Chapter Text
“Oz?” Their mom’s voice echoed up the spiral staircase. “Are you still up there? It's time for dinner!”
“Five more minutes!” they called. Rūta was cooking, so that was nothing to rush for. She always made simple steamed vegetables and brown rice, and maybe a salad if she was feeling frisky. Still, it had its upsides. If they came down to the kitchen at 1AM, their mother would be in her favorite apron, making homemade noodles drowned in butter.
Their mom’s steps clinked up the stairs. Oz scrambled to their laptop and hid the “Hot or Not” article they up on the screen, replacing it with a web-essay on subverting the human gaze. Their door opened. “Goodness, I think it must have been a week since I’ve seen you! Every time I catch you out of the corner of my eye, I turn around, and you’re gone,” their mom said.
“Yeah,” they said. “Sorry.” They had been very busy. They spent the past two weeks diving head-long into serious research: before school started, they had to catch up on current movies and TV, the albums that had come out over the summer, and the latest fashion trends. They had to do something, to calm the roiling waves of anxiety that crashed down and threatened to drown them.
The closer their watch ticked towards their first day, the more they found their thoughts circling endlessly around one phrase: I am starting high school. It didn’t seem fully possible yet, that they would actually be going. They had spent an entire year getting caught up in all kinds of crazy shit, trying to prepare for this day. Juan the Small Magical Latino Cat had been terrified of what might happen to them (or mainly himself, take your pick) when they all faced that impending monolith.
What was going to happen, when they walked in that door? Would they know right away if they had been rejected to eternal loser-dom? Or would it be drawn out, like a single drop of water hitting their forehead with each passing minute?
When they got caught up like this, their right phobia would gaze up at them, its eyes swirling. It told them, straight to the core of their psyche: As it always is, in life.
“Okay, can you not do that right now?” Oz asked telepathically.
Their summer had been a crapshoot. Scott hadn’t called all summer. They tried to find a way to reach him, but they didn’t have much to go on.
It didn’t help that this summer was a year for the Incomprehensible Cavalcade. Every fifty years, the royal family made a tour of the kingdom to meet with the people and apologize to their subjects for centuries of feudal exploitation. Oz spent hours riding in the back of a cart with their sisters, Serafina and Rūta. Since they were only a Princeling by marriage and not by blood, they got to sit up, while their sisters had to kneel in prostration.
They watched as thousands of shadow beings lined the sides of the road, silent, watching them go. Whenever they looked down, Rūta glared up at them. The sleeves of her rough sackcloth gown were splattered with mud.
“Getting excited for school?” she asked.
“Uh,” they said.
She said, “Moving up to high school is such a big step. Our baby sibling is growing up so fast.” Her face didn’t change, but they felt their stomach being pulled at, as if a cat were kneading them—with its claws out. She said, “A whole new place, and absolutely no friends or social life to speak of. Goodness, you must be so nervous!” Her eyes sharpened. “Do be careful. Older students can be quite…nasty."
"What do you mean?" they asked.
"I don’t know how things are done at your type of school, but at St. Caim’s, all the freshman had to prove themselves,” she said.
They thought, Don't take the bait. You know she always does this.
Their stomach twisted. “…Prove themselves?” they asked.
“Are you kidding? St. Caim’s was a lounge for capitalist dupes,” Serafina whispered. She smirked. “Your school will crush your sorry ass into a pulp.”
“What do you think the public-school equivalent of the shaming gibbet is?” Rūta whispered.
They both snickered.
Their mother raised her head for the first time in hours. Her face was streaked with dirt and tears. They all went silent again.
Oz couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.
But, their mother had finally, finally promised they could wear normal clothes this year! They were in the process of emptying out their entire closet, trying to find the perfect outfit. It was a losing battle, because they would never be allowed to wear the clear vinyl hot pants with denim pockets on the butt that were the biggest thing right now. They still had to wear their family's colors, yellow and black. But hey, if you had to stick out like a jaundiced thumb, you might as well work it! They wouldn't miss out on this chance.
They held up a black constellation-patterned t-shirt, rejected it, and threw it off the side of their bed. A pair of corduroy pants caught their eye, and they dug down to get it. The pile had gotten so big, they literally had to burrow headfirst to get to it.
Yesfir chuckled. “You're excited, then?” she said. She sat down on the bed next to them.
They said, “It's high school, Mom. It's the most important thing I'll ever do.”
She said, “Well, I hope not. And remember, you do still have the comfort of us little people, when you deign to grace us with your presence. Come. It’s time to eat.”
They didn't respond. Their right phobia had pointed out a yellow silk shirt, and after giving it a brief glance in the dark of the pile, they shook their head.
“Ozimiri,” their mom said. She laughed. “Oz!” She reached over and tickled them, wiggling her claws out just enough to snag their sides. Still trapped in the pile, their legs kicked out. “Mom! Quit it! I'm not a kid anymore!” they said.
“You’re still a kid to me. After all, I gave you life,” she said.
“God, that’s such a mom thing to say.”
She came at them again. They burrowed deeper to get away, making a tunnel, and peered out the other side, their eyes two glowing orbs like a Star-Snouted Truckle. She laughed, and snapped playfully at their nose with her razor-sharp teeth.
The door flew open, their mother quickly threw her back onto it to shut it, as if she were trying to block a landslide. Wisps still clung to her from shadow travel. “I’ve come to warn you,” she said.
“About what?” Yesfir asked. She pulled a pair of black overalls off of Oz's head.
“I’m so sorry,” Gintara said.
Three perfectly spaced knocks sounded on the door. Their mother's edges fuzzed, and she ran across their room to hide in the corner. It was so funny to see her like that, that Oz laughed. But then Vadim entered.
He gave a slip of a bow to their mom. “Madam. I have brought this, as requested,” he said. His head brushed the top of Oz's low attic ceiling. He frowned at the sight of a dust bunny clinging to their bookcases. It skittered to hide under their dresser.
“I don’t understand,” Yesfir said.
Vadim deposited a yellow-wrapped box with a black ribbon into Oz's lap. “I was told that the Princeling asked for new clothes. I made sure to finish them before the first day of school, so your appearance would not be inconsistent,” he said.
He waited, as if he expected them to rip it open like a Hanukkah present.
Glancing at their mom uncertainly, Oz opened the box. It was a yellow robe with a family crest...like the one they already had? Huh? Underneath were...the same black, blood-diamond studded leggings?
They looked up to see if he was pulling their leg. He looked very pleased, serene, and elegant. “Um,” they said. They pointed at it. “This isn't any different from what I was wearing before.”
“Untrue,” their uncle said. “Which you ought to be able to tell simply from looking at it. The sleeves are in the Caspian style, not the Highland, a reference to your great-great-great Aunt Kateryna and her conquest of the Cimmerian Plain in 945. They symbolize growth arising out of unmitigated destruction. It changes the entire silhouette, and I thought it would suit you very well.”
