My life is pretty normal.
I mean, compared to some of the other kids in South Park, I had it pretty easy. My parents are together—yeah, that's a shocker. My mom was always checking in on me, and my dad was around, but not overbearing. Then there's Shelly, my older sister, who pretty much hates my guts, but that was normal. We fight all the time, and I mostly keep my distance. I was used to it.
I had my group of friends, too. Kyle, Cartman, Kenny. We were always getting into dumb shit, mostly at school, sometimes at home. Whether it was sneaking out or getting in trouble for some stupid reason, it didn't matter. They were my people, and no matter what, I knew they had my back.
But there was one thing.
I was gay.
I hadn't told anyone, not even Kyle, and I sure as hell wasn't about to. Not yet, anyway.
I'll get into that later.
Right now, I was sitting in my car, waiting to pick up everyone for school.
First stop: Kyle's house.
I parked outside, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. A few seconds later, the door to Kyle's house opened, and there he was. His curly hair bouncing, like it always was in the mornings, and he had that look on his face—kind of annoyed but trying to hide it.
He climbed into the car, slamming the door behind him. "Ugh, I swear, my mom's going off again about how I never help around the house. Like, I'm sixteen, I don't need to clean the whole place, right?" He let out a laugh, shaking his head like it wasn't a big deal, but I could see the frustration behind his eyes. "I told her I'd help out after school, but no, she made it sound like I was the one who left the kitchen a mess in the first place."
"Sounds like a you problem," I said with a smirk, pulling out of the driveway and heading toward school.
"Shut up," Kyle shot back, his tone playful as he leaned back in the seat. He let out a dramatic sigh, rubbing his temples like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "She's always on me about something. At least I don't have to listen to her nagging for the next few hours."
I laughed. He always found a way to make light of whatever was bugging him. I admired that about him.
Kyle sighed, slumping into the passenger seat and crossing his arms over his chest. "God, it's cold outside," he muttered, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to warm them up. I could tell he wasn't a fan of mornings, especially not when the weather decided to be extra brutal.
I shot him a quick glance. "Yeah, it's pretty bad today." I focused on the road, the frost still clinging to the edges of the windshield.
Kyle huffed in agreement, blowing air on his hands. "Just another thing my mom's right about," he grumbled. "Told me to put on a thicker jacket. I swear, she's got a sixth sense for making me feel like I'm failing at life."
Kyle is my best friend. He always had been. Through all the stupid fights, the weird growing-up stuff, and the messes we found ourselves in, he was the one person I could count on. Even when things felt too messed up to fix, he was always there, cracking jokes, making things feel like they weren't as bad as they seemed. I couldn't imagine my life without him.
But... there was a part of me that wished I could tell him. The one thing that I hadn't even hinted at yet. I mean, we'd been through a lot together, but telling him this would be different. I wasn't sure if he'd understand, even if he was always so quick to defend me.
I glanced at him again, the way he was staring out the window now, his shoulders slumped slightly from the cold. He looked more tired than usual.
"You okay?" I asked, my voice quiet.
He didn't answer at first, just shrugged. "Yeah, just... stuff, you know?"
I didn't push it. Kyle was always one to keep things close to his chest. And maybe that's what made us so alike in a way. We both carried a lot, just didn't talk about it.
The car moved along, the cold air creeping in from the vents as we made our way. Even if I hadn't told Kyle everything yet, I knew one thing for sure, that he was the one person I could always count on, no matter what. And that meant everything.
I pulled up to Cartman's house next, glancing over at Kyle as we slowed to a stop in front of his driveway. Kyle let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes. "I swear, if he takes forever, I'm gonna be pissed," he muttered, already annoyed at the thought of waiting.
I laughed and shifted in my seat, not really expecting anything less from Cartman. "Yeah, I'm sure he's gonna take his sweet time. You know how he is."
Sure enough, a few minutes passed, and the silence in the car started to feel heavier. Kyle's impatience was clear. I glanced at him and smirked. "You want me to honk, or...?"
Kyle shot me a look and says "Please do it." So, I pressed down on the horn, sending a loud blare echoing across the street.
"Jesus, Stan," Kyle grumbled, clearly already done with the situation. "Where is he? Is he seriously just standing there?"
