The Bad Boys' Soft Boys' Lonely Hearts Club - The Full Package

The Furry Fiasco

The plan: avoid those two idiots like the plague before they get me into any more trouble. 

The foil: humans suck at avoiding the plague. In fact, if anything, humans like to put our heads in the plague bucket and gobble-gobble like Thanksgiving leftovers, because that's our God-given right, decided by a bunch of white slave owners who thought tuberculosis was an evil ghost that lived in your blood, and the only cure was to sacrifice a foal during the next harvest moon. 

Case in point: I totally forgot about the sexual harassment talk my little plan from yesterday sprung into this school. And guess who I'm sitting between in the gym? 

"alright! first class' off," says Brayden on my right, sipping a Capri Sun through a metal straw like a vampire would drink nonchalantly from a cup as their unexpected guests eat and drink to their heart's content. "thanks a bunch, ayden. i don't even know how to divide. hated that class."

"Brother," says Hayden on my left, a football cupped in his prosciutto hands, "first class is English, not math. You don't have to divide there."

"oh, word? cuz they introduced letters to math last year. pretty sure now they gonna put numbers into letters this year. next thing you know, they gonna add music to colors, and cooking to sports. hey, wanna throw this thing in the recycling bin? i would go, but...naw."

Hayden grabs the empty Capri Sun, tossing a three-pointer from across the room into the green recycling bin. His bad-boy Jock powers are off the chart. "Man, I wish they added cooking to sports. I could go for a culinary scholarship right about now."

"you know i could spot you the dough, right?" says Brayden. "i am a billionaire, after all."

Of course he is a billionaire. I only need for one of us to be a werewolf to fill the bad boy bingo card. 

"You know I don't wanna be in debt with the mafia!" says Hayden. "I prefer to ask for a student loan, work my ass off, and be in debt to a faceless bank that will suck my soul with interests and high rates until I die, and my kids have to bear that burden. Such is the American way."

Brayden takes another Capri Sun, taking the plastic straw and giving it to Jungkook — which is sitting behind us, along with Harry — and stabbing it with the metal straw. "it ain't a mafia. it's a toilet paper business. very legit. very health conscious. all our products are biodegradable."

"Brother, all paper is biodegradable," says Hayden. 

"your face is biodegradable."

"Well, yeah," says Hayden. "Brother, you should pay more attention to biology this year."

"nah, i stopped paying attention when they started to add chemistry in, and chemistry is just old-timey math. you know how i feel about math. can't divide numbers, can't divide an atom."

"You're not going to divide any atom. This ain't the Manhattan Project."

"that's some world war two shit right there," says the sipping boy. "now they're adding math to history? man, fuck school. jesus didn't die for this, ain't that right, ayden? bro? friend? muchacho? brosef?"

Shit, he's onto me. You see, dear hypothetical reader, my plan is simple: just stay perfectly still, pretending to be a sexy leather wall ornament, and maybe they will leave me alone, until I can crawl back into the vent. They are gonna be the end of me if I keep associating with these two. 

Now, you might be asking: Ayden, you sexy son of a good lady, why don't you stand up and move elsewhere? And the answer is: whoever thought of putting an entire high school in a cramped basketball court/gym clearly was following movie cliches, and not basic fire hazard protections. There is no social distancing here — I can smell everyone's breakfast here. Gross.