Oz looked at their mom, who looked dumbfounded. “Is he making this up?” they asked telepathically.
“I have no idea,” she said. She looked to her wife, who was still hiding in the corner. “Gintara.”
Gintara looked everywhere else, then reluctantly met Yesfir’s eyes. “Darling…”
Vadim said, “Her Majesty agreed, that it is my ancient right as keeper of this household to make the Princeling’s clothing.” Their mom opened her mouth. He interrupted her. “She could not deny that these rights are as ancient and honored as our laws, and she, as the arbiter of that law, is duty-bound to honor and protect them.”
Gintara's shoulders slumped. She said, “I'm sorry.”
Vadim said, “I will happily perform an inspection before you depart tomorrow morning, your Highness, to make sure your attire is properly arranged. I’m sure you will look very dashing.” He leaned down, kissed the top of their head, and swept away.
Oz looked down in vain at the pile in their arms.
“I…I think you'll look very nice, sweetheart,” Gintara said.
Yesfir glared at her. She slunk down towards the lower shadows of their floorboards.
It was a 20-minute walk from the bus stop, through a dark wood, to Spooky High. It was a small comfort—the velvet of the silence, and the eyes of nameless creatures watching you were just like at home. They always fled when they caught a glimpse of Oz. When the trees finally gave way, was when their stomach started bunching.
The High School was so much bigger. There was no playground, and no Crow’s Nest blaring familiar pop music as students partied or threw things at teachers from up above. Dark clouds hung above the Library tower, and a bolt of lightning crashed into the forest beyond.
“Well,” Oz said. “Here we go.”
Before they could cross onto school grounds, their phobias stopped them, and presented them with a little gift. “What? You guys didn’t have to get me anything,” they said. They unwrapped the little box. It looked like the size of the cool new glow-in-the-dark poisoned knife they’d been wanting.
It was a piece of plain yellow velvet. The phobias swooped it up, and pinned it at each corner, to the front of their robes. It covered up the family crest, and if you weren’t looking very closely you might not even notice it was there!
They must have broken into Vadim’s sewing room to get it, a place few creatures of darkness ever returned from. “You guys!” Oz said. “You shouldn’t have risked eternal repeated Disarticulation for me.” They chittered, and nuzzled in close. The left phobia presented Oz with a Victorian-looking, flower-printed card. The note inside was handwritten:
Brick and mortar rise
Leaves fall and cover the pond
All speeds towards Death
“Wow, you’ve been practicing,” they said. They gasped. “Wait a second! Is that where you were for all of June? You were in the abyss trenches with Hiro?!? You said you weren’t going out anymore!”
The right snickered and nodded. The left phobia hissed, and quickly zooped into a crack in the sidewalk, pretending to hunt.
The bell rang. They said, “Shit. Come on if you’re coming, we’re going to be late!”
When they took their first step in, they snapped their eyes shut and waited. No fire storm rained down from above, at least. A soft rustling tickled their left ear, and they opened one eye. Their phobia was looking around, eyes wide, but staying safely tucked in the darkness behind their earlobe.
Oz realized they were standing still in the middle of the entryway like a loser. They dove into the crowd.
The lobby area was jam-packed. Oz looked for Scott, Juan, or Mamimi, but they could barely see any faces, there were so many teens and 20-somethings. They saw Corvina McCallister, briefly, flying in circles above everyone’s heads before disappearing. She looked about as nervous as they felt.
It centered them. They took out their schedule, checked the classroom number, and started walking. (Were they going in the right direction? It didn’t matter! Confidence was what mattered!)
Their first class went without a hitch. Their teacher even seemed cool, a phenomenon they had never fully considered as a possibility. S/he peppered her lessons with sarcastic quips about how useful all this would be to survive the perils of high school, which were so hard-edged and funny that even the rowdier students paused to listen at those parts.
On their way out of the classroom, they accidentally bumped someone on the shoulder. “Oh, sorry!” They realized who it was. “Hey! Hi, Faith.”
Faith blinked a few times as she looked them over. “Uh…hi?”
“How was your summer?” they asked.
“It was fine, I guess?” Faith asked. “Do I…know you?”
“Huh?” they said. “Yes. I’m Oz.”
“I don’t know anyone in our class named Oz,” she said. “You’re sure you have the right person?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Didn’t she remember literally being stuck in a cavern in the bowels of Spooky Middle School, and being attacked by a giant, man-eater plant?
Hope caught Faith’s arm and started pulling her away. “Where have you been? I texted you like ten minutes ago! Joy’s waiting for us in the Lair!”
“Sorry,” Faith said. “I was talking to a new kid.” Hope looked over her shoulder at them and waved. Oz said, “But I’m not…”
Faith and Hope disappeared into the crowd. Oz headed to the bathrooms before lunch. Huh. That was weird.
The bathrooms were full of smoke. A few upperclassmen glanced at Oz through the haze from the other end of the long counter, but quickly ignored them when they realized it was a mere freshie.
They were washing their hands, when they someone shouted, “Hey! You!”
Oz’s eyes nearly came out of their head.
Mamimi had been transformed. Her braids were cut off, and the short shock of hair that was left was dyed half purple and half silver, split right down the middle. She had a belly button ring. It was on display thanks to a cut-off sweatshirt with a popular anime character giving you the finger, and a tiny mini skirt with suspenders. She waved. “Oz!”
When an upperclassman stuck his arm in her path, starting a slightly slurred, hey baby, she grabbed his arm and jammed it over one knee. There was a sharp crack!, and he backed off, screaming in agony. She hugged Oz with all her strength, and then punched them on the arm.
“Ow!” they said. They pulled up their Caspian-style sleeve. A large silver bruise was forming where she’d hit them.
“It’s so fucking good to see you!” she said.
“How was Japan?” they asked.
“Incredible. Let’s get out of here, and I’ll tell you all about it. I have my own spot staked out.”
Mamimi led them through the grass behind the bathrooms until they reached a trail, and eventually, a little cave. It had a couple of folding chairs, an electric lantern, and even a mini fridge! “Wow,” Oz said.
“I know, right? It’s not even on school grounds! No more rashes for me! I go between here and the bathrooms, when I’m feeling more social.” She reached into her hoodie, took out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one. Oz gazed in wonder.
She caught their look. She chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, I know. What the hell, Mamimi?” She flicked her lighter closed, took a drag, and blew out a stream of smoke.
“I love it,” Oz said quickly. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”
She grinned. “Me neither! It was cousin. I thought I was going to spend my entire vacation trying to avoid my family, but it turns out she’s kick-ass! We hung out all the time. She took me to get my hair done, and she even convinced my parents to give me a clothes budget to spend on my own, since the thrift shops are so much cheaper than the department stores.” She took a drag. “My great-aunt was super cool, too. Her late husband was zainichi, and they were part of the protests in the 60s. She got me out of worshipping Japan as a perfect utopia and seeing it more for what it is. I still want to go back though, ASAP.”
“I’m so jealous,” they said.
