Marlene was pissed.

Instead of sexy time with Chet after last weekend's post-Homecoming house party, she'd found herself watching Chet and Abby Bominable suck face with Cleo deNile and her bitchpack tee-heeing in the sidelines and sitting next to weird little Giorno, the "backup" King on the Homecoming throne, only to have him excuse himself after their first dance because he was going to a big estate auction first thing in the morning so he had to get up early.

That, and no offense, he wasn't interested in a relationship.

At all.

With anyone.

Like, ever.

In front of Dad and his entourage.

And the media.

Now Marlene was in big trouble with Daddy, who once the last guest staggered across their once pristine lawn, called her to his study and let her know how disappointed he was at losing a paving stone on the road to the White house by calling her by her dead name while pointing out that she was 18, for God's sake, time to stop playing dress-up. No amount of hormones, surgery, and enlightened legal protection would turn him into a real girl.

"Forget it, MARKUS," Dad thundered from behind his huge desk, the one designed to resemble the one in the Oval Office, "You aren't fooling anybody!"

Slashed to the core, Marlene stood frozen, tears a silent lava of mascara down her cheeks as State Rep. John Barleycorn began pacing the room, quietly informing MARKUS that he'd been patient. He'd been tolerant. But if MARKUS wanted to become his true self, it wouldn't be on dear ol' dad's dime.

He was still willing to send MARKUS to Harvard, but that would come at a price:

MARKUS could keep the convertible and the million dollar trust fund.

But his hated body would stay "as is".

Should he try to raise a ruckus and destroy John Barleycorn's political career by outing him as a transphobe-what-have-you, everything would disappear.

Including the trust fund.

Stewing, Marlene cruised around town in her Barbie-pink Miata until sunrise, smoking joint after joint. She couldn't go directly after Cleo deNile – Cleo's father's money kept the entire Barleycorn operation afloat, including her and Marlene wasn't stupid.

Still, somebody was going to pay.

So, because the oppressed kick downwards, Marlene, wearing khakis, penny loafers, and a Rugby shirt she thought she'd thrown away last year when she came out, stared angrily at her puffy-eyed reflection in her full-length bathroom mirror Monday morning, deciding she'd do a bit of kicking of her own.

To someone who couldn't kick back.

(At least the pants made her ass look good.)

"Heyyyyyyyy Puuuuuuuuckkkkkkk. You won't believe what happened after Homecoming!"

Puck turned, halfway through stuffing her coat in her locker, and almost, but not quite, started.

Great, Markus Barleycorn and his fag hags. What did they want?

"Yeah?" she asked warily. Uncle Mike had warned her about getting in trouble again; not that it mattered. Not in the grand scheme of things.

Any day now, she'd be far away from this shithole and be cruisin' in Cali.

Not a damn textbook in sight.

"Guess! You'll never guess!" Bekka Madden and Mindy Scaramucci stood behind Markus who was actually wearing KHAKIS and pennyloafers, almost, but not quite, controlling their giggles.

"Ain't got time for your shit. Spill!" Puck's calico ears flattened and the end of her tail began twitching ever so slightly. Fuck, Markus out of drag was even harder on the eyes as a dude!

"Your uncle delivered pizzas to my house party after homecoming." he sneered.

Uncle Mike delivered for Domino's on weekends when he wasn't picking up roofing jobs from Wolf and Sons Contracting or extra Cop shifts. So what?

"Were they cold?" Puck asked casually - serve 'em right if they were. Better yet, maybe they were really, really greasy, giving all the cool kids the shits – now wouldn't that be a tragedy? Puck struggled to keep from smirking at the thought of Cleo deNile on the porcelain throne clutching a roll of designer t.p, designer asshole shooting designer flames… purple ones, to match the curtains.

"Everybody knows what cops are like, Domino's." Markus sneered, huge Adam's apple bobbing up and down his long skinny neck above the collar of his red and blue striped rugby shirt, "Bet he drinks all his paychecks. That's why you live in the Stein's shitty little guest house and eat reduced price lunches, Domino's."

"Marlene! I-I can't believe you SAID that! I know Puck's mean, but that's just too much!" Plump, sweet-faced Mindy who held to the back of the bitch pack exclaimed in horror.

"Shut UP, bacon butt!" Marlene and Bekka lashed out at the same time. They stared at each other and burst out laughing. Mindy blushed as she studied at the floor between her pink Birkenstocks, trying not to cry because sometimes they forgot she was their friend.

Mindy silenced, Bekka jeered: "When's the last time you had a bath, Domino's? Bet it's hard to take a bath when there's an ENGINE BLOCK in your bathtub!" she squealed, glancing about as if acknowledging an audience applauding her cleverness and her new Stella McCartney platforms.

Eyes stinging, face hot, Mindy whispered unheard, "Puck, your Aunt and Uncle painted our lake cabin last August. They did a really good job. Your Aunt was really, really nice to me. She told me all about being a helicopter pilot in the Navy. Now I, I want to do that. But I'm too fat..." she trailed off.

"Don't be silly, Marlene! Why bother with a bathtub or even toilet paper—" Bekka giggled, anticipating the clever bomb she was about to drop.

