SEVENTEEN DOLLARS AN HOUR: A South Park Fic
CHAPTER 2: “Teenage Dirtbag”
The morning started with Kyle’s phone alarm going off.
He had set it to “Mickey” by Toni Basil as a dare back in 7th grade, but at some point he stopped hating it. Eventually, he started liking it. Now it was just part of his routine.
“Oh Mickey, you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind—”
His bonnet slipped off as he moved, revealing his jewfro puffing out as it reformed itself in real time like it had been waiting for permission to exist.
He blinked, still half-asleep, then swung his legs out of bed.
He was only in his boxers and socks.
For a second, he just sat there, staring at nothing, like his brain hadn’t fully agreed to start the day yet
A notification popped up on his phone.
An interview had been scheduled for 1:00 p.m.
Kyle immediately checked the clock.
A few hours. Enough time.
He sat up fully, then grabbed a T-shirt, some shorts, and a chain before heading toward the bathroom.
He paused when he saw his dad in the hallway near the laundry closet.
“Morning, Dad,” Kyle said, his voice still rough from sleep.
“Good morning, son,” Gerald replied warmly, leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the head as he passed.
Kyle continued into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror.
There was a faint bit of stubble forming on his upper lip.
Normally, he would’ve shaved it without thinking.
Today, he didn’t.
He just looked at it for a second… then left it alone.
The shower ran hot.
Water hit his skin, steady and grounding, soap cutting through sleepiness in a way that felt more like routine than effort.
He washed his hair, his jewfro loosening and reshaping under the water, then took his time rinsing everything out properly.
By the time he stepped out, it was 11:10 a.m.
He got dressed, towel-dried his hair, and walked out of the bathroom just as Ike was standing outside, waiting impatiently.
“Took you forever, jackass,” Ike said flatly.
Kyle rolled his eyes and flicked Ike lightly on the forehead.
“Watch your mouth, turd,” he muttered.
Then he headed downstairs and pulled on his Nike Pros, already feeling the day fully start to settle in.
Sheila was in her robe, sipping from her “Jewish Mothers Are Superheroes” mug—the one Kyle had gotten her for Christmas.
“So… how’d applying go?” she asked, watching him with genuine interest.
“Got an interview today,” Kyle said. “Hopefully I get hired.”
Sheila set the mug down and walked over, gently cupping his chin between her fingers.
She studied his face for a moment, focusing on the faint stubble forming on his upper lip.
“You’re not going to shave it off, bubala?” she asked.
A small smile slipped onto his face.
She leaned in and blew softly against his cheek the way she used to when he was little.
Kyle let out a short laugh.
It was one of those habits that always hit Sheila a little harder than it hit him—because to her, he was still the kid in the green parka, bundled up and serious about everything.
Not the taller boy standing in her kitchen now, already halfway into becoming someone else.
“Ah, you’re getting so big, Kyle,” Sheila said softly. “It’s hard to look at you like this without wanting to cry.”
Her hand lingered on his chin as she studied the boy she’d spent most of her life raising.
To Kyle, the changes had happened slowly—an inch taller here, a deeper voice there.
To Sheila, they had happened all at once.
One day, he was bundled up in his little green parka.
Now he was standing in her kitchen with messy hair, a chain around his neck, and plans for the future.
She let go of his chin and quickly wiped at them before he could say anything.
“Okay, enough,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “Go. You don’t want to be late.”
She gave him a little wave as he headed out the door.
Almost immediately, something crashed upstairs.
“Ike Broflovski!” Sheila yelled.
Kyle laughed to himself as the front door closed behind him.
Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed his AirPods and put them in.
My Own Worst Enemy by Lit started playing.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking toward Town Hall, nodding or waving at anyone he recognized along the way.
Summer in South Park was weird like that.
Even when you wanted to be alone, you never really were.
Kyle was halfway through the chorus when it happened.
Both of them stumbled backward before crashing onto the sidewalk.
Kyle yanked one AirPod out.
She sat across from him, clearly just as stunned.
She was wearing a work uniform.
And for a second, Kyle forgot every single thing he was about to say.
“Watch where you’re going, dude,” she said, looking up at him.
And suddenly, there was only one song playing in his head.
If I Fell By The Beatles.
It was sort of like how Homer Simpson had They Long to Be (Close to You) by The Carpenters when he first saw Marge.
Because Kyle had seen Tamerina before.
He'd talked to her before.
So why did it suddenly feel like he was meeting her for the first time?
“Hello?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you gonna get up from the ground?”
Her hand was outstretched.
He stood up quickly and brushed himself off.
“I—I'm sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going.”
“Yeah,” she said, adjusting the strap of her bag. “I fucking noticed.”
Tamerina crouched down to gather the things that had spilled onto the sidewalk.
