This is my safe space. Sure, it is small and cramped, and with entirely too many feet magazines — because apparently, they are a thing for something only Satan knows — but it is my safe space. I can be myself here, my real self, not the objectified man-hunk you think I am. I can do dumb shit, be gay, do crimes, and eat the rich. Haven't eaten too many rich people as of late, but if I wanted to, I know I will have a place to do it, god dangit! For this SoCal himbo surfer fuck to bring the enemy into these hallowed grounds is as if he's spitting in my face, and not in the hot, "yes, daddy" way.

And to rub salt into a wound, he brings Leila and Leeland with him. Laila? Honestly, I don't even remember how it goes. Those two, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Thot. And those are just the first ones to enter. Billiam, Gisangela, Minnesota, Dakota, Carolina, Alaska, and other girls with similar state names and manic pixie girl personalities all enter one after the other like a parade of freaks and mildly annoying main characters of lesser stories.

"UwU, what's this?" says a pink-haired anime protagonist with a black cat on her shoulder. Why is fantasy trying to chase me down? "This place is so kawaii, Fluffy-kun!"

Yes, it hurt me to write that as well. Let's get over it.

"Such azure colors could only be seen in the bowels of such a Faustian place," says another girl, which I can only assume was the same one I stumbled into way back when I had to take that mondo shit. Remember that? Cause I sure as hell would love to forget about it. But some idiot put it into a fanfic hellsite for everyone to read. Such a dick.

Speaking of dick, one is coming towards me with a beer in hand. It's a Corona. Gross.

"Hey, former best friend!" says the human toilet puck that is Billiam. Wait, former?

"What do you mean, former?" I ask.

"He puts his hands around the greaser, putting him closer to him. Both of them feel the tension rising from the interaction," says/whispers a girl sitting on the couch, slowly caressing the anime cat. What.

"Bro, brother, brosef, broseidon!" says Billiam, drunk out of his mind, even though he has been here for a whole nine paragraphs. "You're old news. We have a new 'Mysterious New Kid' bad boy. So mysterious!"

"I heard his mother was the CEO of One Direction!" says one of the State-named girls.

"I heard he once surfed with Will Smith, and he told him he was hawt!" says another, maybe Gisangela.

"Ohmygosh, his cheekbones look like two sharks battling against a plump, kissable seal," says Leila/Laila. "I wanna get mauled by them and be crippled for life ugh."

I shall not say what Leeland said, because it is both vile and an affront to the Catholic Church, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and perhaps Jane Fonda, depending on her views on peanut butter in the hoo-haa.

"Wait, but I'm the new kid bad boy!" I say? Why? I should love that! I'm no longer the target of whatever the hell these heathens are all about. I'm free!

Then, why do I feel like shit?

I mean, don't get me wrong, I've been the new kid bad boy all my life. Year after year of bumping into conspiracies, totally average boys/girls, Deathnotes — seriously, I have a library full of those — and I wouldn't wish that stress on my worst enemy. I should be elated that, for once, I don't have to carry this burden. In theory, this should be it, right? There can't be two new kid bad boys. I'm no longer burdened by this curse. But that's it. I've always been marked by it, molded by it. Some people merely adopted the bad boy life, but I was born in it.

Without being the new kid bad boy, who was I? Who is Ayden Gomez, but the protagonist of a bad boy story? Oh, god, I've never been asked that question. Who am I? What am I? Why am I?

"Don't worry, former best friend! You're still a bad boy. You just have to find what kind of bad boy you are!" says Billiam. "Here, have a beer, go flirt with Laila, try and find your groove back."

He shoves a Corona into my hand before disappearing to suck Aiden's dick, or something. Really, everyone is around him, fawning over him, while he plays Wonderwall in his ukelele, like the dick he is. You're not a quirky Tumblr girl, dammit! How dare Billiam come and dismantle my entire way of life that I despised in a single paragraph?

Another hand grabs my shoulders, but immediately pulls back, because my new jacket has spikes in the shoulders. I dunno what it is about them that makes people want to grab 'em. I say new jacket, but it's the same old leather jacket with thumbtacks tapped to it. Look, I don't have enough money, okay? Nobody wants to hire a bad boy around these parts. I keep uncovering corporate corruption and conspiracies by mistake. Trust me, you do not want to eat Wendy's spicy nuggets.