A few seconds later, the door to Cartman's house swung open, and out he came.
Cartman waddled down the driveway. His light brown hair was messy, hanging over his face like it always did. He was dressed in a red hoodie and black sweats. He moved like he was in no rush at all, even though he knew we were waiting.
I had to hold back a laugh as he climbed into the car, looking completely unbothered. "Jesus, why are you fucking honking?" Cartman grumbled as he slammed the door shut, looking at me like I was the one causing the problem.
"You were taking forever," I said, raising an eyebrow.
"I was eating," Cartman replied with a huff, acting like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I had to get my protein intake."
Kyle snickered from the passenger seat, rolling his eyes again. "Of course you were eating. You're always eating."
Cartman immediately turned to him, his eyes narrowing. "Shut up, Kyle. You're Jewish. You don't get to speak." Then, as if to prove a point, he pulled out a piece of bacon from his pocket and shoved it in his mouth with a smug look on his face. "This is why I'm strong, unlike you."
Kyle shot him a glare, but he didn't say anything, clearly tired of the same back-and-forth. He just crossed his arms and leaned back in the seat, shaking his head.
We made our way to Kenny's house next. As we pulled up to the curb, Cartman suddenly leaned forward from the backseat, looking out the window with a little more caution than usual. "Guys, be careful over here," he said, his voice dropping to an almost paranoid level. "The hood is scary."
Kyle didn't even turn his head to look at him. "Dude, shut up," he snapped, clearly not in the mood for Cartman's usuals.
Cartman shrugged and leaned back, clearly not ready to drop it, but we ignored him as I parked the car in front of Kenny's place.
A few moments later, Kenny appeared, walking out the door; black shirt, unzipped orange jacket, and jeans.
When he slid into the backseat, he immediately gave Cartman a pointed look. "Cartman, your fattness is taking over the whole backseat," he said, squeezing in beside him, his voice muffled by the space between them.
Cartman grumbled and shoved his elbow into Kenny's side. "No, you're taking it all up 'cause you're too skinny. You need to eat more."
Kenny raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to figure out what Cartman was on about. "Dude, that makes no sense," he said, rolling his eyes and giving Cartman a look like he had just heard the dumbest thing he'd ever said.
Cartman scowled, clearly offended. "It does make sense! Your lack of fat makes you spread out more! You're taking up all the space!"
Kenny just stared at him for a second, clearly confused. "Yeah, okay, Cartman."
I couldn't help but laugh as I pulled away from the curb, heading toward the school.
We finally pulled into the school parking lot, the morning rush of students already pouring into the building. I cut the engine and the four of us piled out, heading for the entrance.
Kyle was the first to start walking, already eager to get inside. Kenny followed, and I was about to catch up when I noticed Cartman was still lagging behind.
He was waddling along, his usual pace a far cry from Kyle's quick strides. "Guys, stop running!" Cartman called out, his voice a mix of annoyance and exhaustion. "I'm not as fast as you idiots!"
I glanced over my shoulder, rolling my eyes. "Come on, Cartman, we're not even running."
"I'm walking as fast as I can, okay?" he huffed, clearly out of breath from just the short distance. "You guys are making me look bad!"
Kenny laughed from behind me. "Dude, you make yourself look bad every day. You don't need our help."
Cartman's face turned bright red, not sure whether he was more offended by the comment or by the fact that his legs were probably about to give out from all the walking. "Shut up, Kenny!" he snapped, his breath still coming in heavy gasps. "I'm gonna be late, and it's your fault!"
Kyle turned back to Cartman with a raised eyebrow, clearly not amused. "It's not our fault you're out of shape, Cartman. We're not your personal exercise trainers."
Cartman shot him a look of pure disdain. "Whatever, Kyle."
The hallway was crowded as we finally reached the doors, but it didn't matter much, this was just another regular morning at school. The halls buzzed with the usual noise: students gossiping, lockers slamming, and teachers yelling at people to get to class.
We all walked to our first-period classes. It was just another day, but somehow, it felt like the usual chaos was exactly what I needed.
I sat in my first-period class, not exactly thrilled about the idea of spending the next hour with no one from my usual crew. I had no friends in this class.
