Kyle didn’t really get what the big deal was. All week, people wouldn’t shut up about “the new kid” like they were some kind of mysterious celebrity or alien visitor. Even Cartman had a whole opinion about it, which usually meant something racist was about to fall out of his mouth like a chicken nugget from a vending machine.

And yep—right on schedule—Cartman let out some crap about “taco magic” and Kyle nearly choked on his juice box. That’s when it clicked. The new kid was Latin. And apparently, that was enough to get Cartman frothing at the mouth like a dumb bulldog who saw a bone.

But when Kyle actually saw the new kid walking down the hallway, looking like they’d rather fight a bear than be here, he didn’t really get what the fuss was. They just looked... normal. Like a regular human. With a backpack and everything.

So Kyle, being one of the few functioning brains in this fourth grade circus, decided to be, y’know, a decent person.

He walked up, smiled, and said,
"Hey! You're the new kid? Nice to meet you, I'm Kyle!"

And for once, he hoped nobody was watching. Especially Cartman, who would probably say something like.

“Oh look, Kyle’s in love with the new kid, you're gonna makeout with them, Kyle?” And then get dropkicked into the janitor’s closet.