She said, “Wait until you hear the bootleg CDs I got. It’s awesome stuff.”
She told them all about Osaka, the city and the temples and the music scene. Her great-aunt’s neighborhood, with thrift shops and cheap izakayas. “And,” she said with a flourish, “I lost my virginity! In a love ho.”
“No,” Oz said.
“Hell yeah.” She sat back, crossing her legs at the ankles. She asked, “What about you? What did you do?”
They rolled their eyes. “Nothing. Although, my curfew is now 10PM, rather than 8PM.” It was the only good thing that came out of the sheer injustice of Vadim’s loophole.
“Oh my god,” she said. “I swear, if I had your parents, I would have burned my house to the ground.”
“Not like I have much of a choice,” they said.
She shook her head. “I decided I’m through with it. No more playing other people’s games, or pretending to be something I’m not. It’s my way or the highway, bitches!” She took a long drag of her cigarette, and blew out the smoke in a quick, thin stream.
She looked so tough. Oz felt a stab of envy.
They opened their backpack. “Want to compare schedules? You’re on honors track, too, right?” they asked.
She snorted and laughed, all her teeth showing. She sobered when she saw their face. “Oh. You’re serious. Yeah, no. Yesterday I broke into the front office and hacked my student file. I have straight A’s all the way to graduation. It’s just going to be me and this place,” she said, spreading her arms.
“You’re not going to class at all?” Oz asked.
“And put myself through that hell hole? No way! At SMS, at least people had brains. Now it’s like everyone replaced them with sentient dicks.” She snorted. “Speaking of which. What the hell happened to Scotty?”
“What do you mean?” they asked. Her eyebrows shot up. They said, “We…didn’t really get a chance to talk over the summer. I haven’t even seen him yet.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah…why?”
She remained silent.
Off in the distance, the bell rang. Oz stood up and slung their backpack over one shoulder. Mamimi grabbed the free strap. “Hold up. Stay for another period! A bunch of us are going to bully the vending machines into giving up the goods!” Her eyes shone with rabid glee.
“Are you kidding? You know I can’t,” they said.
She sighed. “I know, but Oz, take it from someone who’s finally getting over 50 years of parental expectations. It’s not worth it. If you give them what they want, they just expect more of you," she said.
Oz paused. Then they sighed, and shouldered their backpack. “I can’t.”
She looked disappointed. “All right. I get it.”
When they reached the mouth of the cave, Mamimi called, “Hey!”
She threw something at them, and they caught it. It was a lollipop, with bright blue and pink kanji on it. She grinned. “Don’t use it unless you want a really interesting time. Later, gator.”
The rest of school went smoothly, if a bit dull. Their classes were all okay, and as stupidly easy as before. They could safely put all of their intellectual effort into their Potions class and Mr/s. Arache’s World Literature class.
As they were heading to their locker after the final bell, they were confronted by a massive ring of students. People were waving Spooky High pennants and banners. As a single unit, the crowd gasped, and then cheered.
Maybe a pep rally? Whatever. Oz didn’t care.
But one way or another, they had to get through to the other side. Luckily, they had some mini tear gas canisters on hand!
It didn’t get them all the way through, but at least they got to the innermost ring of the circle. They tried to push through to the front, and someone snarled and tried stab them with a knife. Oz projected an image of her stabbing their own mother in the throat over and over again while her mother begged her to stop. “What’s going on?” they asked her.
She screamed, “OH GOD PLEASE STOP!” but otherwise her telepathic stream was overwhelmed with longing for one single person: Howl.
“Howl? Who’s that?” they asked.
A satyr next to them scoffed. S/he said, “Like you don’t know Scott Howl.”
“Hey, get this one bro!”
Someone threw a soccer ball, and it sailed in a high arc across the circle. In a blur of brown fur, a werewolf jetted after it, gracefully flying through the air. He grabbed the ball in his teeth and did a neat somersault as he came back down to the ground. He grinned, gnawing on it and shaking it back and forth. Another werewolf put him in a headlock and gave him a noogie. “Nice catch!” They started wrestling, trying to get the ball away from each other.
Oz stared. Scotty?
It couldn’t be. This guy was...ripped.
The standard-issue Spooky High Junior Varsity shirt he wore didn’t even fit him, showing off the bottom two rows of a well-defined six-pack. He moved with all the grace and speed of an apex predator.
They squinted. Maybe this was a different werewolf, who just happened to look a lot like Scott. There were about ten or fifteen in the middle of the circle, barking and throwing various sports balls to one another in a mesmerizing, indecipherable dance.
One of them threw a frisbee. Scott abandoned the soccer ball and raced after it. "I got it! I got it!!!" He crashed full-body into a row of lockers, leaving a perfect werewolf-shaped dent, ears and all. The frisbee was clenched neatly in his very white, very straight teeth. Everyone cheered as he dug himself out and shook out his fur. Nope. Definitely Scotty.
The crowd around them watched Scott with slavish attention. People’s cheeks were red. Some were audibly sighing, and checking their hair and makeup, then going back to looking casual when Scott turned their way for even a second. A few people threw their underwear for him to catch. (Which he did, in his mouth, but he quickly lost interest once the next ball was thrown.)
They reached out telepathically. “Scotty?”
His ear twitched. He turned vaguely in their direction, but he didn’t look at them. “Scott! It’s me,” they said. They raised their hand, waving.
What the hell? They were five feet away from him. They were speaking directly into his mind!
Someone shouted, “Go long, bro!” and threw a football. Scott’s eyes went HUGE, and bounded off after it. The entire pack of students followed in his wake. They pushed forward with such force, that Oz fell. They put their arms up over the back of their neck to avoid being crushed.
The hallway became empty and silent. Slowly, Oz got to their feet and brushed themself off. They stared down the hall where Scott had disappeared.
“Hey! Who's this loser?”
One werewolf, then two, then half a dozen formed a circle around them, backing them up against the wall. “Uh,” Oz said.
“Who cares? Let's get another throw going!”
None of them seemed to heed. They started sniffing and circling.
“My ears are ringing.”
“There’s something weird about them.”
One shoved his nose against their body, sniffing them all over. They froze, and tried to protect their chest with their arms.
“Wait a second,” the werewolf said. “I smell wolf on them!”
“That’s not a wolf!”
“What are you, thing? Tell us!”
“Thing? Excuse me?” Oz said telepathically.
All the wolves whimpered, tails in between their legs. Maybe their brains weren't large enough to cope with the intrusion of such a psychically powerful being.
The head of the pack came forward. He was pimply, but formidable. Oz shrunk down a bit.
After a moment of squinted staring, he broke out in a toothy smile. “Hey, baby.”
Oz's mind skidded to a stop. Uhhhh. What?
The leader slapped his hand on the locker next to them, losing his balance when it slipped into the Scott-shaped hole. He tried to pretend like it hadn’t happened. “I, uh, haven’t seen you around here before.”
This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening, right?
