There's no time to waste — we only have a few hours, and, like, two chapters to wrap this up. Hayden grabs us by the shoulders and basically forces us into a team huddle.
"Okay, maggots, lissenup!" he yells in his best commanding voice, like a captain bellowing commands in the middle of a storm, in which I mean, he's making everything wet and unnecessary, since we are an inch away from his face. "We are in the last inning, and we are about to do a Hail Mary pass. We all have to work together, as a team, to dribble this thing to the goal. If we don't find ourselves a new batter, we can kiss the battlebot finals goodbye. Any thoughts?"
"yeah. i didn't get any of that," says Brayden, greasing his fake mustache — did I mention he has a fake mustache? — with some organic tree resin or some bullshit like that. "we just have to find a new dude. how hard can it be?"
"You know someone?" I ask.
"bitch, i don't even come here most of the time! this is the first time in years i come more than two days in a row. well, not the first time i come two days in a row, if you know what i—"
"Not a time for that," I interrupt, knowing full well what he means. "How about you, Hayden? Know anyone? You're like...ugh, royalty here."
Set a reminder to clean my mouth with battery acid after I'm done here. And for the author to slap himself on the wrists for making me say it.
"Well, yeah, brother. I know a whole lotta people," says Hayden. "But that's the problem. Everyone wanna get down with the H-train. I'm big, and cool, and I fill everyone's mouth with my signature super-secret cream filling. But that's the problem. If I ask someone, everyone's gonna have a piece of this delicious club we cooking, and ain't that defeating the purpose?"
"too many hands in the butthole make the orgy weird," says Brayden, who should be put in horny jail as soon as possible. Seriously man, get a hose. "and what about you, hot stuff? got any buddies we can use?"
"Bitch, you're my only buddies!"
"awwwn, you consider me a buddy? cute."
"You can get a room later," says Hayden. "In fact, we can all get a room later and make a circle spraying love into each other. For now, think! Anyone you've met in the past week can do! We believe in you, buddy!"
Well, there's always Billiam. But like a sock lost on a dryer, he seems to appear when you least expect it, and when you least need him. I could ask Laila and/or Leeland to join us, but that would be like inviting the wolf into the hen-house. That's about the extent of the recurring characters I can think of. This really puts some pee in my diapers.
Why is this so hard? All we need is someone who goes is enrolled in this school, is not affected by bad boys, is not popular, or driven by popularity, or doesn't want to do anything more than hanging out in a room quietly with other bros.
"man, if only we had another bad boy we can trust," says Brayden.
"Yeah. A new brother we can have. Someone who understands our pain. Someone who is quiet, and chill, and stays out of trouble."
"If only there was someone like that," I say.
Yeah, if only.
Okay, let's not drag this more than we have to. You know what's gonna happen. His name is in the fucking blurb for fuck's sake.
"Well, there is someone," I say. "But you're not gonna like it."
Their faces become blank like a canvas, and just about as full of possibilities — their inner monologue has started. It doesn't take long until Hayden's face begins to show a beautiful dawn of understanding, with some aggressive splotches of ectoplasm green of disgust at the thought of his unspoken rival being the choice.
Brayden's face remains blank, because he's an idiot.
"No," whispers Hayden, shaking his head and pouting his lips. "No, no, no, no! Ain't gonna have that oversized poodle crumbling my cookies. Nu-hu. Veto!"
"He's the only one that fits the bill!"
"Nu-hu, I said!" says Hayden, at the same time insulting my memory retention skills. "Besides, we have each other. I'm a hundo-percent sure he's gonna say no the second we ask."
"Yes," says Okayden the very second we ask, much to Hayden's dismay.
It didn't take us much to figure out where he was holed up. There's only one place in this backwater hellhole where one could go to a dimly-lit place, stare at pictures of feet, and not be bothered by anyone: the library. Which, by the way it looks, hasn't seen a new book since the Reagan administration. At least it's not Nixon.
Old cobweb, new cobwebs, webs on the cob, and even without cob. This place isn't even good for making forbidden diddling in a dark corner. There are so many missing books that the shelves are almost completely see-through. The only one here is Okayden, and a small, bespectacled girl who is sending us embarrassed love looks from over her thick book. I'm guessing her name is Laig-Ley or something like that.
"Well, that does it," I say. "Unless you have any objections, Mr. Negative?"
Hayden fiddles with his thumb, which looks like a big baby playing with his breakfast sausages more than anything else. I think he wants to look cute? But he looks terrifying. You remember big baby, right? Nightmare stuff.
"Bray–I mean, Don Panini Almordoba? Anything else to say?"
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"Okay, give him the sign-up sheet," I order.
Hayden reluctantly hands over the sign-up sheet — all crumpled up by his own hands in a fit of rage — and a pen. "Please," he says between his teeth in an attempt to look as friendly as he can. He fails. "Put your name, grade, and signature in this sheet so we can get this over with."
