Let's keep this short — I can already feel myself turtle-heading. 

Again, Nicola Tesla, Abraham Lincoln, Slavoj Zizek, some of history's most powerful bad boys, all had, at some moment, sat at the decorated crapper to drop a mad deuce. That's what novels don't tell ya. 

If my plan is to succeed, and I hope to sweet baby Jesus it does, there won't be any more of a chapter left. The first part consists of the hype. I want everyone to pay attention. And we have the perfect hype-man.

"Hear ye, hear ye, ya basic bitches and bitchettes," says Billiam, walking out of the door, with a piece of toilet paper stuck under his shoe, if I might add. "They're gonna come out, and you're gonna give daddy some big shouties, okay?" 

For the thunderous reception he got, I think he nailed it.

"You sure about this?" asks Hayden. "Can't you just pound me hard against the wall?" 

"Phrasing," I say, first of all. "And yes, I am sure. Fighting between bad boys is a catch-22. We both will come out both hotter and approachable, and that's the last thing we want." 

"And what do we want, then?" he asks, if the pretense of the question mark at the end didn't tip you off.

"To have a mediocre state-sponsored education," I say. "And the only way to get away from the social wheel is to break the social wheel, George R. R. Martin style."

He stops by the door, probably admiring the woodwork, while scratching his clean-shaven face. "You know, English philosopher John Locke once said that a school's function is beyond subject education, and that it is actually a social microcosm precisely made for people to learn to live in a society, with superiors, peers, and even different social levels. To break the social wheel would be to denounce the real purpose of our education system." 

I take a deep breath, crack my knuckles, put my hands on his back, and say, with the calmest voice possible to avoid even the remotest insinuation that his poignant view is being disrespected, "This is a chapter all about me wanting to take a shit. Don't go philosophizing about Locke, you jumbo-sized beef truck," pushing him through the door to thunderous applause. 

That, or my guts are clapping back. Either/or, at this point. 

I straighten my jacket, pull my luscious hair back, and kick the door open like Caesar crossing the Rubicon — meaning, with both fear and admiration and also a salad. Did you know that the Caesar salad wasn't named after Julius Caesar, but after the inventor, Mexican restaurateur, and bootlegger, Caesar Cardini? Wild, isn't it? But I guess any other salad that you stab with a fork can be a Caesar salad. 

I probably look weird standing in the middle of the hallway, monologuing about salad, to a bunch of people asking for blood. But what can I do? I really like salads. 

"Baby, just get on with it already!" says Leighlay, as she twirls her blonde hair and chews bubblegum. Or is it that she is twirling bubblegum and chewing her hair? Having dark glasses 24/7 isn't great for your eyesight. 

"Kill each other already! Jesus..." yells a boy, oddly annoying at that. "We only have two minutes until the bell starts. Ugh daddy please I wish he would hit me ugh ."

Yep, that's Leeland. But don't worry, I will only need a few seconds. 

I catch Hayden's eyes, and with a knowing nod, we begin our plan. 

He runs at full speed at me, meaty fists ready to punt me. I assume a grappling position, everything is going according to plan. People are raging and yelling, all eyes are on us. 

Time to execute. 

Just as he is at arm's length, he slows down to a crawl, surrounding me below my arms and lifting me up to his height. I grab his shaven head with both of my hands, pulling his head closer to mine. You know where this is going. 

Our lips mush together in a passionate, wet, moist, and smacking kiss. His breath, which tastes like chocolate, mixes with my naturally-minty saliva to create a Peppermint Patty of moist deliciousness. Moist. I like that word. Moist. We close our eyes, just to show how much into it we are. 

You see, the only way for a bad boy to be left alone romantically is to be taken. So why don't we pretend to be taken? That's something that works and hasn't been played to death, right? The fake BF?

The room makes a collective gasp, followed by complete silence. Look at me, ye of thothery, and despair! 

"Sorry, Queen B," I say as Hayden places me back down. "I guess he's just not that into you."

The thing about closing your eyes as you kiss someone is that it makes you momentarily oblivious to what is around you, which, if you ask me, is one of the many tactical weaknesses of love. When I open my eyes, I am met not with wonder and slight frustration, but with fear, as all eyes are not on our hot and moist makeout sesh, but on the slender, powerful, and frankly divine figure of Lee Vazquez, standing in the middle with her arms crossed, and wide-brimmed glasses slightly down to reveal her beautiful-

"Are you done?" she says, interrupting my monologue. 

Just looking at her makes my heart skip a beat, with a warmth spreading all over my body, as if enveloping me.

"I'll take your silence as a yes," she says. 

"Yes," I say. I think my brain hasn't caught up yet. Moist. I feel oddly moist. 

"While I am a supporter of free love," she says, "such public displays of affection, be it from heterosexual, homosexual, asexual, and everyone other sexual attraction or gender in the spectrum still goes against the school's decency rules."

"You smell nice," is all I manage to say edgewise. She smells like honey and berries. Must be her shampoo. Speaking of poo, it kinda smells like poo all of a sudden. 

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second, before speaking again. "Thank you. Now, Mr. Wilson-"

"Yes, boss," says Hayden, standing in attention. 

"I gave you a warning yesterday, but that doesn't seem to have changed your demeanor. I will now submit my report on the next available date, posthaste."

"Yes, boss," says Hayden in defeat. 

"As for you, Mr. Gomez" she says, now focusing on me. "I gave you the benefit of the doubt, being that you are new here. And while I support whatever budding relationship you might have with Mr. Wilson-"

Oh, no. She thinks we are partners! That's not what I wanted! Well, it is what I wanted. It is exactly what I wanted. Why do I feel this weird feeling I'm feeling, then? Moist? 

"-you have proved to be just another bad boy in need of correction. Tell your guardian to expect a call from the vice-principal's office in two to three week's time, depending on their schedule."

That...hurts more than I expected it to. I just got objectified, typecasted, and dismissed, all in one breath. I feel, quite frankly, like crap. 

She turns her back to us, clapping her hand twice to bring attention to her. Not that she needs it, of course. She's the kinda gal you pay attention to as soon as she enters the room. "As for you lot, the bell is about to ring any second now. Please go to your classrooms in a timely manner." 

And just as she says it, the bell rings, dispersing the crowd. 

As for me, I stand there, defeated, warm, and feeling like crap.

"Baby!" says Leighlay, grabbing Hayden's arm. "I didn't know you were bi! So hot, so Gucci! I love it." 

"Shit," whispers Hayden to me. "The plan backfired. She's even more into me!" 

I don't answer back. I know why I feel so hot and moist. When Hayden pulled me up, he hugged me too tight. 

I just took a mondo crap on myself. 

Somehow, it doesn't feel as bad as Lee's words. But it still feels pretty bad.