Their phobias created a portal on the opposite wall, and pointed into it frantically with their little hands. Oz could see their bedroom through it. “Um. Right. I…I have to go,” they said.
He looked surprised. “Huh? Hey! I mean…I’m on the football team! Second string quarterback for varsity!”
“Good…for you?” Oz said. They tried to step around him, but another wolf came up behind them, pushing them forward towards their leader. They were surrounded on all sides. How were they supposed to get out of this?!?
With a flash like lightning, they realized they had two options:
Distraction! And what better way to do it, than inviting two world-renowned chefs to have a throwdown with a secret ingredient: 2,000 gallons of horse blood!
Or:
No one can remember that they were awkwardly flirting with you when they’re subjected to the relaxation of a full mani-pedi, courtesy of the city’s hottest new pop-up salon!
Oh, right. They spent so much time away in a place governed by rational logic, they’d totally forgotten how much of their school time was spent navigating stupid situations. No wonder it seemed so quiet today.
Shit. I’m out of practice. Didn’t they get an easier, trial run before being thrown into something like this?
Nope! Their mind raced forward. The dazzling lights and delicious smells of the first option would definitely provide cover, but it would take so long—after all, setting up a gourmet kitchen capable of making a really good blood roast took at least 15 minutes for everything to arrive and the cameras set up. The Wolfpack's attention wouldn't be held for that long. The only thing you had to do to request the Glimmer Paws salon was think really, really hard, I do believe in treating myself! I do! I do!
A cucumber-melon-scented breeze blew over them all, and out of a rose-gold cloud, came an entire professional spa. There were pedicure chairs, a manicure station, and a massage area. The leader of the pack said, “Huh?”
The team looked at the Wolfpack’s matted fur and untrimmed, athlete’s foot-ravaged-nails, and gasped.
The Spa Director said, “A blank canvas.” She clapped her hands twice.
The spa team advanced.
The Wolfpack said, “W-whoa…what do you losers think you’re doing? Can’t you see we’re manly dudes trying to get laid? Get away from us!”
Oz was starting to run to the portal, when the leader’s foot landed on the sweep of their robes. They fell face-first into a locker. Their vision went dotty with white spots.
When they lifted their face out of the metal, they shook their head. Their nose had bent. It bounced back into perfect form, because their organs weren't real. The leader of the pack said, “Whoa! Did you see that? Bro!”
“Do it again!”
Someone grabbed the back of Oz’s head. They put out their hands. “Wai—!”
Their face met locker. Again. And again. And again.
The Wolf Pack and the entire Glimmer Paws team howled with laughter watching their nose get crushed and re-Form itself again. Oz’s head started to pound. The yipping of dogs were all around them, shifting this way and that, disorienting them.
Finally, a whistle resounded, and a booming voice called: "Booooys! Practice time!"
They left Oz dazed on the floor of the hallway. Their phobias had to roll them into the portal, which landed them softly on their bed.
...What did I do wrong?
Oz had forgotten what this felt like. The burning shame, and no feedback on how to do better next time.
They curled up in the fetal position. Their phobias draped a blanket over them.
In the warm dark, they played the scene over and over again in their mind. Scott leaping for the ball...him not even turning around, when he heard Oz calling...
Scotty…
They might as well have been looking at a stranger.
A really buff stranger. Tall and lithe. All that soft fur, over thick, rippling muscles…
Oz felt a wave of heat pass through them.
They jolted upright, coming back to reality. They started hyperventilating when they realized they were getting wet in between their legs.
“Honey?” Yesfir called. Their mom let herself in without even knocking.
Oz quickly threw their blanket over their head. Oh, god. Why?
She said, “Oz, it’s ten minutes past the start of your piano lesson. Maury has been waiting for nearly half an hour!”
They said, “I-I’m sick. I can’t go to my lesson.”
She came over to feel their forehead. They hid further under the blanket. “If you won’t let me look at you, then you have to come downstairs. You know the rules: you have your lesson, unless you have a fever or vomit.” She paused. “If you’re having that discharge again…”
“No, Mom, god!” they said. They smashed their face into the blanket. “J-just leave me alone, please!”
“Sweetheart, it’s perfectly natural. Your maleficent glands are—”
“Mom, stop!” they yelled, stuffing the blanket into their ears. The crusty, clogged feeling of the telepathic idioms of glands and discharge was too much, even if they were overlaid with the rosiness of Oz growing into a strong, intelligent individual right in front of their mom’s eyes.
She tapped her heel and looked at their bedside clock. “You’re making me late to my next appointment, Ozimiri. I’ll be waiting downstairs for you. If you’re not at the piano in ten minutes, we’ll have to have a talk. The first day of school is no excuse for laziness.”
After a few days, most of their fears melted away.
Sure, there were bigger, older kids, but the grades mostly kept to themselves, and everyone was so wrapped up in their own shit that they didn’t have to worry too much about bullying. The classrooms were as charred and mangled as any other they had known.
They settled into a kind of routine.
As they came into school, they covered their face with a book as they sprinted down the hall, keeping their eyes down and their body just solid enough to not fully slip into the Shadow Plain and get caught by Serafina, who patrolled with her best friend Birutė in the mornings. As they did, they scanned the faces in the crowd around them—a way to get to know their fellow students, and definitely not hiding from anyone, or anything. Then, Oz made their way to class. With the sheer speed at which they sprinted through the halls, they always got there in more than enough time.
Once they were in the classroom, they were in the clear.
Oz even started to become a favorite with some of their classmates: at least once a week, their teachers got royally confused. They wouldn’t be sure who Oz was, or if they were actually supposed to be in that class. “If you’re a new student, you have to go to the front office before coming to class. Of course, we don’t discriminate based on age, but we do insist that those older, immortal, or limitless creatures who seek the joys and pitfalls of a high school education later in life go through formal registration!”
“I’m not new,” Oz said. “My name is right there! You knew who I was yesterday.” They would point to the roster, and the teacher would look up and down between it and them, over and over again.
This had happened four separate times in their potion-brewing class alone, which was a real pain in the ass, because they were the only freshman in an upper-level class. The teacher always tried to send them down the hall to Potions 201: Watch Me Brew This and Don’t Touch, Breathe, or Look At Anything, You Untrustworthy Mites.
After arguing with Ms. Beezela for a solid half hour, one of the seniors nudged them. Her four mouths all grinned with razor-sharp, jade teeth. “Hey! Mad props. Tomorrow, can you delay by ten more minutes? We were thinking of playing a game of strip mancala.”
“…Yeah. No problem,” Oz said. The girls didn’t flinch or make a face at Oz’s telepathy, and gave them huge grins of thanks.
It really wasn’t so bad.
At least the lunchroom geopolitics were wildly different than at Spooky Middle School. People didn’t form meal-time tribes that guarded their territory like rabid beasts, or send raiding parties to claim large batches of food ahead of time. Anyone could sit with anyone. People ate in the bathrooms or outside, but not because they were uncool. They didn’t want to hang around in the school was all.