“You've said sorry three times already.”
The word came out sharper than she intended.
Tamerina sighed through her nose and picked up a few scattered items herself.
Her irritation softened just a little when she saw the look on his face.
Just embarrassed.
Really embarrassed.
She sighed, finally softening.
"I'm sorry for snapping," she said. "I'm late for work, and this is a really bad inconvenience."
"And I just ended a talking stage, so I'm not having the best fucking day." She adjusted the strap of her bag and took a step backward. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going to my job."
Kyle felt a pang of guilt.
"Hope you feel better!" he called after her.
Tamerina glanced over her shoulder and gave him a small nod before continuing down the sidewalk.
Kyle stood there for another second before forcing himself to move.
Unfortunately, his brain had other plans.
No matter what song he switched to, the interaction replayed in his head.
Her hand reaching out to help him up.
The way she'd said she ended a talking stage.
The fact that she'd apologized.
Luckily, no one else had seen it.
A notification from one of Cartman's many alternate accounts—the result of Kyle blocking his main one months ago.
Attached was a blurry video of him sprawled on the sidewalk.
For a second, he considered responding.
Instead, he took a deep breath, blocked the account, and shoved his phone back into his pocket.
By the time Town Hall came into view, he was out of breath.
He dug his inhaler out of his pocket, took two quick puffs, and tried to steady himself.
"God, I'm a mess," he muttered.
He tucked the inhaler away and pushed through the front doors.
Inside, the building smelled faintly like old coffee and printer paper.
A front desk sat in the center of the lobby.
Behind it was a woman with her hair pulled into a neat bun and a pair of glasses resting low on her nose.
Kyle's sleep-deprived, hormone-ridden brain immediately noticed she was attractive.
He hated that about himself.
"Hi," she said professionally. "You here for the internship interview?"
She smiled and typed something into her computer.
"They'll be with you shortly."
Kyle waited for about ten minutes before the receptionist came back over, a small stack of papers in her hand.
"The boss will see you now."
Kyle stood up so quickly he almost dropped his phone.
He looked around awkwardly.
"So, uh... do I follow you, or...?"
She turned and started walking down the hallway.
Her heels clicked sharply against the tile floor, each step somehow making the whole place feel more official than it already did.
The hallway stretched past a dozen identical doors before she finally stopped in front of an office that looked significantly nicer than the others.
"Here we are," she said, opening the door.
"Mr. Jones, this is Kyle Broflovski."
She stepped aside, allowing him to enter before quietly closing the door behind him.
The sound of the latch clicking shut made Kyle's stomach drop.
He suddenly became very aware that this was his first interview.
And judging by the expression on his face, everyone else in the room probably knew it too.
Mr. Jones sat behind a large wooden desk, glasses perched low on his nose as he skimmed through Kyle's application.
Kyle sat down across from him.
"Did I say you could sit down?" Mr. Jones asked, his voice completely serious.
"N-no, sir. I'm sorry, I—"
Mr. Jones burst out laughing.
"I'm kidding, kid. Relax."
Kyle let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and sat back down.
Mr. Jones leaned back in his chair.
"Only because you look like you're about to throw up."
Kyle couldn't help but laugh a little.
As the questions kept coming, Kyle answered them as best he could.
Why did he want the internship?
How would he handle working with people he didn't agree with?
That last one almost made him laugh.
Instead, he talked about debate club, group projects, and learning how to communicate with different kinds of people.
Mr. Jones listened closely, occasionally jotting down notes but mostly just watching him.
Kyle was nervous—painfully so—but he was honest.
And there was something endearing about that.
Most teenagers came into interviews trying to sound older than they were.
He just sounded like himself.
Mr. Jones set his pen down.
Had he said something wrong?
Mr. Jones smiled and stood up, extending his hand across the desk.
"That's all I need to hear."
For a moment, Kyle just stared at him.
Kyle quickly stood and shook his hand.
The man's grip was firm and warm.
Shock washed over him first.
Because somehow, against all odds, he had walked into his first interview convinced he was going to embarrass himself—
and walked out with a job.
When Kyle got home, he practically collapsed into bed.
Well—after kicking off his shoes, peeling off his T-shirt and jeans, and changing into a pair of basketball shorts.
He grabbed his phone and opened Instagram.
Summer in South Park was best documented through stories.
Bebe's was exactly what he expected: a crowded house party, flashing lights, people dancing to Charli XCX while someone passed a vape around in the background.
Tweek's story was calmer.
Just him and Craig at a small diner, their hands linked across the table with a caption that read:
Stan's story was a blurry video of him playing guitar with Randy in the garage.
For once, they both looked genuinely happy.
Butters had posted a mirror selfie from his shift at McDonald's, smiling awkwardly while two customers argued behind him.
