up the fishing stuff and walks over to them, raising his eyebrows when he sees Kenny's arm around Kyle's shoulders.

"Are you guys having a moment?" he asks.

"Would that be okay with you?" Kenny asks. Stan makes a face at him. Kenny drinks from the flask and offers it to Kyle, who shakes his head.

"I don't want to get drunk," Kyle says, embarrassed. He stands, his legs still wobbly. "Come fish with us," he says to Kenny.

"Oh, fine," Kenny says. "But only if I can keep drinking."