The lunch ladies were already big fans of Oz; meaning, they didn’t immediately snarl upon laying eyes on them. Plus, they knew nothing about the art of bartering. Not only was Oz able to get two cartons of milk for the amount of vodka they used to trade for one, but sometimes the lunch ladies threw in whatever dessert was on the menu for the day if a portion had fallen onto the floor. Today it was a brownie, with chocolate chunks and bugs mixed into the batter. Nice!
Oz stopped at the exit to the main cafeteria. Across the room Scott sat at a table with Liam.
Liam had a paintbrush, and was using it to paint a mottle of peanut butter, grape jelly, and mashed peas on Scott’s face.
Liam said, “You eat this mass-produced, mass-distributed muck to live, yet does it truly nourish you? Does anything in our society? Placing the food on the body makes a statement of rebellion against the quick-service, environmental catastrophe of the post-modern world.”
“Uh huh. So...I get to eat it afterwards, right?” Scott asked.
“Don’t you dare even consider it before I’ve taken my pictures! This will be the centerpiece for my new online art exhibition. Nosh Fugue,” Liam said.
There was a seat open right next to Scott. Their phobias pointed at it.
They turned away and started in the opposite direction.
Both of them started flicking Oz's earlobes. They said, “No.”
One of them tried to get Scott’s attention over Oz’s shoulder. “Will you quit it?" they said. "Look…he’s popular now. I’m not. This is just the way things are.”
They both hissed.
Oz looked one more time over at Scott’s table. When Liam brushed a line of gravy across Scott’s nose, Scott wrinkled it, laughing.
It was so cute.
They bee-lined in the opposite direction.
They set their tray down at the next empty seat they came to, without even looking at who else was there. They were hit smack in the face with the spray from Miranda Vanderbilt’s gold-plated misting fan.
“Ugh!”
The water had a brackish, seaweed-y scent to it--and it was warm.
Their phobias looked extremely put out as they rustled the droplets off their feathers. One held up a soggy sign: Nice going.
Oz suddenly found they didn’t care. Sitting on the other side of Miranda, was Polly Geist.
Polly put her feet up on the table. “Look, girl, there’s no way you can keep it locked up until marriage! What a waste for the world if it doesn’t get a chance to eat your pussy!”
Her eyes were bright and teasing. Oz melted.
Miranda looked confused. She said, “Why would anyone want to eat Aquinas the Great? She’s not part of my dowry. Only the solid platinum collar that she wears is, along with her cellar of rare canned tunas and her 10-story bejeweled kitten castle!”
Polly groaned. “Oh, come on! Tossing the salad? Stuffing the taco? Jamming the habanero salsa dispenser with Jell-O?” Oz had never heard that one before, but it sounded fun!
Polly said, “We need to do something to make sure you don’t agree to put the caviar on the car engine without knowing what you’re doing. But what? Sexy Scattergories? Hiring Melinda of the Bountiful Bosoms?” Her eyes got downright wicked. “Or…” She slid her arm around Miranda’s shoulders, pulling her close. “We could have a little pussy playdate.”
Oz felt the rise of hopeful determination they had come to know so well, and then they were smacked upside the head! What they should say became obvious:
Miranda. I think what we’re trying to tell you, is that you don’t want to combine dynasties without taking a promenade around the royal gardens first.
Or:
You’re right Polly! Let’s get this pussy playdate started, by starting a match-making service for cats!
Now this was a situation they could get behind. Two amazing options that would be clear winners, no matter what.
Turning to the task at hand: Oz had been in love with Polly from the first moment they laid eyes on her, and maybe they could sneak away for their own game of Sexy Scattegories in the gazebo while Miranda was admiring her parents’ gladioli. But, getting to watch an entire herd of kittens be dressed up in adorable outfits and set into a miniature version of speed-dating?
That was too amazing to turn down.
Oz posed the idea, and then shook out their robes, which could hold up to 25 different kittens at a time in its various pockets.
Miranda squealed. “EEEEEEE!”
Polly picked up an adorable black kitten with a white heart-shaped splotch on its breast. “Look at you! Look at you!” She put four in her lap right over her crotch. They started purring. “Ahhhh. It’s just like when I use the massage chairs at the airport!”
Miranda’s hand jutted up into the air. “I call doing the bloodline charts to make sure none of the kittens are matched with someone outside their social station!” She got out her personalized pad of family tree charts and glittery gel pens.
The three of them spent lunch hosting twelve rounds of lightning-fast cat speed-dating, complete with a French café-inspired setting. Things got heavy when a splotchy tom tried to mount a tabby and she dumped her dish of milk all over him, but after a long talk, he understood the meaning of consent and boundaries much better.
At the end of lunch, Polly left immediately without looking at Oz. “See you, Miri! I’ll be outside making the tomato-coriander-fennel seed jam, if you know what I mean!” She waggled her eyebrows, and was gone.
Oz didn’t even care that she still didn’t register their existence. They felt a pleasant buzz. There was none of the usual stress, or fear. Lunch was the greatest!
When they were packing up their stuff, their right phobia tapped their shoulder.
Miranda was still looking at them. Her eyes were slightly narrowed. “You look…familiar. Do I know you?”
Uh oh. “No,” Oz said. “Of course you don’t. I’m a nothing who has no MONEY and no power.”
She stared at them longer. Finally, she said, “Right,” nodding once. Her serfs started stuffing kittens into her purse for her. “Well, thank you, peasant! I’m off to have these little darlings’ arranged marriage contracts formalized!”
“Uh, my name is Oz,” they said.
“I don’t care!” she said. She dumped her tray on them to throw away for her.
They found they didn’t mind that much. She was nicer than they remembered, in her own weird way. She’d even said thank you!
Then, it all went to hell.
They walked into class one morning after a particularly exhausting weekend at home—four public appearances and two receiving lines, for the Viewing of the Harvest Moon. And there he was, sitting in their usual seat in the front row.
They gasped. Scott’s ears twitched. He started to turn.
Before they could think twice, Oz shoved themself into the supply closet at the back of the room and closed the door. “Oh god oh god oh god.”
They'd totally forgotten that when they’d picked their schedules last year, they and Scotty had decided to take Infernal Howling together, so they would have at least one class with each other.
He’s never showed up to class before! What the fuck?!?
They looked to their phobias. “W-what do I do? Help me think of something!”
The two of them gave Oz a dry, fed-up look. They looked at each other, and disappeared with a zlupp! under the door.
“What?!? Guys!”
Oz opened the door a crack and peered out. Their phobias opened the classroom and left. Before it left, the left one met their eyes, pointed to Scott, and pointed to them before yanking the door shut.
Little traitors.
They glanced to the front of the room. The teacher had started to lecture. Scott looked jumpy and bored, the way he always did in class, his head laid on his desk, softly whimpering.
Oz sat down on the floor. I guess…I guess I could take notes from in here.
