"Child, you know that you got the school in an uproar this time," Ms. Whitfield- a statuesque middle-aged woman who kept her hair as raven black as she kept her skin flawless; she reminded me of Michelle Visage- told me as we enjoyed our lunch. "Right now, the assistant principals are assisting the guards to break up fights between students, teachers ad even those within the office themselves. Did you have all of their dirty laundries put out like that?"

I sat down my carton of chocolate milk, looking my favorite and only adult mentor (aside from my late grandparents) in the eye. "I had to," I said. "I just couldn't deal with all of the pain and misery everyone placed on me over the years. Even more so when..."

Ms. Whitfield gave me a motherly look of sadness and comfort. "Oh, Wendell," she said. "Were you outed?"

I nodded, looking away. "And guess who it was?"

"Don't tell me that-"

The intercom buzzed, cutting the older woman off. "Ms. Whitfield, is Wendell Harding with you?" said the now-irate principal.

"Yes he is, Sir Lard-Lad," the woman said brusquely, making me smile and forget my pain.

"The two of you are to come to the main office at once. I am not asking you, but ORDERING you," he said. "This is your only warning."

We turned to each other. "Wonder what the hell he wants now?" I said as I grabbed my backpack before discarding my leftover lunch. "It's not like I've been through this rodeo with him before."

"Maybe so," Ms. Whitfield assented as she motioned me to follow her outside where most students were either being forcefully escorted by angry parents and collecting their things, having mental breakdowns, or simply staring into space like sheared sheep. A few of them did pause to glare at me, but we didn't care. I was right to do what needed to be done. And after what had happened last night, I had no regrets.

Now the only thing to figure out is what awaited me at the office. Knowing the old Jabba clone, he might be sending out for my father and the Wicked Step-Witch of the West.

**********

And I was right on the money.

"Have you lost your fucking mind, boy?!" Louis Damian Harding, the thorn in my side as much as I am his and the owner of a mega car empire, bellowed as I stepped into the lion's den. Next to him was his old hag of a second wife (giving me scathing glares while sipping on her fifth flask of martini), who was the epitome of a plastic surgeon's pet project gone wrong. "You cannot unleash the secrets of your teachers and students for no reason!"

"Please," I snorted, rolling my eyes. "You already knew that this was bound to happen somehow!"

"Don't start," Daddy Dearest growled, clenching his fists. "And you planning your suicide, making me miss an important meeting to hear about you boohooing about your sad little life? Get over yourself, Wendell! If you hadn't been a smug little boy genius, you might be taken seriously. And as I keep on telling you, just stop being a bitter little boy who keeps stopping himself from enjoying life. Cowboy up and be a real man."

"Well, I did all of that, and I still can't be taken seriously," I sassed back. "I try to be like others. Y'all accuse me of trying to get too much attention. I hide in the shadows. Y'all accuse me of being antisocial. It's like I can't fucking win with you fucking jackasses."

"But it's only because you never try hard enough," Principal Jabba-Clone defended. "Wendell, most kids today learn that the world is a cruel place and that only top dogs get the prize. You can't seem to wrap around that brain of yours that you'll never be a part of the system if you try to fight us."

"And, so what? I'm supposed to let them walk over me?" I asked. "Fuck this shit."

SLAP!

I reeled away from the backhand of my father. "You fucking little shit," he seethed. "Always wanting to be taken seriously when you don't even try. I should've killed you when you were in the womb of that seductress of your mother. I should've killed you and her while I had the chance. Your sisters never gave me any trouble and they were like me- always wanting you to die."

Ms. Whitfield rolled her eyes. "Oh, gag," she muttered. "Mr. Harding, your son is actually on the verge of-"

"I know what my son is, you fucking cunt!" Dad bellowed at the older woman. "He's an ungrateful, untalented, unfulfilling, unappreciative, obnoxious little shit who reminds me of that bitch of a mother that I should've killed a long time ago!"

No. He. Didn't. He did not just pull a Don Imus on me.

"He idolizes those fags who dress as women. He has no filter and disrespects everyone. He's stubborn-minded like my fucking parents. He's sarcastic. He's stuck up. All in all, he's the main reason why I wish that he was never born," Dad ranted on, slapping me with every venomous sentence that frayed my inner psyche. "And as for his obsession with that bitch Beyonce... he's a pure faggot for loving such as slut."

A/N: Play the song below!
 