Instead, I had Butters, who—despite his weird tendencies—was probably the most tolerable guy to sit next to. We'd been in the same classes a lot over the years, so it wasn't too bad.
Butters leaned over to me, lowering his voice as he tapped me on the shoulder. "Stan, did you hear?" he asked, his voice light but with a hint of excitement.
I looked at him, raising an eyebrow, my interest piqued. "Hear what?"
He glanced around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping before speaking again. "Somebody's gay."
I froze. My heart skipped a beat. I could feel my palms start to sweat, my breath catching in my throat. Somebody's gay. Was he talking about me? I mean, no one knew. How could they? I was careful about that. So careful.
I swallowed and tried to act casual. "Oh... no, I haven't heard," I said, my voice showing a hint of nervousness. "Who?"
Butters shrugged, looking a little more relaxed now that he'd shared the "news." "Nobody knows," he said with a little chuckle. "You know that school confession page?"
I frowned, still not sure what he was getting at. "School confession page?"
Butters nodded eagerly, clearly excited about the topic. "Yeah, there's a whole Instagram page. Nobody knows who runs it, but you can message the account anything you want, and they'll screenshot it and post it anonymously."
I felt my pulse quicken. So, this whole confession page was how things were getting out there? Could someone possibly use that to expose something personal? A sinking feeling hit my stomach, and I found myself leaning in closer to hear more. "So, what? Somebody messaged them and said they're gay?" I asked, my voice lower than I intended.
Butters nodded again, completely oblivious to the panic starting to rise inside me. "Yep! Someone sent a confession to the page saying they're gay. Pretty crazy, huh?"
I blinked, trying to wrap my head around it. Somebody messaged that? Someone else in this school, somebody who felt like me? I felt a weird, almost painful knot form in my stomach, something between envy and fear. What if they were going through the same thing I was? What if they were struggling to keep it a secret, too?
I shook my head, trying to focus on something...anything, that wasn't this confession. "I guess," I muttered, feeling a little awkward now. "I didn't even know about that page."
Butters seemed unfazed by my response, continuing as if nothing was off. "Yeah, it's kind of cool, though. You can say anything you want and not get in trouble for it. But sometimes I think people say too much... some stuff's kinda personal, you know?"
I didn't respond immediately. I was too lost in my thoughts, trying to digest everything Butters had just said. Somebody else out there felt the way I did. But who? And how did they feel? Were they trying to get it out in the open, or were they just looking for somewhere to put their thoughts?
I forced myself to focus on the class, pretending to listen to the teacher, but all I could think about was that anonymous confession.
I raised my hand, my voice steady despite the way my chest was tightening. "Can I use the bathroom?"
The teacher barely looked up before nodding, already distracted by the lesson. That was all I needed. I grabbed my phone off my desk, shoved it in my pocket, and walked out of the classroom.
The second I was in the hallway, I picked up my pace, my heart pounding in my ears. I didn't even realize how fast I was moving until I pushed open the bathroom door and rushed into the farthest stall, locking it behind me.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled out my phone. My hands were slightly shaking as I opened Instagram, quickly typing into the search bar.
Sure enough, there it was. The profile picture was just a black background with white text that read SPHS Confessions.
The bio was simple: Send us your confessions. We post anonymously. No names, no judgment.
I swallowed hard and clicked on the most recent post. A screenshot of a DM. It read the following:
"I'm gay, and none of my friends know. Nobody knows. I feel alone. I don't know how to feel or what to do."
I stared at the words, my fingers gripping my phone a little tighter.
This was my exact situation. Every single thing they said—I had thought it myself a hundred times over.
I felt like my head was spinning. Who sent this?
I scrolled down, but there were no names. No usernames. No comments revealing anything useful. Just a bunch of students liking the post or leaving stupid replies like "Be yourself, bro" or "Damn that's tough." None of them got it.
But somebody did. Somebody out there felt exactly like I did.
And somebody knew who they were.
The page itself had to be run by a student. Someone in this school. And if students were DMing their confessions, that meant the person running the account had to know who sent this.
I exhaled, trying to calm down, but my mind was racing. I had to figure out who this was. Because for the first time in my life, I wasn't just alone with this anymore.