Things were thrown a bit off-course when a cloud of locusts escaped from Dobbo the Dragon’s hoard-pack (apparently someone tried stealing one of the mystical rubies from under the flap) but the teacher got everyone to calm down.
“I guess you all don’t want to practice breaking walls with only your vocal chords?” he asked.
The class cheered, despite being partially on fire. Having permission from a teacher to wantonly destroy school property? Hell yeah!
Everyone paired off and started making ungodly wail-y, bull-froggy, help-I-might-be-dying noises from their tracheas.
A paw rose in the air. “Mr. Godzirra? I don’t have a partner,” Scott said.
The teacher looked around, his spiky tail taking out the overhead projector. “Huh,” he said. “I thought we had an even number in this period.”
The whole class offered to ditch their current partners to pair with Scott. Mr. Godzirra looked over the melee of students stabbing each other with pencils and rulers as they desperately tried to reach the front of the room. He sighed. “Ah well. Guess we’ll have to get the wailing robot from the supply closet!”
Oz looked behind them. Indeed, there was a robot with the shitty approximation of a mouthful of fangs, right next to the box of art supplies. Ah, fuck.
Crashing footfalls approached. A shower of dust fell onto Oz’s head. They sighed as they watched the knob turn. Well. I guess I’m all out of options.
When Mr. Godzirra opened the door, Oz’s pupils dilated. They looked deeply into his eyes, going past them into his mind. “You’re going to give me a hall pass,” they said.
“I’m going to give you a hall pass,” he echoed.
“You’re going to mark Oz Yesfirovich as present for the entire year,” they said. They tilted their head to one side. “They got all As on all their exams and assignments, although they could be stronger in summoning wails.”
“Yes,” he said.
“They are a joy to have in class,” they said.
“Oz Yesfirovich is a joy to have in class.”
“Now take the robot. Go get a hall pass, and bring it to me.”
They released him with his mind intact. Mr. Godzirra did just as he was told.
Left alone in the dark of the closet, they sighed, knocking their head against the back wall. Their teacher’s mind hadn’t even been that difficult to get through. Although it was sad that his long-term partner had been diagnosed with HIV, and his insurance plan didn’t cover the drugs. Oz would have to have a talk with someone.
See, this is why Influence is never worth it. You think it’s just for one simple thing, and then it becomes an entire production. They hadn’t even enjoyed it, like they did when they used their Dark Abilities to create Illusions.
In two minutes they were out the door, still frowning. They’d forgotten that hall passes here were timed—the big red numbers read 14:41, and the timer was wired to a massive bomb. It wasn’t even enough time to walk to bathrooms and back.
They leaned against some lockers and tried to catch their breath.
You know you can’t avoid him forever.
But couldn’t they? Clearly it hadn’t been too much of a hardship for him to move on and leave them behind. They were just following his lead.
From the classroom, came a long, passionate, and…slightly dolorous? howl. It cracked the glass of door’s frosted window. “Excellent work, Mr. Howl!”
Oz felt a stab in their heart.
That howl was filled with so much passion. They were swept away by a warm wave of admiration. Someone with a howl like that would probably spend their evenings looking out pensively at the night sky, their pecs glistening as their body was showered with rose petals.
God, he’s so...hot.
They started walking quickly down the hall. As they did, took the thought and crushed it. They wrung its neck, shoved a knife through it, and dismembered it into pieces.
Still, the warm heat in their stomach remained.
Okay, so you’re attracted to him. It happens, right? It’s not like you can control these things…maybe it’ll go away. Yeah. I mean, he just looks so different now! You’re getting used to it. Taking space for yourself in a new situation is totally normal. You can talk to him later.
Something else whispered to them, more softly. If he does remember you, you’ll probably have a better chance than anyone else of sleeping with him. You know him like the back of your own hand.
They thought they might throw up. They sped up, wiping their eyes. God. Get it together.
“Look, I swear, I can explain!”
“You doggone students and your antics! I will not have such flagrant disregard for the spirit of education and crushing conformity that this school stands for!”
The principal was coming down the hall. Oz took cover around the corner, peering out.
A very familiar werebear was with PGS, and stuck in Martin’s iron grip, was Amira Rasheed.
She said, “Yeah, I hear you dude, but…look, if you’ll just give me the box, I’ll show you—”
She reached up. Martin growled. He held a small wooden chest out of Amira’s reach.
Principal Giant Spider said, “I was hoping that all of the hubbub around social media and the 1000% increase in security cameras would solve our problems, but like everything else your generation brings, it only makes things more complicated! I remember a simpler time. If students misbehaved, we pinned their thoraxes to mounts. Good luck trying to misbehave then!”
Amira rolled her eyes. She scanned for some way out.
She and Oz locked eyes.
They and Amira had never talked very much. She was always going somewhere: to the bathrooms to skip class. To the front of the line when they had rope-climbing in gym. Heading out to a club with her friends, or setting up elaborate sand traps in the hallways. Now she looked at them with pleading eyes. Her psychic field reached out to them. Come on, dude. Help a girl out!
“I’m not a dude,” they said.
Amira physically jumped. Martin glared at her, growling. PGS didn't notice, continuing on with his rant, which moved on from the perils of unmonitored youth to the complete lack of culture in their generation, and in particular, the scourge that was avocado toast.
Holy shit how did they do that? she thought.
“Telepathy,” they said.
She thought, Uh, okay, you can hear me. Would you mind helping me out? Detention would really cramp my style. Please?
As their heart sped up, their mind started to work.
You can't. You'll be in so much trouble.
But what else am I going to do? Just leave her there?
And if it goes AWOL? Say goodbye to school.
They could feel the ticking of the hall pass-slash-bomb in their pocket. Why did I get given a hall pass that doesn’t even have enough time to actually use the bathroom?
Why do I still accept the social conditioning that tells me I need to ask for a hall pass? In a school where it’s totally okay to stab someone and steal their identity, having a fucking box is suddenly a crime?
They dumped the hall pass into a trash can, and ran down the hall. “Principal Giant Spider!”
“It's not even a proper breakfast! Do you know how much more protein are contained in mealworms, comparatively?!?" He looked around. "What? What was that?”
“Thank goodness you found it! That’s mine!” they said.
They reached for the box. Martin held it out of reach, snarling.
The principal’s nine beady eyes narrowed. “Yours? What is your name?”
“Oz Yesfirovich, sir.”
PGS motioned, and Martin handed over the box. “If it is indeed yours," he said, "then would you mind explaining to me, what it is?”
Uhhhhh…
Amira made a subtle, frantic motion with her free hand. She thought, Come on, you can do it! Think of something!
“It’s for my...” they said, “my...condition?” They blushed. “You know. That one?”
“Condition? I don't know about any condition,” PGS said.
They said ,“Surely you remember! You were so kind to let me sit in your office for hours while I told you the intimate details about my very life-threatening and potentially embarrassing condition.” Their eyes went huge. “I know you would never forget me. As I would never forget your steadfast dedication to providing ungrateful students with individual attention and guidance.”
