I'm gonna skip the foreplay here and go straight to the climax, and believe me, you ain't missing much. Like a virgin at prom, we stumble our way through layers in a cramped space, only to be mediocre and unsatisfactory in every considerable way.

And it all boils down to one simple question: What does your club do?

Said question comes from Superintendent Patel, tapping his pen on a piece of paper while sitting behind a plastic table, with Strickland, Dickwad and Lee flanking him, all staring at us four under the big tent.

A fair question, and one any other club should be able to answer in a sentence or less. But we are not any club. We are just a glorified social club for antisocial people. We have no bigger objective other than hanging out and not doing crimes, or get into trouble. Honestly, we can hire a babysitter and it would be just about as effective. The point is, there is no external need for our club to exist, and we know it. We serve no bigger purpose for the school ecosystem, nor do we bring prestige and fame, like a sports club. It's just four dudes, helping each other be better, and nothing more. At this point, we only need the club status because school policy dictates we be in one, and that Hayden needs to be in a club to keep his scholarship.

Our plight might be compromised if Brayden or Okayden intervene, because duh. Brayden might tell them all to suck his shiitake mushroom, and Okayden might say something about feet. I, on the other hand, feel like this whole affair was Hayden's idea in the first place, and so, we collectively decided to let Hayden speak for all of us while we stand there, doing hot boy shit, like slightly flexing and smirking.

Wait, I've been monologuing this whole time, haven't I? Did Hayden answer the question? Given how they are staring at us in confusion, I think he hasn't. Maybe he's monologuing as well. To be fair, I would think long and hard before answering that question as well.

I bump him with my shoulder, which barely moves that beautiful hunk of marble made man. "Psst, babe, answer the nice man's question."

Hayden shakes slightly, snapping out of his monologue, before taking a deep breath. "Well, eh, yes, quite. Sorry, could you repeat the question?"

Superintendent Patel raises an eyebrow, leaning over the table. "Of course, Mr. Wilson. What does your club do? What is it about? What are your usual club activities?"

Hayden is a hulk of a man. A huge boy. A big chungus, if you will. But now, he looks like a frail deer about to have his mother hunted down in front of him. So small and shivering, thumbs twiddling, arms heavy, mama's ragu. The entire future of the club is on his shoulders, and I believe he's now realizing the scope of it all. I call that "The Protagonist's Folly," where a protagonist takes the onus of saving the world without having an actual clue on how to do it, or if it can be done in the first place.

Sadly for Hayden, he's not the protagonist of this story, and doesn't have the plot armor I have.

"Well, you see, your honor," says Hayden between mumbles and whispers like a TikTok rapper.

"I'm not a judge, Mr. Wilson," interrupts the superintendent, who I think has the superpower to be a complete sourpuss.

"Of course, your majesty," says Hayden with a bow. "Our club, eh-"

"The Bad Boys' Soft Boys' Lonely Hearts Club," says the superintendent, venom in his words, as if mocking the objectively dumb name. "And just call me sir, if you must."

"Yes, that one," says Hayden. Beads of sweat fall down his forehead, raining down on the ants below. A small apocalypse is happening at his feet, and none's the wiser. Maybe we are like that, ants at the feet of gods who have affairs beyond our comprehension. "We, eh, we are a support group."

Superintendent Patel scribbles something on the paper in front of him, clicking his expensive-looking pen twice in quick succession. "A support group for what, exactly?"

"For, eh, yes... how do I say this?" asks Hayden to himself. "Okay, it's a support group for, well, bad boys, sir."

"and soft boys," interjects Brayden. "can't forget about the soft boys. which is me."

"Zip it, Twinky Winky," I whisper to him. "Stick to the plan."

"aw, shit, forgot about the plan. sorry about that, your honor. please, strike that from the record."

The superintendent looks supernonplussed, writing more things on the paper. "I see. Pray tell, what are the activities that you, as a club, perform to support these so-called 'bad boys'?"

"and soft boys!"

"Brayden!"

"shit, sorry, mr. daddy sir," says Brayden. He slowly takes out a lollipop out of his pocket and tries to unwrap it in an excruciatingly slow way, trying no to make any sound at all. What happens is the exact opposite, crinkling louder than a 4-days furry convention. "don't mind me, i'm just having a snack."

Hayden takes a deep breath, trying to push past the crinkling. "We, eh, hang out after school—I mean, we gather after school to decompress, talk about our problems, and do some team building acti—can you just open the lollipop already?!"

Brayden flinches in panic, tugging and pulling at the wrapper. "some of the candy melted on the wrapper and it's stuck!"

Okayden grabs the lollipop and snaps the wrapper away with a tug. Sure, it also made the candy snap away from the stick, but at least it ain't crinkling. He puts it back in Brayden's outstretched palm and pats him on the head twice.

"Thank you," says Hayden. "As I was saying, we gather after school and support each other, while also having activities to foster unity and support."

"Such as?" says the superintendent without skipping a beat.

"Such as... like... eh... dungeons and dragons!" he says. "Also, we had a road trip, once. Road trips are good for bonding."

"I thought that was not,

Canon, since it was a deal,

With Amazon Prime."

"Crap, you're right," says Hayden. "Well, board games in general. And we also talk about our feelings. You know, support group things."

Superintendent Patel writes something in the paper while shaking his head slightly. My heart sinks into my stomach, and hearts usually give me acid reflux.

