Halloween week, Merston High, Thursday, October 201-

"I wish to make a complaint."

In the middle of directing morning traffic out in front of Merston High, SRO Mike Schmidt turned around to confront one of Nature's unavoidable little pains in the ass: Markus Barleycorn.

No, wait, MARLENE Barleycorn.

Not Markus.

Last week State Representative John Barleycorn's little boy, already out, had decided that he was really a she and made sure everyone knew it.

Whatever.

Stifling a sigh while waving a freshly emptied bus through the intersection, Mike gestured to Marlene that he would be right with her, trying to remember which gender pronoun to use with this over-priviliged byproduct of the rich, powerful, and liberal elite.

Life had been so much easier back in the 1990s before Mike died. You were either one or the other, and sometimes you were gay.

Or bi.

Whatever.

But now? Now you could loudly declare that you identified as a rutabaga from Venus whose mother had been a parrot madly in love with a can of Spam and had fifteen unique genders depending on the phase of the moon.

And everyone would nod to each other in wise agreement, saying: "Of course you are a Venusian rutabaga who is the product of an inter-species relationship involving an unpopular tinned meat product and an even more unpopular root vegetable with fifteen moon-dependent genders – anybody can see that! If they don't? They're obviously haters and therefore to be loudly condemned because all right-minded individuals hate haters!"

Or something like that.

As far as Mike could recall, what with his increasingly faulty long-term memory, people like Marlene had their own little section of town where they could be whatever they wanted to be without bothering everyone else; though many hung around the docks whenever a carrier or other large Navy vessel came in the hopes of getting lucky.

Sometimes, they did.

As far as Mike was concerned, it was an arrangement that worked as long as everybody left everybody alone.

Nowadays, people like Marlene seemed to be EVERYWHERE– creating a social minefield that Officer Schmidt would just as soon NOT have to deal with – not twice in one day, anyway.

Mike was not getting paid enough to have abuse hurled at him by a purple-haired individual obscured by piercings, rainbows and tattoos sporting a tutu, combat boots, and a five o'clock shadow simply because during a pull-over in front of the school he'd accidentally used the wrong gender pronoun while writing out the citations, making him want to scream back, "Look man-lady-dude-xhe-xir-whoopitywhoopitywhoopity WHATEVER-THE-FUCK-YOU-ARE-FOR-THE-NEXT-FIFTEEN-MINUTES: I don't make the goddam laws, dumbass, I just get paid to enforce 'em! If y'all don't goddam like it, why were you speeding the wrong way down a goddam one-way street in a school zone blowing a goddam trumpet with your bare ass hanging out the sunroof while declaring your beautiful, unique self to be uniquely beautiful through a goddamned sound system so big you have to pull it behind y'all's goddamned hot pink Tesla on a goddamned trailer with faulty brake lights in a goddamned school zone? Now, here's y'all's goddam ticket - shove it up y'all's ass if you want to. Me? I don't care what you identify as – I'm just here to see that y'all don't kill people or whatever they're goddamned called these days while expressing your goddamned beautiful individuality!"

This kind of honesty gets you canned and publicly branded a bigot, making it difficult to get a new job to replace the one you just lost. So, Mike settled for the safer option of: "Have a nice day. Drive safely."

Orrrrrrrrr, ummmmmmm… something like that.

As for RADS, clearly identifiable RADS? Well, that was an entirely different kettle of easily offended vegan fish-shaped tofu patties. Most times all Mike had to do was lift whatever hat he was wearing and show them what was under it and they'd let it slide – he was one of them, they were safe with him.

Generally.

(Every group has its assholes.)

Speaking of assholes, whatever it was that was upsetting Marlene, would probably be something stupidly blown all out of proportion if the teacher's lounge rumor mill was true.

Which meant that daddy Barleycorn would get called.

And somebody would get fired.

Great.

Waving another bus through the intersection, Mike warily watched the fuming Marlene flounce up and down the sidewalk from the corner of his eye, her two best friends Becca and Mindy, standing near with folded arms.

Damn, last bus of the morning. Last night it had been him and Raina meeting with the district superintendent about Maggie lodging a discrimination complaint against Merston High's English and Drama teacher because she didn't get the part of Juliet in the upcoming school play. He'd stood and watched unseen at the back of the auditorium on audition day: Maggie sucked, the little Golem girl didn't.

So, he and Raina told the superintendent to drop it and had to listen to Mags stomp and whine all over the house about the unfairness of it all until she powered down for the night.

Today, it was Marlene getting her Spanx in a twist about something or other.

Great.

It was times like this Mike wished his new body would let him get drunk.

Who pissed in your Cheerios?

"What the ACTUAL HELL sis?"

"But I DESERVE the lead – I'm a star… you're my twin, you should have supported me!" Maggie whined. Head still aching from last night's nightmare, Puck plonked her smaller sister down onto a seat at the outcast table, knowing that this was the most effective punishment for the ever-expanding brat aka: Mag-zilla.