It was just a picture of her standing behind the counter at the record store.
The neon lights cast a soft glow over her braids, and her nose stud caught the light just enough to stand out.
had a bad day but work made it better 🖤
Kyle stared at the screen a little longer than he meant to.
He thought back to earlier that afternoon.
The way she'd snapped at him.
The way she'd apologized.
And I just ended a talking stage...
Without thinking, he tapped back to her story.
His thumb hovered over the message bar.
Tell her he hoped the rest of her day got better.
Instead, he locked his phone and dropped it onto the mattress beside him.
Because apparently getting hired was easier than sending one text.
After staring at Tamerina's story for what was probably too long, Kyle did something he rarely did.
He snapped a quick selfie from bed.
His stubble was visible in the low light, his chain resting against his collarbone, curls slightly flattened from the shower.
just got back from an interview and i still look good
Within minutes, the views started rolling in.
A couple girls from school liked it.
Bebe reacted with a fire emoji.
bro thinks he's handsome now 💀
Tamerina viewed his story.
Kyle immediately felt his face get warm.
He tapped on her profile before his brain could stop him.
Her page was exactly what he expected and somehow nothing like he'd imagined.
A couple old posts from L.A.
He had liked a picture from three years ago.
A photo of Tamerina standing on Venice Beach in oversized sunglasses and low-rise jeans.
Kyle unliked it so fast he nearly dropped his phone.
He buried his face in his pillow.
Tamerina liked your post from June 18, three years ago.
It was an old picture of him and Red at the county fair.
There was no way she had accidentally liked that exact picture.
Unless she'd been scrolling through his page too.
Kyle's brain short-circuited.
His phone felt way too heavy all of a sudden.
The notification was still there.
He smiled despite himself.
Then immediately stopped smiling.
Because now he had absolutely no idea what any of this meant.
Kyle stared at the notification for another second.
He hadn't thought about that relationship in a while.
Back then, everyone was dating someone.
Kenny bounced between girlfriends every other month. Cartman and Heidi had somehow found their way back to each other—again. Stan and Wendy had broken up and gotten back together so many times that Kyle had honestly lost count.
Kyle was tired of being the third wheel.
He had someone to text after school. Someone to sit with at lunch. Someone to hold hands with at the movies.
It felt like he was finally doing what everyone else had already figured out.
But as their relationship went on, Kyle realized something uncomfortable.
He just didn't like her that way.
And that wasn't Red's fault.
It wasn't anyone's fault.
Around the same time, Kyle had started noticing patterns in who he found himself drawn to—girls with different backgrounds and experiences than his own, girls who reminded him of the actresses, musicians, and older students he'd quietly found himself admiring.
It wasn't something he'd fully understood at the time.
He just knew that forcing himself to stay in a relationship because everyone else was in one wasn't fair to either of them.
Or at least, he tried to.
He told Red he wasn't ready for a relationship. That he'd rushed into things because he felt pressured.
Just not the whole truth.
The whole truth had only been shared with the guys.
And Cartman, being Cartman, told Red anyway.
Middle school after that had been rough.
Girls called him weird. Guys made jokes. Red blocked him on everything.
Kyle couldn't even blame her.
And he'd handled things badly.
It took months before people stopped talking about it.
Even longer before Red and Kyle finally sat down during freshman year and had an actual conversation about everything.
They weren't friends exactly.
But they understood each other now.
And apparently, there were no hard feelings.
Because Red had liked his story.
Kyle smiled a little at that.
Some things got easier with time.
He looked back at the notification from Tamerina.
Some things, apparently, got a lot more complicated.
Kyle kept scrolling for a bit longer.
That’s when he noticed it.
Tamerina didn’t just post alone or with random friends.
She hung out with Kenny. A lot more than he expected.
Kyle stared at that for a second.
Then, without really overthinking it, he tapped out of Instagram and opened a call.
Kenny picked up almost immediately.
His voice was low and rough from sleep.
The camera was angled wrong—like always.
All Kyle could see at first was Kenny’s forehead and half-lidded eyes, framed by dim red LED lights. A small fan spun somewhere off-screen, humming softly in the background.
Kenny didn’t bother fixing it.
“…What’s up?” he mumbled.
“Bro, do you know Tamerina?” Kyle asked.
Kenny sucked his teeth, clearly annoyed, before shifting in bed to grab something off his nightstand. He didn’t even fully sit up—just adjusted, then fell back into the pillows like effort was optional.
“Yes,” he said. “I know T. Why? Don’t tell me you’re also into her…”
His tone made it sound like he’d been asked that exact question way too many times already.
“Yo, get your head out them clouds, my boy,” he said, rubbing his face. “After Clyde, I’m not putting nobody on with her. Dude did her dirty.”