"Mr. Wilson, I'm going to be painfully honest with you," he says, tossing the pen onto the table with a heavy, exasperated sigh. I don't feel it to be malicious or anything, just detached. "I don't see a need for your club to exist. It only services, as far as I can see, four people total. While I do recognize the need of like-minded teenagers for friendship and support, I don't see why you need the school district to provide you with infrastructure and support when this can be achieved just as easily by hanging out as friends outside the school. Right now, both our budget and infrastructure are at the blink of collapse due to the influx of new students, and we simply do not have the resources to accommodate superfluous hobby clubs such as yours."

Hayden is frozen over, unable to say anything. His mouth flaps open like a wall-mounted sea bass with a busted speaker. Truth is, everything the superintendent just said is completely spot on. There is no need, on paper. But Hayden needs it. He needs to be in a club to achieve his dream, and the only other club which would accept him is the one crushing his dreams in the first place. I have to save this club. I have to save Hayden. And I need to do it now!

"Sir, may I speak?" I say, stepping forwards. I know the deal was to let Hayden talk, but this is my hail mary as a bad boy. I can't lose. I have plot and god on my side.

"Mr... Gomez, is it?" says the superintendent, "of course, go ahead."

"Sir, please don't be so fast to dismiss our club," I plea. "Our school has a policy requiring students to sign up to a club, which forced us to create this safe space in the first place. That is what this club is at its core: a safe space. A safe space for disenfranchised students like us who don't fit into the mold of other school clubs. Please, don't take away our safe space."

The Superintendent makes another expression besides chronic tiredness since this whole thing began: Surprise, with an undertone of anger. But not at us, but at Strickland and Dickcheese, sitting on his right.

"You have a policy of what?" says the superintendent, twisting the body to face the two cowardly principals, who were trying very hard to get swallowed by the Earth to avoid the embarrassment. "Explain, now."

"Eeek! I have nothing to do with that. Ask her!" yells Principal Dingus, pointing at his partner in crime.

"Well, sir, you see," says Principal Strickland, staring daggers into Dingleberry, "There was an opening for a Superintendent position in a nearby district, and, well, I thought if I showed initiative in boosting student participation, I-"

"Enough. I've heard enough." Superintendent Patel pinches the bridge of his nose before letting a long, exasperated sigh. "No wonder your budget has ballooned so much. You can't force a student to get into a club, much less for some career advancement. There will be repercussions for this."

I think even the people outside the tent can hear her panicked gulp as she slinks back into the chair.

"As for you," says the superintendent, "I'm very sorry that you had to resort to this. For now, the policy of forcing a student to join a club is suspended. I will talk to the rest of the board about setting up safe spaces in the future, when we build up our budget for it, but right now, I must recommend to reject your club application."

Wait, what? But, I'm the protagonist! It can't end like this! I won't allow it to end like this!

"Sir, with all due respect," I begin to say, but he stops me by raising his hand.

"I, however, cannot unilaterally reject that, as it lies beyond my scope as superintendent and would be a big overreach. This matter I will remit to the principals and Miss Vazquez over here. Principal Strickland, what is your vote?"

Principal Strickland looks like she wants to run away to Belize and start a new life as midwife for millionaires and extradition skippers, but she braves her fear to kiss the superintendent's ass. "Yes, I agree with your assessment. I vote to reject the application. Principal Chillman?"

The Dickweed also tries to steal his nerves and side with the superintendent, but a cough from Brayden takes his attention away. Brayden mouths something to him, which I believe are numbers of some sort, which drain the color out of his face.

"Eeek, I vote to accept, to accept! Please, don't leak my I.P!" says principal Dickhole. So that's what it is. Good for having dirt on the dingus, Brayden!

"It all falls to the tie-breaker, student representative Lee Vazquez," says the superintendent.

Oh, no. Oh, fuck me. Our entire destiny lies in the tiny hands of our mortal enemy.

With her blank expression, she shakes her head, slowly, softly. "I vote to reject the application."

I can't even say anything in our defense. The superintendent simply seals our fate with a literal ink seal in red ink. I don't have to see it to guess what it probably says on the paper he stamped.

REJECTED.

And that's all she wrote, folks. Three seasons of build up. Three seasons of mistake, after malarkey, after shenanigan, after chicanery. Three seasons of building up to a club, to a dream, to a haven, dashed in less than 2k words. As simple as that, we are fucked. We have nothing.

Hayden has nothing. His dreams, his scholarship, all gone with the bang of a stamp. And we all know, deep down, that it was my fault.

Maybe if I had accepted Lee's offer to join the council, Brayden, Hayden and Okayden would've made their three-member club without issue. Maybe if I wasn't so jealous of Aiden, I wouldn't have had my ass expelled, and the club closed down. Maybe if I hadn't been expelled, Brayden wouldn't have burnt down the other school, thus putting us in such budgetary restraint.

Maybe, if I wasn't around, I wouldn't have given Hayden hopes of a better future.

In any way you see this, I'm at the center of everything. The fault starts and ends with me.

It would've been better if I wasn't around to screw everything.

Hayden is standing there, in the middle of the park, looking at the broken statue of a failed founder. I don't know what to say, or what to do to console him. But I have to try.

I grab him by the shoulders, gently rubbing them. "Babe, I-"

He suddenly spins around, giving us all three a warm smile. There's no sadness, or anger, or anything behind it. It's a seriously genuine smile. "Hey, wanna grab some dinner? I wanna cook for you all, if that's okay with you all."

Huh. Okay. Don't know where this is going, but sure. I'm hungry anyways, and Brayden looks like he's about to chew on his finger. Baby hungie.

Still, I can't help but wonder, what's happening inside Hayden's head? What is he thinking? For now, I'll just go with the flow and do the only thing I can do for him: be present.