Readers, a moment if you will. There are three things that I don't take kindly when one insults me: my love of my late mother (whom I never met), the fierce drag queens from "RuPaul's Drag Race" that I watch on TV every time they premiere on VH1, and my favorite singer of all time- the one woman who inspires me to get into formation.

Beyonce Giselle Knowles-Carter.

And this man- the sperm donor- has committed the ultimate crime in front of me: dissing my three favorite things.

And now... the storm was about to get unleashed.

I picked up a nearby baseball bat, took three steps back from him, and took two calming deep breaths.

"Oh. Shit," Ms. Whitfield said. "Mr. Harding, run."

"Why? Is my son going to hit me?" he sneered before turning to me. "Do it. I dare you."

"Okay," I said. And with one giant swing, I cold-cocked him right on the side of his head, knocking him out instantly before taking a swing at his drunken wife and knocking her out as well. She didn't even fight, just collapsed in a drunken heap.

I let out a gigantic scream, turning to the stunned principal and charging right at him, knocking him over and beginning to choke the life out of him.

"Holy shit!" my counselor exclaimed, pulling out her cell phone and filming away as I strangled Freeman with the strength of nine football players until he was unconscious. I felt several arms try to break me off from him before I began to attack the guards and some of the jocks that were on the scene.

And just like that... Superstorm Wendell was on the loose.

In my wake, I smashed the cases holding the lunkheaded jocks and slutty cheerleaders' prized trophies, attacked my fellow tormentors with a swing of the bat, busted the windows and doors of the cars belonging to the seniors and teachers (save for Whitfield's trusty Camry) and even broke the security footage. And even when the cops came over, I was lost in a giant whirlwind of fury as I took them out with the greatest of ease. Even my sisters Alicia and Bianca and their respective boyfriends Corey and Marco were no match for me as I was screaming and yelling my ass off.

Finally, I was done. I looked up from my hazy red fury to see all but one cop left. And he reminded me of my grandfather himself. "Son, are you calm now?" he said in a gentle Southern accent.

I nodded, dropping the bat.

"Easy, now. I'm not going to hurt you. You know that I knew your granddaddy, right?"

I nodded. "Pop-Pop told me all about you," I grunted. "You're Officer Talbotton, right?"

"Right," he said. "Isaiah Talbotton. And I knew that this was the day that you'd snap. And I don't blame you, son. I just want to take you to the station so we can calm you down, okay?"

I nodded. "I know I'm in trouble," I muttered. "I just don't want to be handcuffed and-"

He cut me off. "I'll be the one to handle everything," he assured me. he took me by the hand and led me to an awaiting police car and I surveyed all of the damage. I put all of the guys into traction and I think I killed some of them or placed them in a coma.

Oh, well. Reap what you sow.

I caught a glimpse of the laughing Ms. Whitfield, sending me a thumbs-up. "That's what y'all get, bitches! That's what y'all get," she cackled before turning to the now-bloody principal. "And by the way, Shabba, I quit! Go to hell!"

And as I stepped into the backseat, I felt cleansed- like I was finally free from all of the pain that I went through.

"Wendell," Officer Talbotton said as he and a female officer got into the front seat. "This is Officer Lanier, a friend of mine. She heard all about you from me in the past several years."

"Hi," the blonde woman said, giving me a friendly wave. "I know that I don't know you well and you think that I'm going to take your family's side. But I won't. You were mistreated and underestimated for all of your life. And you reminded me of someone I wished I could've saved- my late brother Francis. He was like you- a genius yet abused and treated like a toy. He snapped when his girlfriend dumped him for our other brother Dylan. And he didn't resort to violence but turned a gun on himself. No one other than me was there at his cremation. And I swore to him that I'd prevent the next kid from being pushed to the edge of where one contemplates suicide."

"It's okay to cry, son," Officer Talbotton said gently, noticing my bleary eyes ready to spill the salty rain. "Let it all fall."

And I did just that- let the tears fall my face as the Seattle rain began to fall outside. But still, I was finally free. I was free from it all.

But somehow I knew that there would be more in the future- a new chapter that would change everything.

In fact, I was dead sure that after today, my life would never be the same again.

He has no idea, folks! And all will be revealed about his un-charmed life with his family in the chapters to come, but the next chapter will feature Wendell in court as jaw-dropping secrets about his family will be known. You don't wanna miss out on this!

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