Kyle’s stomach dropped a little.
Kenny glanced at the camera.
Kenny exhaled through his nose like he already expected that answer.
Then he reached over and shared his screen.
The first thing Kyle saw was screenshots.
Tamerina’s posts—old stories, close friends, receipts of things she’d saved.
A picture from Bebe’s story.
Clyde’s texts, careless and blunt.
“she actin like she better than everybody”
Kyle’s expression shifted immediately.
Then Kenny scrolled again.
Tamerina’s voice came through first—shaky, upset.
Talking over her. Laughing. Ganging up.
Kenny’s voice, in the background of the recording, sharper than usual.
Kyle stared at the screen.
That version of Tamerina he’d seen earlier—the irritated girl on the sidewalk—suddenly made a lot more sense.
Kenny stopped sharing his screen and looked back at him.
For a second, the room was just silent.
Then Kenny squinted a little.
“You look good as hell with that stubble, bro.”
The tension broke instantly.
He jokingly blew a kiss at the screen.
Kenny caught it dramatically.
Kyle shook his head, still laughing under his breath.
“Yeah?” Kenny shrugged. “And?”
But this time, it didn’t fully erase what he’d just seen.
Kenny’s smile faded a little as the silence settled back in.
He leaned back against his pillow, staring at the ceiling for a second like he was choosing his words carefully for once.
Then he looked back at Kyle.
“Alright, listen,” he said. “Since you asked me about her, I’m gonna keep it a buck with you.”
Kyle’s expression softened slightly.
Kenny wasn’t joking anymore.
“She’s not some ‘talking stage’ situation, bro,” Kenny continued. “Tamerina’s been through a lot of messy shit already. Like—actual messy. Not drama messy. Real messy.”
Kyle nodded slowly, not interrupting.
“Clyde messed her up. Bad. And Bebe being involved made it worse.”
He paused, then added more quietly:
“She doesn’t really trust people like that anymore.”
Kyle looked down at his phone.
“…I didn’t know all that.”
“Yeah,” Kenny said simply. “Most people don’t. That’s kind of the point.”
Then Kenny’s tone shifted slightly—less serious, more grounded.
“So if you’re actually interested in her…”
Kyle tensed a little at that word.
“…don’t treat it like some crush you’re trying to win.”
He pointed lightly at the camera.
“Just be normal. Be consistent. Don’t rush her. Don’t assume anything. And don’t make it weird.”
Kyle let out a small breath.
“That sounds… harder than it should be.”
Then Kenny added, softer:
“She’s not closed off. She’s just careful.”
Kyle nodded slowly, absorbing that.
For the first time since the sidewalk, he wasn’t just thinking about how she looked at him.
He was thinking about what it meant to be looked at like that in the first place.
Kyle stayed quiet for a second, still processing everything Kenny had said.
The weight of it didn’t feel heavy exactly.
Kenny watched him for a beat, then let out a small breath through his nose.
“Damn,” he said. “You actually listening. That’s new.”
“Relax, relax,” Kenny cut in, holding a hand up even though Kyle couldn’t see it. “I’m just saying. Usually you overthink everything and still end up doing whatever you were gonna do anyway.”
“…That’s like, 80% true.”
Kyle opened his mouth, then closed it again.
He had no argument for that.
“Also,” he added, squinting at the camera again, “I’m still not over the fact you FaceTimed me just to ask about a girl.”
“I was gathering information.”
“Yeah,” Kenny nodded. “Like a detective in love.”
Kyle groaned, dropping his head into his hand.
Kenny chuckled softly, then shifted again like he was getting comfortable.
“Just don’t move weird, alright?” he said, tone a little more casual again. “That’s it. That’s the advice.”
“And for the record,” he added, “if you mess this up, I’m absolutely not helping you recover from it.”
Kyle gave a small laugh despite himself.
“Thanks for the support.”
Kenny yawned loudly, stretching one arm off-screen.
“Alright, I’m going back to sleep. Don’t get emotionally destroyed before noon, bro.”
Kenny waved lazily at the camera.
But the call already ended.
Kyle stared at his phone for a second.
And for the first time that morning, he smiled without thinking about it too hard.
Kyle stared at his phone for a moment after the call ended.
Silence settled back into his room.
For a second, he just sat there.
About how quickly he had gone from bumping into her on the sidewalk to knowing things he definitely wasn’t supposed to know yet.
He leaned back against his pillow and exhaled slowly.
“Don’t make it weird,” he muttered to himself.
He grabbed his shirt, fixed his chain, and looked at himself in the mirror for a second longer than usual.
The stubble was still there.
“Alright,” he said quietly.
Outside, South Park felt the same as it always did.
He started walking toward Town Hall again.
This time, with less panic.
And a lot more awareness.
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