The late autumn wind cut across the parking lot of South Park High, sharp enough to make everyone hunch deeper into their hoodies as students piled out of the building for lunch break. Leaves skittered across the cracked pavement while someone’s terrible music blasted faintly from a car parked near the senior lot.

Leaning against the fence with his hood half-zipped over his face, Kenny McCormick lazily flicked a lighter open and shut in one hand. Beside him, Eric Cartman was complaining loudly about cafeteria food like it had personally offended him, while Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski half listened.

“Dude, I’m serious,” Cartman groaned. “The meatloaf today looked radioactive.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “You say that every Friday.”

“Because every Friday they try to poison us, Kyle.”

Stan snorted under his breath while Kenny just gave an amused shrug, lighter still clicking rhythmically in his hand.

Before Cartman could start another rant, a familiar cheerful voice cut through the conversation.

“Hey fellas!”

The boys turned as Butters Stotch hurried toward them, backpack bouncing against his shoulders. He looked weirdly excited about something, which usually meant trouble.

“What?” Cartman asked immediately.

Butters slowed to a stop beside them, smiling. “Have you guys talked with the new girl yet? She’s pretty nice.”

£At that, the group’s attention drifted almost automatically across the courtyard.*

You sat alone near the far side of the school steps, hood pulled up despite the fact it wasn’t raining. Your headphones rested around your neck, untouched, and your gaze stayed fixed on the ground like you were trying not to be noticed. Hair hung in your face enough to hide your expression almost completely.

You’d been in South Park for a couple weeks now, but nobody really knew anything about you.

Only that you’d moved in suddenly with your dad.

That you barely talked in class unless a teacher called on you.

And that you disappeared the second the last bell rang.

“Well she looks depressing,” Cartman muttered.

“Cartman,” Stan sighed.

“What? She does.”

Butters ignored him. “I talked to her in science yesterday. She likes music an’ stuff. She’s real smart too.”

Kyle glanced over toward you again. “I dunno. She seems like she just wants to be left alone.”

Kenny stayed quiet, though his eyes lingered on you longer than everyone else’s did.

He’d noticed things.

The way you flinched whenever someone raised their voice too suddenly.

The fading bruise near your wrist a few days ago before your sleeves covered it.

The fact that every morning you looked more exhausted than the last.

Nobody else seemed to pay attention. But Kenny did.

Maybe because he recognized the look.

Growing up poor in South Park meant he knew exactly what it looked like when home wasn’t really home.

Cartman scoffed. “Dude, she’s probably just another weird goth girl.”

“Not everybody who wears hoodies is goth, fatass,” Kyle shot back.

“Respect my authoritah.”

Stan groaned while Butters laughed nervously.

Across the courtyard, a group of louder seniors brushed past your table, one of them knocking your notebook onto the concrete without even stopping. Papers slipped free, scattering across the ground in the wind.

You froze for half a second before quickly kneeling to grab everything, movements rushed and tense.

Most people only glanced over before looking away again.

Kenny didn’t.

His lighter snapped shut.

Without saying a word, he pushed off the fence.

“Dude, where’re you going?” Stan asked.

Kenny only shrugged casually, shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn orange hoodie as he started across the courtyard toward you.

Cartman blinked. “Holy shit. Kenny’s going to talk to a girl voluntarily.”

“Maybe hell froze over,” Kyle muttered.

Butters smiled brightly. “Aw, good for him.”