"Y-you're T-TWINSs-s-s-s-s-?" Toby looked up from his usual sandwich of dried up Wonder Bread, all limp dill slices and curly at the edges bologna, monotone voice reflecting how Puck felt. "Y-you t-t-wo d-d-d-on't e-eeve-n-n-n l-look l-like…"

Disgusted, Puck interrupted Toby while side-eying Maggie, nodding, "Fraternal... thank God! Dr. Stein calls it "superfecundation" (look it up): different fathers, same mother - our mom was a big ol' slut-bunny!" She poked at Maggie, who squealed, "'Course I didn't back you up last night – twin or not, you sucked – Gilda was good, she knew all the lines and didn't sound like a CD with a skip. So there ain't no use goin' all diva-diva like last night in the principal's office when our aunt and uncle said drop it!"

"Wait, so that's what was going on in the principal's office last night?" Tina trilled around a mouthful of rat satay and jasmine rice, "Dad was plunging one of the boy's room toilets after somebody tried to flush a pair of gym shorts. He thought somebody got into a fight with the vending machines until Mags here ran out the front door crying… wow, were your Aunt and Uncle upset!"

Maggie pouted, "It's that Morgandorffer dyke's fault, biyach! She didn't give me the part I deserve – she made me assistant wardrobe manager when everybody knows I'm a star!"

Tina Morph, who was Juliet's nurse and didn't mind, hastily swallowed her bite, one mouth grimacing after the other, "Ms. Morgandorffer is a very nice lady. She helps people with their homework even when it's not her class. I saw your audition, you were terri—"

"STFU!" Puck hissed, gesturing as Ms. Morgandorffer strolled past the outcast table on lunchroom duty, still very much employed. She shot a hooded glance at Maggie from behind her thick glasses. Blushing, Maggie scowled down at the table, piquant face red.

Trouble averted, Puck slapped her sketchbook down in front of Maggie, snarling, "Sketchbook. Now." before shoving a pencil in front of her. "Hope ya like Ticonderoga, 'cause I can't afford no better than pencils dropped in the parkin' lot thanks to you."

"And this is fair because?" Maggie held the chewed, orphan pencil up like it was a limp, piece of used spaghetti from the trash before slumping over, mumbling, "You get to keep the scooter and the iPhone, while I had to return nearly ALL my nice clothes, and Draculaura's dad changed his mind and took me off of the family phone plan - my Facebook followers miss me!"

"Facebook, my ass! You spent my money like everybody else's - you don't get nothin'! Anyway, I buy all my shit used off'a Craigslistist so I can work while you wear all them big damn ugly shoes only once and then kick to the back of the closet! Anyway, I don't see why you still care about losin' your pretty clothes: all your damned two-faced rich friends won't even talk to you anymore after you tried to get Ms. Morgandorffer fired for discrimination yesterday so you now have to sit and power up with us losers in the outdoor dining area 'cause she's Clawdeen Wolf's favorite teacher!"

"This is soooo not fabulous." Maggie wailed, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling, ears and tail drooping.

"What about stealing your family's money is fabulous? Toby said, setting his unappetizing sandwich down. "My ol' man did it. Drank it all up an-an-an gambling w-w-w-what was left – we l-l-l-losssst our car an' g-got kicked out of our house an' had t' move here 'cause a him!" He added before abruptly spasming, heavy work boot hitting the floor hard before bouncing up, knee violently striking the table from below with a loud "BANG!" so that everybody's lunch danced.

Remembering the near school-shooting in September, the entire lunch room went silent for a few seconds, eyes nervously sliding in the direction of the Outcast table. Even the Sargent brothers paused in their enthusiastic gorging, looking up, blood dripping from their mandibles, tiny yellow eyes interested.

Then, quickly as it happened, all eyes went back to the food in front of them and the chatter resumed.

"Good thing he can't feel pain!" Puck thought, blushing, catching her battery pack before it hit the floor, wanting just to sit somewhere alone reading a banned book while listening to Dan Reynolds sing about doing Whatever it Takes. She said out loud, "Mags, just STFU and draw!"

Sulkily, Maggie began doodling.

Poorly.

"When's the last time you drew something besides flies?"

"STFU." Maggie responded primly, turning her back to her twin.

Fine.

Puck started loudly singing Light 'em Up, beating time with a plastic spoon just to annoy Maggie.

"Stahhhhhp!" Maggie snapped the pencil in half and tossed it to the floor.

"What? Can't take my edginess proving how dull and talentless you are?"

"Meanie!"

"Feel the thunder, BIYACH!" Puck cackled, "I work my ass off for you and cover for you all the damned time. An' what do I get?"

"O-M-GEEEEEEEEEEEEE, I can't DO this anymore!" Maggie wailed, slamming the sketchbook shut loudly enough for Ms. Bruntford to look up from her third ciggy over by the cafeteria dumpster in the back parking lot and glare at them, yelling something in a smoke-hoarsened voice that no one listened to.