I took a deep breath, my mind already working out a plan. I had to figure out who sent that confession. It wasn't just curiosity—it was something deeper. If someone else in this school felt the way I did, then maybe... maybe I wasn't as alone as I thought.
I exited out of my main Instagram account and quickly went to the sign-up page.
New account. Fake username. No profile picture.
I typed in a random name, and set everything up in seconds. No followers, no posts, nothing that could be traced back to me.
Then, I went to the School Confessions page and clicked Message.
My fingers hovered over the screen for a second before I finally typed.
Me: Hey. Do you know who sent the confession about being gay?
I stared at the message for a second, debating whether or not to send it. What if they got suspicious? What if they ignored me? What if—
No. I had to do this.
I hit send.
Now, all I could do was wait.
My phone buzzed almost immediately. My heart jumped as I looked down at the screen.
SPHS Confessions: Why do you wanna know?
I swallowed hard, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I hadn't thought that far ahead. What was I supposed to say? If I pushed too hard, they'd get suspicious. If I played it too cool, they might not answer at all.
I needed to make it seem casual. Like I was just another student, curious about the drama.
Me: Just wondering. It's kinda a big confession. I didn't know anyone else felt that way.
I hit send and tapped my foot against the bathroom tile, waiting.
Another buzz.
SPHS Confessions: Sorry, but I can't tell you who sent it. Everything is anonymous.
Damn it. I should've seen that coming.
I exhaled slowly, thinking. If they weren't going to hand over the name, maybe I could get something else. A hint. A clue.
Me: I get that. But like... do you at least know if they're a guy or a girl?"
I sent the message and held my breath.
A few seconds passed before they typed back.
SPHS Confessions: Guy, they mentioned.
My stomach twisted.
It really could be anyone. But now, I knew for sure—I wasn't alone in this. There was someone else. Some guy in this school feeling the exact same way I was.
And I was going to find out who.
I leaned back against the stall, gripping my phone. How the hell was I supposed to figure this out?
I could ask around, but that would look suspicious. I could make a fake confession myself and see if the person responded, but that was a long shot.
My eyes flicked back to the screen. There had to be a way.
I opened the messages again, my fingers typing before I could think it through.
Me: Tell me who it is, or I'll tell the school who runs this page.
I stared at the message, my pulse racing. It was a bluff—I had no idea who ran this page. But maybe they'd get nervous. Maybe they'd just give me the name.
A moment later, the screen lit up.
SPHS Confessions: Do it.
I groaned under my breath. Of course. Why would they care? They were probably some kid who barely gave a shit about school drama.
I shoved my phone back into my pocket and unlocked the stall. There was no point in staying here. I'd figure this out another way.
By the time I got back to class, the bell was ringing. Perfect timing. I grabbed my backpack and headed straight for the door.
The library was my next stop. We had silent reading today, which meant I had time to think. Time to come up with a new plan.
Because I was going to figure out who sent that confession. No matter what it took.
I dropped my backpack onto the library table and slumped into the chair with a sigh. "God, I hate silent reading."
Kyle, sitting across from me, raised a brow. "Really? I like it."
Cartman let out a loud laugh, earning a glare from the librarian. "Yeah, because you're a nerd."
Kenny snickered next to him, shaking his head. "Dude's got a point."
Kyle rolled his eyes and flipped open his book. "Whatever. At least I'm actually passing my classes."
Cartman scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, okay, Jew—"
Before he could finish, the librarian shot us another look, and I kicked his shin under the table. He winced but shut up.
I pulled a random book from my bag and opened it, barely glancing at the words. My mind was elsewhere, still stuck on that damn confession. Somewhere in this school, there was a guy feeling exactly like I was.
And I had to figure out who.
I stared blankly at the page in front of me, my eyes skimming over the words without actually reading them. My book could've been upside down for all I cared. My mind was focused on something else entirely.
That confession. That damn anonymous post that felt like someone had pulled the words straight out of my head.
The School Confessions page had to know who sent it. Someone ran that account. Someone got the DM. If I could figure out who they were, I could force them to tell me.
But how?
I tapped my fingers against the table, pretending to read while my thoughts raced.
