It takes only one tweet to set the mob back in victory as three borderline sociopath kids get their wish. That's us, by the way. We are the sociopaths. I'm not proud of what we just did, but it was a necessary evil. Sue me.

Lee slumps over the table while rubbing her temples with her knuckles with her glasses on the table. "Just give me the damn form and let's get over with." 

Hayden puts it in front of her with a flourish. "With pleasure." 

She grabs her glasses and the paper and gives them a once-over. Then, she laughs. And laughs again. And again. By now, it probably borders on fetishism, but she still laughs. She makes the same face she did while pounding her phone, but with tears rolling down her cheeks now. 

"All this hoopla, for this? Seriously? Get the fuck away from me!" she says. To punctuate her feelings, she balls the thing and makes a three-pointer right against Hayden's face. 

"What the hell, sis?" says Hayden. "Everything's in order, isn't it?" 

"The hell it is! All you did is put the name of the club and your name in it! And 'Cool Club For Cool Dudes' is not an acceptable name for a school club. Look on the back." 

I grab the ball of paper and open it up. There was nothing unusual on the front. But in the back, there is a list. 

Goal and statement of the club.

Cultural activities of the club.

Club booth for festival A. 

Tentative Budget for festival A. 

Quarterly Budget. 

Full Year Budget. 

And so on, and so on. 

"See that? You have to fill in all that, then you can apply. I'm afraid we cannot, this time, accept your application."

Hayden, you stupid man-bitch. Defeated by bureaucracy. Our hubris!

"hey, at least it wasn't me who fucked up," says Brayden. "we could try to cancel her again."

Nah, that wouldn't work. This was our fault, plain and simple. 

"Can you give us more time?" I ask, knowing the answer. 

"Yes, of course," says Lee with a sweet smile. 

"Really?"

"No. Of course not," she corrects. "We have to go over the budgets of all the clubs, and do some whole other boring stuff. We can't wait and accommodate you three and halt an entire operation for you to turn something half-assed. Be serious, or go home. So please, if there is nothing else to discuss, please go a...yes?" 

There, peeking just beyond the door, is a cloaked figure, with thick-rimmed glasses, a scarf that flows down to the ground, and a thick trench coat. Okayden, in the flesh. 

He opens the door and enters skittishly — as much as his animalistic body allows him to be at least — and makes his way toward Lee. 

"Yes? Can I help you?" asks Lee. 

Okayden barely opens his trenchcoat and produces a thick binder, which he plops down on the table with a thud. 

"I seek assistance,
In forming a club, you see,
It is all in there." 

She opens the binder, all the while never taking her eyes off him, until her eyes get caught in the name of the club. 

"The Hill Valley Mountain Woods Feet Appreciation Society? Are you serious?" 

He nods his head in agreement. 

She passes the binder to Renesme who quickly thumbs through it. Again, really thick binder. You can kill an opossum with that. At least a regular possum. Some kind of sum. She inspects it for a few minutes, and then some, returning it to Lee. 

"I-I-It's all in order," says Renesme. "B-budget, activities, e-everything's there. Except the number of members. There is only o-o-o-one." 

And that, my friends, is how the cookie crumbles. Okayden turns around, takes a pen out of his pocket, clicks it once. And gives us a wide smile, toothy and slightly sensual. It tells me everything he is thinking, and the masterpiece of a checkmate he just made. 

He waited for us to fail so he could swoop in like a crow and feast on our cadaverous feet. We wouldn't succumb to his demands, so he placed us in a situation that we could not refuse. He surely noticed Hayden didn't read the back part and didn't bother to fill it.  The quiet ones are always the most dangerous. 

We look at each other — we know we got out-played. Okayden outsmarted our outsmarting. 

I grab the pen and add my name to the form. "Okay, then. Once a week?" 

He nods. 

"not the worst thing i've been asked to do," says Brayden, adding his name. 

Hayden doesn't say anything as he signs his name. He knows he fucked up. Beggars can't choose. 

"I think that's all," I say, giving the form back to Lee. "One club, please." 

She takes a deep breath, taking a seal from a desk drawer, and stamping the form. "The Hill Valley Mountain Woods Feet Appreciation Society has been reluctantly approved. You will be assigned a classroom, some basic materials, and a ledger which you must use to keep track of your budget and activities." 

She moves to file the form, but a hand stops her. A hand full of fur and nine-inch nails. Not the band. That would be metal as fuck. 

"Actually, please, 
If I can have a request,
For the club room choice."

You know, it ain't so bad without all the bodies and the vampire. The room, that is. 

Surprisingly, Okayden, which I think is our club president now, asked the council to give us the LaCroix room. Fitting, I guess. Doesn't have any windows, so no accidental bursting in fire by an errant ray of light. I can sleep here if I want as well, if I have a quarter to spare. No more vent for me. But I'll have to share with Okayden. 

"i'm ordering wifi for the room as we speak," says Brayden. "maybe some bean bag chairs. do i order them baked, or raw?" 

"Nah, brother!" says Hayden, now happier than I've ever seen. His dream, at least in the short run, has been fulfilled. "I'll get us a couch, maybe a plasma TV. It's gonna be a nice crib here. Whaddaya think, poodle-boy." 

"Feet magazines," is all he says as he sits in a corner with a pile of magazines. 

We ain't getting anything out of that. 

As for me, all I have is my bag of underwear, and my binder. And for that, I'm happy. I'm with friends. I'm away from everyone else. What else can I ask?

"So, what now?" I ask Hayden. 

He grabs my shoulder, looking at me with those sparkling orbs of his. "Now, we do whatever we want, brother. We do whatever we want." 

"I think I want to do nothing," I say. 

And that's good. Right now, everything is alright. Nothing can ruin this mome—wait...did I just...?

Oh fuck, what did I just say?

"Knock knock!" says a voice from the LaCroix hallway. 

I can say, with certainty, that I've never heard that voice. And yet, I can also say that I've never felt so compelled to punch someone in the face than when that voice rings. I likely want to punch whoever said that in the gut. 

A figure emerges from the hallway and into the room. The figure is chiseled like a sexy slab of granite with blue and black hair tied in a ponytail. He looks like the personification of a bottle of lube a lumberjack would use to rail another, sexier lumberjack. That figure is trouble, and my pecs know it, for they start to quiver as soon as I lay an eye on him. 

"Sup, brahs?" he says in a SoCal accent. "I'm Aiden. I'm new at the school, and the student council hottie sent me here. Is this the Bad Boy's club she was talking about? We're gonna crush so much P, bro! Bad boys 4 life!"

Oh shit. 

END OF SEASON 1
CONTINUE ON TO READ SEASON 2