I won't even bother to describe the bathroom for you. Seen one school waste disposal room, seen them all. 

Broken stalls, that one toilet that's always out of use that goths use to sneak vapes between classes, that unidentified liquid on the floor that you can't tell if it's pee or water because of the budget beige bathroom tiles that haven't been power washed since they were created, and that chemically-perfected hint of piss, ingrained in the foundations of the school, that makes you stay there for as long as you have to, and not a second less. 

I guess I did bother to describe it. I just wanna make a point that, right out of the bat, my disposal options were already reduced by one, for there were three stalls. It's always three stalls. Seems like the American school system can't think of a reason why people have to poop in even number intervals. 

"What the shit, Hayden?" I say, shaking his pastrami hams of a hand away from my arm. "What was that about?"

"Look, brother," he says, "forget about that. I got a favor to ask you, bad boy to bad boy."

"Kinda hard to ignore a mob asking for blood," I say, walking towards the first stall. 

I try to open it, but a voice saying "Ocupado," chimes in as soon as I do it. Great, a bystander. 

"That's what I'm trying to ask you," says Hayden. "It's gonna sound weird, but I want you to beat the shit out of me."

The word itself makes my intestines jump to the left, and I be damned if I'm letting it scoot a little to the right and do the hokey-pokey. "I'm sorry, what?" 

"You heard me," says Hayden. "I need you to walk outside with me, put up and act, and just pound me hard in front of everyone."

I take back what I said. He's not a genius, he's a weirdo. And I don't have time to deal with weirdos. 

I move to the next stall, the last one I might add, but Hayden blocks me with his hand before I can even so much as touch the door. Remember, Hayden is a huge, jock bad boy that could, if he wanted, turn me into a pulp.

"Buddy, friendo, first of all, phrasing," I say. "Next time you talk, take a second to listen to what you say. Second, I came to this school to get a substandard education so that I can get a mediocre, if rewarding, job by helping the elderly set up their Gmail account, not get into fisticuffs with someone that can get me into a hate list if I so much look at them wrong. Thirdly, I gotta take a mondo crap, so if you would excuse me..."

I try, and emphasize on try, to go around Hayden, but he is just way too muscular to properly maneuver around. All he does is sidestep a bit to the right to block my advance. 

"Move it, beef fridge!" I say. "I'm sorry, that was totally uncalled for. I really have to take a dump, and I can't control my bad boy-ness."

"I get you," he says, putting a bacon-wrapped hand on my shoulder. "Sometimes, we can't help but act on our bad-boy instincts. I forgive you, brother."

"Thank you," I say. 

"But only if you fist me in front of everyone."

"Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?" I ask. 

He puts another hand on my other shoulder, locking his eyes on mine. Deep, dark eyes, full of knowledge and despair, like two chocolate cookies after a philosophy class on Kierkegaard. "Brother, listen up. There is a time in every man's life when he has to take stock, buckle down, and realize he should get his ass beaten by a bad boy." 

"That answers zero of my questions."

He removes his right hand, puts it inside his bag, without looking, and takes out a small, cupcake-like thing.

"If you do it, I'll give you a pavlova," he says with that sexy, crooked smile on his. 

I am not proud of what I am going to do, but I hope you can forgive me. Nature is calling, and I'm not about to toss it away to beat a guy up. I swipe the pavlova to the floor, looking at Hayden in the eyes and saying "Man, fuck your pavlova." 

As expected, he moves out of the way to try and catch it before it reaches the ground — which he does, because he is a perfect Jock bad boy — but gives me enough space to jump over him and, kicking the stall door, and locking it behind me. 

Maybe I'm quarterback material. Not that I'm gonna find out anytime soon. 

"Hey, brother, not cool!" yells Hayden. "I woke up at 4 am to make this just for you!" 

"I'm sorry!" I say, lowering my pants, but making sure it doesn't touch the unidentified puddle. 70% sure it is indeed urine. "I need to go! I don't have time for your weird plans!" 

I don't know if it is the incessant chanting for cheap entertainment in the way of combat, or knowing there is someone with moderate proficiency in Spanish in the stall next to mine, but it isn't coming out. Going to the toilet is an act of peace, and I'm a shy pooper at that. Can't relax the valve if the inspector is around, if you know what I mean.

It doesn't help that Hayden, in his infinite height, comes in peeping from above the door like a titan over wall Maria. Bad boys also watch anime. And just like the anime, it scares the crap out of me — metaphorically speaking, of course. 

"Look, I'm gonna level with you," he says. 

I cover my undesirables, for I have at least a modicum of modesty. "Really? Can't this wait until I'm done?"

He stares at me for a while, and I know he is monologuing, but it is giving me the chills. 

"It can't," he says. "You know that girl wrapped around my arm like a cobra?"

Maybe, just maybe, if he talks his heart out, he will go away. "Pythons wrap, cobras just coil and bite you. Learn your snakes. But yeah, the cheerleader? Who's she?"

"Oh," says a voice that definitely didn't belong to Hayden. It sounds more annoying, and incredibly punchable. "She's Leighlay McKenzie, the captain of the cheerleading squad, and Hayden's girlfriend."

Naturally, the annoying voice comes from ahead peeping from the stall next to mine, a head that belongs to the more annoying body of Billiam "Scooter" Exposito. 

I barely have the time to yell "Jesus" before covering my legs with my trusty binder. 

"She's not my girlfriend!" yells Hayden. "Also, who are you? And do you want a pavlova?"

"In order: yes she is, I'm Billiam, but my friends call me Scooter. I'm Ayden's best friend. And yes, I would very much like one."

"Hey!" exclaims Hayden, handing a pavlova to Billiam, "I thought I was your best friend!" 

"I met you both yesterday," I say. "Can I have some privacy?"

"Bro, it's 'may I have'," says Billiam.

"No, she ain't," says Hayden. "That's all her. She has this high school power fantasy to date the captain of the football team and has this American dream with the white fence, and the lots of kids, and the fame and money with an NFL player of a husband and whatnot."

"Well," says Billiam, scratching his chin in thought. "She has been voted 'Most likely to be the Passive-aggressive soccer mom who cries to emotionally manipulate other girls into doing her bidding in a suburban-themed reality show' for three years in a row."

"She's just a fame hog, and I'm the yummy-yummy truffle she's trying to gorge on," says Hayden. "I don't even like her!"

"Oh, drama," whispers Billiam as he munches on the pavlova. 

"Which is why I want you to just man up, and pound me in front of her," he says without skipping a beat. "If she sees me being weak and stuff, she's gonna leave me alone." 

"Can't you just submit a formal complaint for sexual harassment?" I ask as a gentle draft cools my bottom. Yes, hard to remember I'm half-naked still. "Cuz that sounds like sexual harassment. Like accosting a person in the bathroom."

"Nah, brother, you don't know her," says Hayden. "She has power in here. Teenage girl power. She can make my life a living hell if I form a complaint."

"Yeah, she's basically school royalty," says Billiam. 

And that's as smart as the conversation will get. 

"Please, brother, I need your help," he says, looking at me with those depressed Hershey's kisses. 

Damn my soft heart and even softer stool. If I am to have release, I will have to help him. But I already went to great lengths to describe how bad a matchup this is, and cheerleaders love when jocks are assholes. Which means that a fight won't do.

Well, there is one way to solve this, but it isn't pretty. 

"Okay, I'll help," I say to Hayden. "But I will need your consent to do something pretty weird."

Yeah, this is gonna be pretty weird alright.