Tipping over her chair with a crash, Maggie fled screeching with Puck not far behind in a cloud of shed fur, only her flight was more of a stumble than a run no thanks to her red platform Calvin Kleins. Skidding on the snapped pencil, Maggie bent, removing them before hurling them at Puck one after the other, the second bulky shoe actually connecting.

"Ow, HEY!" Puck chased the barefoot brat past the Popular table, into the hall, and then into the girl's restroom.

Puberty? No thanks!

"Ummmmmm, t-t-t-time of the m-m-m-month?" Toby stuttered uncomfortably, abruptly standing. If this is what it would be like if Lazari and Sally ever hit puberty, he wanted no part of it - no way, no how!

Appetite lost, he tossed his half-eaten sandwich and soggy Fritos into the trash and went to put his battered Scooby Doo lunchbox in his locker.

Before he could do so, Toby found himself being dragged backwards by the jacket into a nearby empty classroom by a very small businessman.

Raising the Stakes

"You know vy you are here." Tepes released Toby so that he staggered even as the much, much smaller man spun Toby around to face him.

It was Tepes.

"Why are you h-here?" Toby stammered, his terror of the man or whatever he was turning his knees to water.

"I feel the need to remind you of your mission, as well as give you…" Tepes looked disdainfully up at the clock hanging over the smartboard, adding in a light, precise voice, "...new orders."

"What?" Toby frowned, left eye twitching, sweat cascading between his shoulder blades where he could still feel the ghost of Tepe's grip.

"Do not keel Jeffery. Keep him in his place though. Keep protecting the girl."

"Why c-can't we ju-"

"You know vy your Master and I chose you for zis job."

Statement, not question.

"No, sir." (a whisper with averted eyes)

Tepes gripped Toby's shoulder, "You are better suited for zis, because you are homosexual."

Despite having outed himself the first day here, the hairs on Toby's body stood up at this word. Tepes continued, distaste coloring his voice. "As such, you vill never become truly attached, and you are much more, shall I say, subtle than Brian or his charming best vriend, Tim."

Toby's involuntary spasms increased, terrified brain misfiring harder than usual.

Tepes eyed Toby's involuntarily motions with naked disgust, "When known as "The Impaler" in Wallachia, I would have had you executed on principle whether you had a job or not – there are far, far worse things a man can be besides an idle drain upon zociety. Bezides, you pass, unlike most of your Master's stable of freaks. No-vun takes a twitching fool seriously. A twitching fool does, says, and goes vherever he likes unchallenged because he is a twitching fool, korrekt?" Tepes stared him down despite being the shorter of the two. Toby's head jerked, hard, involuntary obscenities popping out, causing him to break eye contact and look away.

Tepe's frowned, opened his mouth and then abruptly shut it as a loud screech that sounded like somebody tossed a cat into a woodchipper, followed by a loud, wet crash, came from across the hall.

"Do you vish to live? Do your job." Tepes released Toby and walked away with that gliding pace of his back out into the hallway.

Shaking, Toby stepped out of the classroom as a wave of stinking water and clots of wet toilet paper and... worse, washed past him out of the girl's bathroom before impudently lapping at the serene Tepe's heels.

Tepes turned, "I see your responsibility and her sister haff been playink house again. Inform the janitor to bring mop and bucket. Volf Brothers will take care uff the rest.

And then he was… gone.

Phone Tag

Marlene looked down at her iPhone numbly. All the big dumb SRO officer could do was file a report.

So she'd tried a sure thing, daddy.

State Representative (D) John Barleycorn told her that Toby Rogers was a political goldmine: gay and a RAD, two for the price of one.

No, three. Toby was obviously underprivileged.

Pure. Gold.

Too bad he wasn't black, Latino, or some sort of indigenous or other: the gold would have been purer.

On the other hand, he had Tourette's and a whole string of learning disabilities - you worked with what you had and spun up what you didn't. Are you SURE, son, that he's not an illegal alien, or at the very least a Dreamer in danger of having his parents deported? No? What a shame, son, what a shame.

...

...

...sooooooo, if Markus wanted the full chop this spring, with John Barleycorn footing the bill, he'd better toe the line.

When Marlene objected, Barleycorn replied, "My dear boy, my constituency, whose votes pay for your fake breasts and faker eyelashes, would rally around and protest upon behalf of any random dead raccoon shoveled bloated and stinking from the side of the nearest highway if it they were told it was homeless, illegal, had a substance abuse problem, had been molested as a child, was gay, and a downtrodden minority deprived of its land and original culture by whitey. Had you not been born gay, I would have seen to it that they saw you as gay for the sheer number of votes it has gained me since you were thirteen and came out to me on your birthday. Toby Rogers is your king. Act accordingly or become a real girl on someone else's dime."

And then he hung up.