How fucking inconsiderate of Hayden to introduce a new plot point when I haven't even finished the last one! Or the one before that, for that matter. I still have the issues of the condom suit, my fight with Haiden, and now this. I went from having no plot to having like... three plots in one day. And it's still fucking Monday! How long is this season anyways?

It doesn't take long until the Uber pulls towards the school, now full to the brim with cars and buses of parents and students alike, dressed in the calming blue of the Timberwolves, or the disturbing red of the Trojans. Why the fuck do people care so much about sports to spend so much money on these circuses? There are a ton of kids who could use a better cafeteria menu, or special ed, or a damn psychologist, for fuck's sake. Again, no joke here, just me hating the world. If you like sports, fuck you, you animal hater. Yes, that money that they pay Tom Brady in one season? It can build like... a buncha shelters for homeless dogs. Why do you want the dogs to be homeless, dear reader? You bitch.

Sorry, sorry, I'm lashing out again under pressure. This is gonna be a catch-up chapter, so strap in, 'cuz we're doing a plot speedrun, any%.

"You and your filthy condom can get the hell out of my cab!" yells the driver, which, considering he's from NY, is as nice as one can get. "Gimme a 5 stars review, and go fuck yourself. Have a nice one."

And with that, he peels out, never to be seen again, leaving me with a condom, a bag of undies, and a wedding invite in the parking lot. Seems like the set-up for a bad joke, and I'm not gonna lie, a stiff drink would help.

The only stiff I can see is a bald dick running towards me with an exasperated face and shiny, bald head made out of baldness and sweat. God, it must feel satisfying just smacking that thing like a sack of soil.

"Mr. Gomez!" he yells, putting his hands on his hips like a raquiitic teapot, "I've been looking for you! The game is about to start and neither you nor Miss. Winslow was in daddy's sticky icky shack of fun! And what happened to our mascot? It's... dirty! And smells like pee. More than usual, really."

Now, I can be super chill and roll over and say sorry about everything and try to explain it all away in a nice, concise manner that would satisfy both parties while keeping this story moving forwards. Or, I can also make this into a dick-measuring contest and turn my stay in this libertarian nightmare into something somewhat pleasant.

Guess what I choose. I'll give you a second to comment for a chance to win a great prize!

I grab him by the back of his sweaty neck and pull him towards me, getting him close enough so that I can comfortably whisper in his ear. I can feel him shudder under my hand. Gross. "Okay, Captain Dipshit, this is how we're gonna play it out. I don't really like your steeze, and honestly, you're giving me small dick energy, which is really off-putting. So, here's the deal: you don't bother me, scream at me, see me, touch me, make any weird comments in my general vicinity, or even breathe the same air as you, and I won't blow the whistle on your little ganja business, k? And I assure you, the last thing you're gonna be worrying about is how to keep the lights on. People like you get to be someone's bitch before day one, and not the tasty, yes daddy type of bitch."

The next thing I feel is him holding his breath and swallowing hard before running away from me. I'll take it as a yes. Hopefully, it will make things a little more bearable around here.

Shit, he didn't take the suit. I'm the worst blackmailer ever. And yet, I'm not a dick. I'll take the suit to the locker room and let the jocks sort it out. Which leads me to the next plot point I have to address whether I like it or not: Haiden. I know his type. They don't forget, or forgive, the crime of being mildly annoying because they're manchildren who were told they were hot shit and emotionally stunted them into expressing everything through violence, because they were let to believe that his their dick pisses gold ad God chose him specially to be everyone's middle manager.

To my surprise, the first thing I see when I enter the dumb tunnel thing whhere player leave the field is not Haiden, but Hayden, being pinned against the wall by Leighlay McKenzie, the Queen B herself, which I must remind you is a foot and a half smaller than Hayden, and a bout a hundred pounds lighter. That's a duck in length and three in weight for all those who don't use freedom to measure stuff.

"Hey babe," she says, using both hands to form a wall around Hayden with his back against the wall, "you missed momma? Miss sucking on these mommy milkers? These huge fucking tatas?"

Hayden, on the other hand, looks incredibly uncomfortable, even though only the slightest move could break her grasp in a second. He's like that baby elephant who was raised in a circus with a rope on his ankle, and keeps thinking the rope can stop him when he's big and doesn't realize he can snap it in two and kill everyone if he so chooses. That, or he doesn't want to hit a lady.

"Leighlay, please," says Hayden, squirming like an awkward worm under the talon of a robin, if the talon were an anaconda, and the robin is a... well, robin. "We are through, let me go. Move on, find a hobby, maybe pottery? I heard that's good for anger management."