There had to be a way to figure it out.
Whoever ran the page had to be a student here, obviously. And they had to check their phone constantly, since they posted confessions almost as soon as they were sent.
Maybe if I paid attention—really watched people—I could catch someone posting. Or maybe I could bait them. Send in a confession of my own, something specific, and see if I noticed anyone on their phone at the same time it got posted.
It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was a start.
First, I needed to find out who ran the page.
Then, I was getting my answer.
I had an idea—an idea that felt a little crazy, but I was running out of options. I opened Instagram on my phone and quickly clicked the messages with the School Confessions page.
If I called them, their phone would ring. And the library was silent. So silent that any ring would stand out.
My thumb hovered over the screen for a moment, hesitation flickering through my mind. But I didn't have time to second-guess myself. I clicked call.
And sure enough, the phone started ringing.
The sound was so loud in the quiet library, I froze, heart pounding in my chest. The ringing echoed through the rows of books, sharp and out of place. I glanced around, but all eyes were on their books. Until—
Cartman's phone rang.
I blinked, my stomach dropping.
Cartman was sitting a few seats away, and I could see him glare down at his phone, his brow furrowing in confusion. Then, without missing a beat, he clicked the hang up button, making the ringing stop.
The librarian looked up from behind the desk, frowning. "Eric, mute your phone and put it on silent."
Cartman rolled his eyes and mumbled, "Whatever," before shoving his phone back in his hoodie pocket and going back to his book.
I tried to keep my composure, but inside, I was buzzing with realization.
Cartman.
He had to be the one running the page.
There was no way it was a coincidence. The timing, the way his phone rang so clearly in the silence—it was all too perfect.
I gripped my phone tighter, trying to keep my calm. This wasn't just a hunch anymore. I knew it.
Now, I just had to figure out how to confront Cartman about it.
I leaned over slightly, lowering my voice so only Cartman could hear.
"Cartman."
He looked up at me, brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you want, asshole?"
I leaned in closer, keeping my voice low. "Can we talk about something? Outside the library?"
Cartman raised an eyebrow but shrugged. "Better than reading this stupid book." He rolled his eyes dramatically, clearly not caring about the librarian's watchful eye, and pushed himself out of his chair.
"Fine, whatever."
I stood up and waited for him to follow me, making sure the librarian wasn't looking our way. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I had no idea where this conversation would go, but I knew one thing for sure: it was about to get interesting.
Cartman trailed behind me as we headed out the library doors, and I took a deep breath, preparing for whatever came next.
I looked around, making sure nobody was nearby, and leaned in closer to Cartman, my voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me who wrote that confession. The gay one."
Cartman raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Why would I tell you? I don't know anything about the page."
I smirked, my heart racing. "Really? Because I just called the account, and your phone rang."
Cartman froze, his eyes widening in shock. "Wait, what?"
He quickly pulled out his phone and checked it. His mouth dropped open, and the surprise on his face was clear. "Wait, so you're the one who messaged me trying to figure out who it is?"
Shit.
My cover was blown. Cartman knew it was me now.
I groaned, rubbing the back of my neck, trying to play it cool. "Yeah... I guess so."
Cartman's eyes lit up with realization, his smile widening. "Oh my god," he said, eyes narrowing as he glanced me over. "You're gay!"
My face flushed red instantly. I couldn't stop it, and I couldn't deny it either. "Shut up, Cartman."
But he didn't stop. He was grinning now, enjoying this way too much. "You totally are! Your face is so red! Why else would you want to figure out who sent that confession?"
I groaned again, feeling all my carefully constructed walls come crashing down. This was not how I wanted him to find out.
"Fine!" I snapped, defeated. "But please don't fucking tell anyone." I leaned in closer, lowering my voice. "If you do... I'll tell the school you're running the confessions page and you'll get in trouble."
Cartman's grin faltered, his eyes narrowing as he processed what I said. He seemed to be weighing his options, the smile slowly fading into a more serious expression. "You wouldn't."
I met his gaze, unblinking. "Try me."
There was a long pause before Cartman finally sighed, the weight of the situation sinking in. "Fine, whatever," he muttered, pulling his phone back into his pocket.