Okayden picks up the pen while tapping at the paper with his dirty, mangy, and Dorito-like claw. "Let me finish first,
Before I sign anything,
I have a demand."
Oh, great. Here I was saying it was gonna be easy. I can figure out what it's gonna be.
"Yes, you can smell and touch and handle my feet all you want," I say.
But, he shakes his head.
"Why only have the tree,
When I can own the fruit too,
And feast all I want?"
My confused face must be palpable, for he shakes his head and repeats himself.
"I want to smell feet,
All your feet, once a week, yes?
Until school year ends."
One could swear he just insulted Hayden's mom, because he goes beet red and angry in less than a second, snatches back the pen and paper, and storms out of the room. Or at least he tries to.
Brayden and I move just in time to each grab him by one arm and pull him so that he can stop. He doesn't, but he moves slowly enough so that we can reason with him.
"Hayden, it's okay!" I say. "He's very gentle. You're not even gonna feel his moist, dank breath on your tootsies."
This makes him walk faster, which, if you are paying attention, is the opposite of what I want.
"Hell no, brother! I ain't letting some mutt sniff my feet. That's gross! I want to have this club as a haven for us bad-boys, not some sick feet appreciation society."
Brayden opens his mouth to speak, which I already know is a sign that everything is going to shit in a second or two. To my surprise, it doesn't happen.
"humans will never find heaven without suffering. the thing that makes us human is or ability to adapt and overcome adversities. to be at total peace, a society with no suffering, pain, or adversities, would be torture, for it would be anathema to humanity. pain conceptualizes life, gives us drive, be to thanatos or inspiration."
That one makes Hayden stop in his tracks. Hell, it even makes me stop.
"That... is surprisingly deep, and poignant," says Hayden. "Who said that? Nietzsche?"
"what? no. some ball torture fetish model i follow on twitter. i think her name is breakingballz69, with a zed."
That only makes him go faster than before while muttering "hell no" over and over again.
"Is there a way we can change the terms of your demands?" I ask Okayden, but it is too late.
Hayden manages to drag us away from the Library, into the hallway, and halfway down the school when he finally gets tired and stops.
"Fine!" I say. If he wants to be a kid, then let him be a kid. "Have it your way."
"I'm sorry, brother. It's just...I'm self-conscious with my feet, is all."
"oh, that happens," says Brayden. "want me to recommend you a good place where you can get a mani-pedi? i know this great place when they have this monkey they trained to lick your toes clean–"
"Hell no!" says Hayden. Also, pretty sure that's animal cruelty. "It's just...you know...I have a condition."
"what, you have like, six toes or something?" asks Brayden.
By the deep shade of red showing on Hayden's face, I think he's right on the money.
I know how it feels. I was born with a recessive extra seventh ab. I like to keep that one to myself. I call it Charlie.
"Okay. Foot fetish is out of the question. We ran out of people to ask. We are officially, most unequivocally, fucked."
"and all because that curly-headed fox changed the rules at the last moment. and you said she did that after you told her about our plans, to force you into joining the council? ain't that like...abuse of power? discrimination, even?"
"Did somebody say the D-word?" says a familiar, if oddly nasally voice.
Billiam appears between us as if someone had summoned the devil to sell his soul for a slightly used 2006 Honda Civic and a Tootsie-pop. His smile is as wide as always. However, his nose seems more crooked than before. A gentle reminder that Hayden is nothing to fuck with.
And what good timing it is.
"Billiam! There you are, buddy, friend, best-friendo!" I say, putting my arm around his neck and pulling him closer.
"but i thought i was your best friend," I hear Brayden whisper, but I ignore it.
"Look, wanna be a part of our club? You can hang with us and shit, free of charge. You would be doing us a solid."
Far from being deterred by my sudden invasion of his personal space, he leans into it, giving me a flashy smile. "Hell no, best buddy. I'm the president of the school newspaper, and editor-in-chief, I might add. Can't go around getting into other clubs."
Figures. The only time I need him...
"But, what was that about Lee Vazquez and abuse of power?"
His eyes glint with the same glint the paparazzi around bald Britney had: a hunger for greatness at the expense of others. This man is out for blood.
"what's it to you, paper boy?"
"Oh, well, I'm trying to find an article for the front page, you see?" he says. "The only one I have right now is 'Jorts! Fashion Faux-pas, or Faux-Yass?!' And honestly, I wanna be a journalist when I graduate, and I'll need a proper portfolio that doesn't include Jeans-related stories. The head of the student council being accused of discrimination and abuse of power seems like a good one to me!"
It is here that a small plan begins to stir in my head. A nefarious, if necessary plan, to get what I want.
If Lee is gonna be like that, fine. But if we can't find a fourth member...
We will have to force her to let us form one with three members.
"Say, how fast can you write an article? We have a deadline to meet."