"First, ouch," says the owner of the hand, one Hayden Wilson. "Second, don't worry, brother. You are still you, no matter what kind of bad boy you are. We are your friends and we love you. Like, I really love you. But like a bro. Five feet apart. Maybe four feet apart. Maybe no feet apart."

"Feet," whispers the flanderized trope that is Okayden. Don't worry, he's gonna get a dedicated chapter that explains his backstory. Totally.

"ain't nobody harshing your mellows without your consent," says Brayden. "all the bad boys ask for consent before harshing your mellows."

I might not be the new kid bad boy anymore, but at least I have my friends. Also, what the fuck is happening? Why are there a bunch of people in my safe space? Why are they eating Hayden's homemade nachos?

"Hey! Use a napkin, you beast!" yells Hayden, grabbing a bag of napkins from the cubby hole and tossing it to the mob of TAB/G's. "Don't eat on the couch!"

Seriously, what the fuck? Who does Aiden think he is to come here with a ukulele and be a basic frat boy? Also, the cat just peed on the couch. Great. Now Okayden will have to pee there to mark his territory. Again. It took a week to air out the smell last time.

"Brayden, Okayden, let's end this," I say.

"already on it, babe," says Brayden as he punches a number into his iPhone. "hey, cuties, got a party you gotta come and fix for us, yeah? wink wink, nudge nudge, as daddy would say. yeah, where we were taking children's teeth. no, it doesn't smell like blood anymore. k, love ya."

"When you said fix it,

It doesn't mean shoot us up, right?

Just to bust this shit."

"yeah... gotta make another quick call," says Brayden, disappearing amongst the crowd.

With Hayden parenting the invaders, and Brayden being Brayden, it falls to me and Okayden to... and he's chasing the cat around. As I was saying, it falls to me to sort this mess out.

I walk towards Aiden, sitting in my pile of underwear, in my clubroom, charming my TAB/Gs as if he was the biggest dick in the locker room, with Leila sitting on his left leg, and Leeland in the other, spitting in the face of social distancing guidelines. In fact, everyone here is violating social distancing guidelines, and no mask in sight. Well, there is a mask, but it's attached to a man playing the accordion in a corner. There is no joke here. There really is a man in a gas mask playing sea shanties accordion. I hate it here.

"Hey, dickweed," I say to Aiden, serenading Leeland with an acoustic version of "Wonderwall," instantly making him the douchiest person in a room that also has Brayden in it. "The hell are you doing?"

Aiden gives me a smirk mixed with a nod and a wink, or maybe he has a nervous tick. Either/or. "Hey, if it isn't Ayden with a Y. Wanna duet with me?"

Oh, no. He didn't make me "the other Aiden," right? "No, you are Aiden with an I. I'm Ayden. I came first, you are the exception. You are Aiden with an I. I'm Ayden. Clear?"

Aiden places the ukulele down and gives me another smirk while doing that thing hot boys with long hair do when they whip their hair back to get it out of their eyes? You know the thing. Stupid sexy Aiden.

"Aight, I don't wanna step on your toes, brah. You can be Ayden, period," he says, all the while everyone around them swooned and melted into a mass of adoring idiots.

"Ugh, Aiden is so good and nice and kind," says Leila. "I want him to eat me out like a taco bowl, no napkin."

"Yeah, so much better than mean old Ayden with a Y, as in, Y is he here? Ugh, daddy better toss him out ugh," said Leeland, of course. In my own house.

He first takes my safe space, then my bad boyness, and now my droning idiots. That's it, I'm bringing the big guns.

"Look, I don't know what you think this place is, but it ain't some nightclub you can come in a set up a fuck-fest and hope we roll over and let you give us a reach around. This is a school club, for fuck's sake."

I see a flicker of something in his eyes. I don't know if it is anger, rage, or just him being thirsty, but whatever it is, it makes something click in him. I say this because he actually makes a click sound with his mouth as he slowly stands up.

"Alright, brahs, listen up!" he says. And people listen. My god, the amount of power he holds over these people. This is why bad boys hold awesome and dark powers, like an underpaid kindergarten teacher. "My main man Ayden here just reminded me that this is, in fact, a school club, and not a sick-ass party saloon."

This is met by a bunch of booing and a shoe being thrown at my face. It was Brayden who did that. Dick.

"I know, I know," says Aiden while doing that annoying calming motion with his hand. "This is, after all, a foot appreciation club."