I glared at Cartman, my face still burning with embarrassment. "Now tell me who sent that confession," I demanded.
Cartman's grin grew wider, clearly enjoying the moment. "I wish I could," he said, stretching out the words. "I would so love to see you guys fall in love. That'd be interesting."
I felt my chest tighten at his words, but I kept my cool. "Come on, Cartman. Just tell me."
He shrugged, clearly not phased. "Whoever sent it did it from a throwaway account. It wasn't their actual account." He smirked at me, adding, "Why?"
I sighed, feeling a bit deflated. "I wanna message them. But I guess I can't."
Cartman raised an eyebrow, his smirk twisting into something mischievous. "Oh my god, were you gonna message them and ask to be gay together?"
I shot him a glare, hissing under my breath, "Shush, Cartman. Dude, shut up. Somebody will hear you."
But Cartman was too amused by my reaction to stop. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "You know... I do have the username of the throwaway account."
I blinked, feeling my heart rate spike. "Wait, what?"
Cartman's smirk grew, almost like he had won some kind of game. "Yeah, you can still message them. It just isn't whoever sent it's main account."
I felt a mix of excitement and dread. My mind raced, knowing that if I messaged the throwaway account, I might get closer to figuring out who was behind that confession. But at the same time... I wasn't sure what I was getting myself into.
Still, I couldn't back down now. "Give it to me."
Cartman just chuckled, shaking his head like I'd fallen for some trap. "You're lucky I'm feeling generous." He pulled out his phone, quickly typing in the username and showing it to me.
I glanced at it, taking the moment to breathe, before I typed it down in my own phone. This could be the moment I finally found out who I was talking to—who else felt the same way I did.
"Thanks," I muttered, slipping my phone back into my pocket, my mind spinning with possibilities.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the blank profile in front of me. Cartman's words echoed in my mind: It wasn't their actual account. This was a throwaway. The kind of account someone used to stay anonymous, to hide behind.
It felt weird, knowing that someone else had opened this account just to send a confession. A confession that mirrored everything I had been feeling lately. But now... now I was standing here, trying to reach out, hoping to find some kind of connection, someone who understood.
I opened the message box, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. My heart raced a little, the anxiety of the moment hitting me harder than I expected. Was this a mistake? Should I even be doing this?
But I couldn't stop now. I had to know who this person was.
I typed quickly, my fingers shaking a bit.
Me: Hey, I saw your confession on the school confessions page. I'm in the same situation. I'm gay too. I don't know how to feel about it either.
I hit send before I could overthink it, staring at the message as the three dots appeared below the text box. My heart thudded in my chest. What if they didn't respond? What if I looked like an idiot? What if I said too much?
I waited for what felt like an eternity, my breath shallow as I stared at the screen. My thoughts started to race—what if they didn't message back? What if I'd just done something stupid? But then, a notification popped up.
The account had responded.
Anonymous: You're not the only one.
I blinked, reading the words again. It was a simple response, but it made my chest tighten. I wasn't alone. Someone else felt the same way I did. They got it.
I typed again, trying to keep it casual, but my heart was racing now.
Me: I just... don't know what to do about it.
I sat there, waiting for them to reply, my thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess. My phone buzzed again, and I quickly checked the new message.
Anonymous: I don't either. It's scary, you know? Feeling like nobody would understand.
I couldn't help but let out a small breath of relief. It was like a weight lifted off my shoulders. I wasn't alone in this.
I quickly typed back, my fingers moving faster now, my nervousness starting to fade.
Me: Yeah, exactly. It feels like you're the only one who feels like this.
The reply came almost instantly.
Anonymous: Yeah, but maybe we're not the only ones. Maybe there's more of us out there.
I let that sink in.
Maybe. I typed back, staring at the screen for a moment longer, my mind still racing with a thousand thoughts, but for once, I felt like I could breathe a little easier.
Me: We'll figure it out.
The message popped up, simple and unassuming. But it felt like a promise.
I stared at the words for a while, my thumb hovering over the keyboard again. This was just the start, right? Just the beginning of something I couldn't fully understand yet, but something that felt... important.
I couldn't help but smile slightly, even though it was hidden behind the safety of the screen. This felt like something I could work with. Something real.