"No, we are not through!" she yells, slapping her hands against the wall for emphasis, looking about as threatening as a cat pouncing on a cockroach. "Nobody dumps Leighlay McKenzie. Do you know how many car dealerships my dad has? Like three! Three, Hayden! The fuck you think you're doing running away from me?"

"Please, the restraining order..." whispers Hayden.

Leighlay grabs a finger and passes it through his cheek in a very icky and uncomfortable way. "Ain't no paper gonna break my dream of being a quarterback's wife. My current squeeze is only a linebacker! Nobody cares about the linebacker's wife, for fuck sake!"

Hayden might see a lady, but all I see is a person, and justice is genderless. I slowly move towards her without her seeing me and smash her with my underwear bag. Don't try this at home, kids, and if you do, send me a video where you do it.

She stumbles awkwardly to the side, far enough for me to grab Hayden and put him behind me. "Get your dirty silicone fingernails away from him, your dirty strawberry-blonde bitch! I can see your roots, by the way."

Leighlay goes from red, to pomegranate, to watermelon in the span of a second, going back to a nice overripe mango color. "You! You have taken everything I love away from me! And I'm a natural blonde, you fuck!"

"Yeah, and I'm an anime protagonist," I say. "Go yap at your brick wall, see if he likes it."

The overripe mango turns into a slightly soggy honeydew as a smug smile crosses Leighlay's mouth. The kind of smug smile that tells you that shit is about to hit the fan, and the fan is very much pointing at your face. "Well, you're about to hit the wall running. Punch his shit in, babe!"

Shouldn't it be kicking my shit-

I see Hayden's hand protrude in front of my face, catching something at the last second before hitting my face. That thing looks like a wad of meat connected to a bigger wad of meat, only slightly sentient, at best.

It's Haiden, if anything until now didn't clue you in. And Hayden just saved me from having my shit kicked in. Funny how that works.

"If you try to touch my boo one more time," says Hayden in that jock intensity of his', "I'll personally see that the few brain cells you have left shoot out of your head when I open it like a pinata."

Oof, I just shuddered at that. I'm glad he's on my side. Still, it leaves us at an impasse.

"Well, well, well," I say, snuggling against my Iron Giant, "seems like this is a Mexican stand-off."

"Seems like it is," says Leighlay. "We'll back off... for now. But Hayboo will not be around for long to defend you, you twink."

Well, that's true. But I'm a big boy, I can defend myself. I think. I hope so!

"But, bebe," says Haiden in his low, growling voice, as if someone is putting him at 0.25% speed, "Haiden needs to punch puny greaser's shit in. Haiden promised."

Let me try something here while I have backup, just in case. "But it's past 2:59. You promised you would beat my shit at 2:59!"

Haiden takes second to process the two bites of information that he has to calculate to arrive at the conclusion that, yes, it was way past 2:59. "Oh, okay. Haiden beat shit of greaser another day, then."

"Wait, what?" asks Leighlay, to no avail. Haiden is already waddling away, followed by her, huffing.

And that leaves me with the last loose thread: Hayden. How do I approach this? What can I say that hasn't been said? I know there is no ill will between us, but it's just... so damn uncomfortable. Like I know that he knows that I know, but he also knows that I know that he knows that I know, and at that point, who knows anymore? How do you start tackling a beast with a million tails and no head?

Maybe start at the very beginning. The best way to start. Not like I'm starting on chapter 2 or anything.

I open my mouth to speak, but I get shut down before I can say anything by a pair of lips smashing against mine. It's just a second of touch, but it feels as if something hot has been branded on me, and my soul.

The power of cliche is not lost on me, I know.

I'm dumbfounded, maladjusted, and positively perplexed, and other weird words I'm not 100% sure what they mean. He just kissed me! Out of the blue! Rude bad boy behavior. Very rude. Choke me first, dammit.

"We won't talk about it now, brother," says Hayden, now gently pinning me against the wall with his hand on my hips. "For now, our first priority must be to get you back into Hill Valley Mountain Woods High, and for that, I'll need you in that wedding."

"Wait, that's the other thing I was trying to wrap up!" I ask. "What is this wedding thing? And how will it help me get back into school?"

Hayden pulls away, giving me the first smirk I've ever seen him do. "You know how you always make cryptic plans that you never tell anybody?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Well," he says, rolling his eyes, "let's just say I'll pick you up tomorrow for the bachelor party. Bring a blanket."

A wave of players come crashing down the hallway, that, and a few referees. The game is about to start. God dammit, Hayden! Trying to use my own spells against me. Second time it happens in this damn season, I swear.

"Well, this is it, I guess. See you tomorrow," he says, putting on the helmet.

Or at least he tries to. I put my hands up to stop it going down all the way.

"Before that," I ask, feeling my face flare up like a bird on a fire ant hill, "one more kiss for the road?"