"Damn right," I say.

Hey, why is there boss music all of a sudden?

"So, this is what we are gonna do," he says, looking at me with a smirk. "Everyone, take off your shoes, let us see those toes! This is gonna be a feet party!"

It isn't one shoe now. It is at least 32 pairs of shoes. That's 65 shoes, all thrown at my head at the same time. And yes, I'm counting the other shoe Brayden hadn't thrown at me. Again, I'm glad I have my smash-proof dark glasses, which work for balls as well as shoes. Not that my face gets hit with balls or shoes all the time, but you never know.

By the way, what the fuck? This guy is nuts.

"This doesn't solve shit!" I say.

"Of course it does!" says a voice low to the ground. Very close. Literally smelling every foot in quick succession.

"See? The club president says it's okay!" says Aiden with a coy smile. This man looks like an idiot, but I think I just met my match. "Now, who wants to take shots out of my abs?"

Leeland pushes everyone away like a bridesmaid trying to catch the bouquet, no matter how many people she has to shank to do so. But hey, that gives me an idea. If he uses a president to approve his festival of idiots, maybe I can use an even bigger president to shut this down.

"Well," I say, leaning forward with a smirk of my own, "Let's see how the student council president feels about this little party of yours."

"What about me?" says the dulcet, velvety, saccharine voice of Lee Vazquez, student council president, standing in a corner — not the same corner of the masked pirate — while sipping a Lacroix Pure.

Oh, good, she's here. She's also very much barefoot, with her toes painted white with red swirls like a delicious mint candy. Wait, am I thinking of sucking her toes? Snap out of it, Ayden! She's a witch. But, in this case, she might prove in handy.

"Hey, Lee, glad you're here. Can you please shut down this whole shit show? Aiden with an I is doing this party without club permission."

Lee, always the frigid vixen, gives me a smile? What's with today and the destruction of the status quo?

"That sounds like your problem," she says with another sip of the pretentious water. "As far as I can see, this is an unauthorized club event by a member of this club, in the club's room, with the club president's blessing. As such, I, as the president of the student council, am here to give you an official strike on the club's record. Two more strikes and I will have to authorize the dissolution of this here club. The only reason I haven't called the police is that this room is just outside of school grounds."

Oh, I see how it is. She's gonna use Aiden's bad boy energy to screw us out and simply wait until he fucks up and close down the club. If you can't beat the bad boys, use it against each other. Lee, you smart bastard. I kinda respect you for it. But don't try to outfox a fox.

"Well, we can fix that easily," I say. "We can remove him from our club, right?"

Lee gives me an icy smile, half-hidden behind the LaCroix can. "Of course you can. It is your right to remove or deny any member or possible member."

Good. At least that means we can give him the boot. Honestly, we only accepted him because we thought he was a bad boy like us. Curse our hubris! He's a bad bad boy, very bad.

Why is she still smiling then?

"However, may I ask," says Lee with the sweetness of a cotton-mouth snake about to pounce on a mouse, "why do you want to remove him? While he did make an unauthorized party, and is breaking a gazillion rules, he did so with the blessing of the president. By the way, stop smelling my feet."

"Sorry," whispers Okayden before scurrying away.

"Well, he's a bad boy!" I say. "Look at him, having a three-way kiss with a bottle of tequila on school grounds! How the hell did he even get that?"

And that, dear readers, is when I realize that I have fallen for the biggest strategist this book has known: myself. And Lee knows it.

"Oh, so you want to discriminate against poor Aiden just because he is a bad boy? Wow, wait until Twitter finds out about that. They surely will have a field day with you. Believe me, I've been there."

Fuck me. Fuck me sideways. I fell for my own trick! She played an Uno reverse card, and I'm gobbling those extra cards to try and save myself. "You dare use my own spells against me, Vazquez?"

All she does is give me a coy smile, turning around to disappear out of the room.

Well, this is it. I'm screwed.

"yo, brosef, bromance, brochure," says Brayden. "don't worry, jungkook and harry are here, and they're gonna fix this whole mess real good."

What comes from the same hallway that Lee disappeared in is a full-on Mariachi band, a plate of taquitos, and a full-on ice cream bar.

"Here it is, boss!" says Jungkook with his toothy smile. "We fixed your party. Now, it is a real party!"

No, I stand corrected. Now we are screwed.