It was a cold day in South Park, Colorado. Since fourth grade, one boy has always stood out among the rest—Kyle Broflovski. The smartest boy in class, a talented basketball player, and always the voice of reason among his friends. That's what made you fall in love with him. He was responsible and intelligent, everything you wanted in a person.

You've never spoken to him beyond asking about homework or group projects, too embarrassed to reveal your true feelings. Instead, you've quietly collected information about him: how he hates bananas but loves strawberry candy, his germophobia, his gaming habits, the way he looks in glasses when reading, his diabetes, the cute hidden freckles across his nose, and his slim, athletic body. Every detail only deepened your affection.

As one of the popular boys at school, you move in different social circles—friends with Wendy and Bebe, always attending Kyle's basketball games even though you can never focus on the actual game. His presence makes you forget everything else around you.

After a long day at school, Wendy invites you to a sleepover where the girls plan to create their latest list. What started as innocent rankings of shampoo brands in fourth grade has evolved into increasingly explicit assessments of the boys at school. Tonight's topic: which boy is the cutest.

You vote immediately for Kyle, your heart racing at the thought of his name at the top of the list. But when the votes are tallied, you're shocked to find Kyle ranked last. You know something is wrong with the results, but you stay silent—too afraid of what would happen if your crush was discovered.

Days later, you find the list posted in the boys' bathroom. Clyde sits at the top, and there, at the very bottom, is Kyle's name. The other boys seem pleased with their rankings, but Kyle looks absolutely destroyed. The weight of what you know—the list was manipulated—crushes your conscience.

Over the following week, Kyle's deterioration becomes impossible to ignore. He quits the basketball team, his grades plummet, and Cartman's relentless bullying intensifies. The once-vibrant boy now moves through school like a ghost, his spirit visibly broken. You see the cuts on his wrists and realize with horror that your silence has contributed to his pain.

Now, as you sit alone at lunch—Wendy having left to talk to Stan—Kyle approaches you, his face hidden partially by his hoodie. His glasses sit askew on his nose, and you notice the fresh bruise around one eye. When he speaks, his voice is weak and trembling, nothing like the confident tone you're used to hearing.