PGS looked this way and that. He started sweating slightly. Amira gave them a discreet thumbs-up.
They said, “You...don't remember.” They nodded. “Oh. Okay. Um.”
PGS sputtered, and scoffed. “Why—why of course I remember! You were very memorable!” He handed it over with a cough. “Apologies.” Without another word, Oz stuffed the box into their backpack. PGS avoided looking at them. “Now...get back to class, Jess-fire-o-vick.”
“Yesfirovich,” they said.
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you—"
Amira stepped in, finally free of Martin's grip. “Oookay, glad I could find that for you, Oz, buddy. This means I can go too, right?” Amira put an arm around their shoulder, and started walking them backwards. “And thank you, really, from the bottom of our hearts, for being such a positive role model to our fledgling—RUN!”
She grabbed Oz's hand and they took off. They ran down the hall, down the stairs, down more stairs, did one loop around the entire school building, and narrowly missed running straight into the sinkhole that had caved in behind the woodshop. Oz was immensely grateful that Amira's grip on their hand was like steel, because without her pulling them, they would have stopped and collapsed long ago.
They stopped outside on the football field, both flopping down on the top bench of the bleachers. Amira fanned herself. “Sorry about that...wanted to make sure we weren't followed. Woo. That was close!" She smiled. "Thanks, dude.”
They nodded, too out of breath to correct her. After a few more deep breaths, she took out a small flask and took a drink. When she offered it to them they gulped it down. It turned out it was whiskey. “Listen, u-um,” they said. “I-I’m not a dude. I’m a...” But what were they? A non-binary pal? That wasn't catchy enough, plus the only one who used the word ‘pal’ was probably a pissed-off customer at a chain sandwich shop, or a 60-year-old man hanging out in the world’s last soda fountain. “I use they/them pronouns,” they said.
She spun the cap back on the flask with a single practiced flick. “Cool,” she said, “Didn't mean anything by it. In Amira's world, I’m a dude. You’re a dude. He, she, they, zir, zhe, and all other associated pronouns, genders, and identities, are dudes. Everyone is a dude, dude.” She stopped. “Unless it actually makes you feel dysphoric. Tell me if it does, and I'll stop.”
They did a self-check. Now that they knew that Amira meant no harm, they felt better. Their stomach wasn't doing backflips, and they were breathing normally. They were being called something casual and fun by a fellow student! “No. It’s okay.”
She snapped her fingers and pointed. “Awesome, dude. Let me know if that changes at any point." She looked them over. "So, new student?”
“Huh? No.”
“It's cool. We all have a first day.”
They said, “We were in class together all last year.”
She thought about it for a second, shaking her head. “Oh, wait! Was it geography? That was the class I took my nap in.”
“It was gym,” they said.
She bit her bottom lip, shrugged, and didn't seem to think much more of it. “Where's the goods?” she asked.
“Huh? Oh!” They reached into their backpack, and took out the box. It was covered with intricate carvings and something written along the top in an unknown language. They realized, it seemed a lot warmer than it had before, pulsing rhythmically almost as if it were breathing. “What is it?” they asked.
“This puppy,” she said, and held it up. “Is the key to moi finally getting my due in this school. It contains...well, I don't really know, but that’s not important.” She reached into her purse, and pulled out a full set of lock picks. “My girl gave me these to borrow. They never failed us before. Watch and behold.”
She carefully inserted the picks, listening and turning carefully. It looked like she was about to get somewhere, when: “What the—!”
The lock sucked up the picks. There was a metallic chewing sound, and then a loud, peanut-smelling burp.
“Ugh.” Amira waved the air with her hand.
“Whoa!” Oz said. "I mean, gross, but still."
Amira tried a new pair, and this one wasn't eaten; instead, the box spit them out so fast, Oz had to pull her out of the way. The picks glittered as they flew into the sky and out of sight. "Maybe we should try something else, so you don’t lose all the picks," they said.
"Good idea."
They spent several hours trying to open the box. Oz was convinced that there would be a spell that could open it, if they could identify the language of the phrase at the top. Amira preferred to hit the box over and over again with a comically oversized mallet.
"This sucks," she said. They were sweaty and exhausted, surrounded by a half-dozen ancient tomes and one meat mallet. They laid on their backs in the grass.
Oz sat up. "What if," they said, "it's a blood lock?"
"A what?" she asked.
"I've heard about them. They open through blood, freely offered. Certain boxes will only open with the blood of the intended recipient, but that's not as common. It's a very dangerous curse to perform."
"So, I cut myself and see if it opens?" she asked.
"Basically."
She made a tiny cut in the pad of her thumb with her pocketknife, and pressed it to the keyhole. They both watched. Nothing happened.
"Well," Oz said. "I guess it's not—"
"Waitwaitwait! I feel something!" she said.
There was a flash of light, a sickening crack, and Amira cried out. Her crimson-red nail was barely hanging on for dear life. They both gasped. "It broke your nail," Oz said.
"Oh, it's on," Amira said.
"I'll get the school flamethrower," they said.
That didn't work either. Neither did the female motorcycle gang stomping on the box with their steel-toed boots, or Oz's attempt to make a key by casting a mold of the lock's interior out of wax. It exploded into a cloud of purple smoke while they were smelting the iron to pour the copy. The box lay on the grass, mute. "Well, I'm out of ideas," Amira said.
Oz huffed. They slammed their fist on the grass. "Cock and balls!"
Three little bells chimed, and a tinny voice announced, "You guessed the magic word!" The lid of the box popped open.
They looked at each other, and then scrambled to it.
What they saw inside, changed them forever. When they were old and gray, both of them could still look back on that day and remember it perfectly. The smell of the grass; the heat coming off the metal bleachers; the birds nesting in the light towers. All before that moment seemed pale, and easily fell away.
"Whoa," Amira said.
"No wonder this was locked," Oz said. "This isn't for mortal or immortal eyes."
"I hate to lose out on a chance to gloat publicly, but this can't be anywhere it could fall into the wrong hands. We're gonna bury it," she said. "Somewhere no one will ever find it."
“Agreed.”
They sealed this resolution with a blood pact, closed the box (which locked immediately), and dumped it into a bucket of wet cement, then carried it to the pond just off campus and threw it as hard as they could. It landed with a splash in the middle. “Well,” Amira said, dusting off her hands and putting her fists on her hips. “Not bad for an afternoon's work! I've got absolutely nothing to show for it, and now, no priceless ancient object to sell, but hey! At least I wasn't in class.”
She looked surprised when she saw Oz was standing there. “Oh,” she said. “You're still here.”
“Was I supposed to go somewhere?” they asked.
“Well, no, but...most people usually leave when I start giving my epic speeches. I don’t know why.” She looked over their shoulder. “Oh, shit shit shit! Okay, act cool.”
Vera Oberlin marched up to the two of them. Amira grinned smoothly. “Heeeey, Vera. How's tricks?”
“Where is it?” Vera demanded.
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” she said.
Vera said, “Shove it. I know your people hacked into my email. I don’t know how—I have all my data quintuplet-encoded with security software developed by a corrupt ex-NASA programmer.” She narrowed her eyes. Her gaze was so piercing that Oz felt like they’d had a knife poked into their stomach.
Amira said, “Has anyone ever told you that you look extra powerful when you’re angry?”
Vera was not impressed. “Hand it over, now, if you know what’s good for you.”
She advanced. Amira stumbled to back up.
Amira said, “So, yeah, about that. Haha! Isn’t it a really funny coincidence that we both heard about the same priceless ancient artifact housed in the Monstropolis mayor’s office just hours before it was stolen by a fearless, powerful, smoking-hot female heistmaster dressed all in red vinyl! It really shows we both have a keen sense of what’s up-and-coming in the high-stakes heist world. I would love to collaborate with you on this, but my latest intel has told me that this thing is not as cool as you or I could have predicted it would be. So hard to tell with these things."
She grinned. "Luckily, I took care of this for you, and diverted the artifact into a more lucrative channel!” Her back hit a tree. “And really, who wants to buy a priceless ancient artifact these days? Kinda passé, ever since the market got flooded with those 9th-century porphyry fortune-telling statues that I totally don’t know how they got to our time period!” She nodded. “I did you a favor, really.”
Vera snarled. “You idiot! That box wasn’t actually a priceless ancient artifact! It was a camera that I planted in the Mayor’s office, to capture candid footage of his secret sex parties! I was going to sell it to the tabloids for millions!”
Amira and Oz exchanged a wide-eyed glance. Whoops. (Although it didn’t explain why they found the spirit of an all-powerful sorcerer inside that box, cursed for all eternity to take the form of a menstrual cup.)
“Hey.”
Damien LaVey came towards them, cigarette pack in hand. Amira made a face at him. He made one back, then turned back to Vera. “Are we not having a smoke break?” he asked.
“Not now,” Vera said. “I’m in the middle of something.”
Damien snickered. “Say your prayers, Rasheed.”
“That’s ironic, coming from you,” Oz said.
Damien actually had to look around to find who’d said it. Then he looked down, and made a face.
He looked at their robes and narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you?” he asked.
“Yes,” Oz said, putting their hands on their hips. “You cheated off me all last year.”
Apparently, that didn’t narrow it down. Vera pinned Amira harder against the tree and said to Damien, “Unless you’re going to help me extract the information I need, get lost. I don’t need your distractions.”
“Hey, extracting is one of my specialties. Especially organs and teeth,” Damien said.
Oz shuddered; it was one of their greatest fears, to have themself strapped down on a table and their teeth removed one-by-one by a pair of rusty pliers. They had so many teeth, it would take days.
Damien noticed. He grinned.
“Forget her.” He started taking off his jacket. “Give me five minutes alone with the noob. They’ll tell you what you need to know.”
“Hey!” Amira said. “I’m a worthy opponent! Come at me, bro!”
She went to take a swing at him, but he held her back with a hand on her forehead and walked right on by. Right towards Oz!
They started walking backwards. Once Damien was on a rampage, there was pretty much no stopping him, so appealing to Vera was their only realistic option. “It’s, um, it’s too bad that you’re missing out on the economic potential in this situation!” they said.
“Oh please,” Vera said.
They said, “Why do you need the actual sex tape? You could just pretend that you have one. Blackmail the mayor by saying you’re selling it to the press, then make him pay ransom money for an empty tape. It’s not like he can do anything once the MONEY is in an off-shore account.”
Damien laughed and said, “Do you hear this? What a fucking loser nerd! Just shake down the Mayor until all the city’s money falls from the pleats of his pathetic d’Orsay Christian Loubsterbacks!”
Vera shoved one of her shoes into Damien's mouth, and pushed him out of the way. “This idea is…not terrible.” Over her shoulder, Oz saw Amira’s mouth fall open. She gave them a thumbs-up. Vera said, “Well, actually, it’s one-dimensional and lame, but it will give me a quick return on my investment without having to get my hands dirty.” She gave Damien a pointed look while typing on her phone. He rolled his eyes.
She typed into her phone briefly, then said, “I’ve trademarked it. Any claims you had to it or the profits it produces are null and void.”
“That’s fine,” Oz said. They took the phone right out of her hands, and drafted an email to the Mayor from a burner account telling him that he’d better hand over the city’s entire police budget, or have his dirty footsie-tootsie parties exposed to the world! They gave it back to her for her approval. Her eye’s widened as she read it. She sent it (no revisions!) and locked her phone.
Damien groaned and spat out her shoe. “Are you done? Now can I beat them up?” he asked.
“Go ahead,” Vera said.
Wait. What?!?
They had to think fast. They started backing up again. “By the way, how did you know that?” they asked.
“What?” Damien asked.
“How did you know that the silk of a Christian Loubsterback d’Orsay pump is pleated?” they asked. It wasn't exactly a common take on that shoe. “Or that the Mayor wears them during his weird sex parties.”
The air became silent and heavy.
Damien’s face turned blotchy. Amira gasped.
Vera snorted. “I knew it.”
Damien turned on her. “You don’t know shit!”
“Foot fetishes are nothing to be ashamed of,” Oz said. They certainly weren’t in the business of kink-shaming. Anyone could appreciate the subtle rush of power and sexiness of a well-made silk pump.
Damien said, “SHUT UP! It’s not the…I’m not…I wouldn’t…GAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
He took Vera’s shoe and punched it so hard, that it disappeared into the sky in a twinkle of light.
“Damien!” Vera stepped on his foot, digging the high heel she was still wearing into his toes. “What am I supposed to do for shoes for the rest of the day?”
“I don’t know! I don’t care!” he yelled. He stormed off, throwing a final death-glare at Oz.
“This is amazing!” Amira whispered to Oz. She cleared her throat and said, “There’s always the Nurse’s office. Or…” She stuck out one thigh-high boot. “You could take my shoes.”
The expression on Vera’s face made it clear that she would probably rather walk barefoot through a patch of used heroin needles. She sighed. “What size are you?”
“Size 7,” Amira said.
“Give them to me.”
Vera walked back into the school looking sexier than ever. “Would you mind?” Amira asked. She jumped into Oz’s arms. “Just until we’re back inside.”
“Sure,” they said. As they walked, she said, “A+ back there. Seriously,” she said. She sighed, letting her head fall back. “Oh, Vera. A beauty unlike any other. My Venus flytrap.”
“Uh huh,” Oz said, and Amira grinned, tickling them under their chin. She said, “I could tell you had good taste.”
They came back into school just as the final bell rang. Had they really been out there for the entire afternoon? It felt like no time at all. Oz set Amira down outside the gym, far enough away so that she wouldn’t catch anything from the floor in her bare feet. “Thanks again,” she said. “So, I have some light embezzlement to take care of this afternoon. I’ll see you around?”
With two finger guns and a click of her tongue, she was gone.