Only Marlene, or was it Markus? Beat her to it, jeering: "When Kitty here can clearly lick her own pussy?"

"That's it, shemale!" Puck slammed her locker shut, advancing on Markus and his Greek chorus, "You and me, fake tits. Right here! Right now!"

"Oooooooh, saaaaaaaave me Bekka. Domino's is gonna hit me!" Ignoring the slur and going duck lips, Markus rolled his eyes, jeering, "Is that all you got, RAD freak?"

Puck hissed, ears flat against her skull, only "Puuuuuuck," Maggie whined unexpectedly behind her. "You've already had ISS. Walk away, it's not worth it!"

What the fuck?

Maggie used to EAT people like Markus! What happened?! Puck yowled, voice rising in an almost inaudible shriek, tail puffed twice its size. "Wanna say that with my fist in your mouth, chick-with-a-DICK?" She feinted, hissing, claws half-extended from her knuckles like Wolverine. "Don't start shit you can't finish, BOY!"

State Rep. Barleycorn's #1 embarrassing political asset stepped back, realizing that sometimes those you kick aren't afraid to kick back and she didn't know how to put an end to it before somebody's messy hair bun got yanked out by the roots.

Bekka, caught up in the moment, sashayed forward, trilling: "We have an old potty left over from when Mom had one of our bathrooms redecorated. Does Auntie Bobby-Sue need another lawn planter?"

"Oh my God! Bekka! How could you say that?" Mindy squealed in horror, stepping back quickly as Puck launched herself—only to be stopped by a large, pale hand,

"Is there a problem here?"

Officer Abbacchio.

Shit.

Tail bushed, Puck struggled to get herself under control as Maggie fled.

Fuckin' traitor.

"Everything all right?" The SRO asked nobody in particular.

"Well, we were, uh," Mindy stuttered, "Going to class? We were gonna walk with Puck."

"Yeah, class." Bekka chimed in, grinning nervously with artificially whitened teeth.

Abbacchio raised a silver eyebrow as the floor between them… rippled? "2048— continue inspecting while I take care of this." He frowned, wrap-around sunglasses glinting.

As one, they all stepped back as a pasty hand slid effortlessly out of the space between the tiles, followed by another, followed by a mop of messy white hair and a genderless face which smiled brightly at them as the rest of whatever he, she, or they were, rose into view.

"What the fuck is…THAT?" Puck asked, taken aback. RADs came in all shapes and sizes, but this was a new one on her!

"Weekly random locker inspection." Abbacchio answered, ignoring her rude reaction to Special Officer 2048's sudden appearance. He slowly released her shoulder.

"What the hell for?" Puck stared at the, the, whatever it was before glancing quickly up at Officer Abbaccio, unsure how to take this RAD answer to a drug dog. Good thing she'd hid her stash in a hollowed out copy of "Pride and Prejudice" along with a baggie of fresh ground coffee in her little bookshelf yesterday and not in her locker!

"You're sooooo stupid!" Markus sneered, "They've been doing this twice a week since the incident – for drugs, and… other stuff!"

"Drugs?" Mindy asked, alarmed, "Why would anyone have them here?"

Great, the great white weirdo here was a drug sniffer. Fan-fucking-tastic! Puck's palms began sweating. She'd lit up last night. Could this 2049 RAD-person-cop-thing smell MJ on her even after showering and using Maggie's rose-scented hand cream? "What incident?" she asked, hoping to distract the pale weirdo studying her with black pupil-less eyes.

He squinted suspiciously.

"You're soooooo stupid," Markus snarled under his breath, rolling his eyes. "The one back in September. Remember? When your drunken uncle got shot?"

Puck's ears flattened. "I know. It happened right in front of me. And he's not a drunk, trannie fag!"

Markus was about to give an equally intelligent rebuttal to Puck and Puck's ignorance only to stop as black eyes widening, the strange new RAD's nostril's flared.

"I smell something." It said in a tenor sing-song.

Puck's palms went from moist to straight-up oceans: she'd swiped a couple of beers from Uncle Mike's little fridge in the Stein's three-car garage and workshop this morning to drink out behind the field house during lunch. Worse, she'd forgotten about that partial dime bag— SHIT!

"Yeah, 2048. I smell it too!" Another white-guy-thing-cop in a colorless version of what Officer Abbaccio was wearing was suddenly where it hadn't been before, nostril's busy, large black eyes suspicious.

No! Panicking, Puck rationalized - they had to be picking up Ms. Nix's patchouli-based perfume. Trixie and Katya, the two extravagant witches who ran Merston High's office and wore clothes that had been fashionable in the sixties and only in the sixties, were probably just burning sage. Or maybe Miss Good or the Sargent twins stopped wearing deodorant again - yeah, B.O., that's it! It had to be B.O.!

The dudes in white began circling, nostrils flaring until one pointed at a locker.

The one next to Puck's.

It grinned, "Do you smell what I smell, 4232?"

Officer Abbacchio stepped back, raising a water-filled squirt bottle, expression unreadable.

4232 tapped a pallid knuckle on Puck's locker, "It's one of these two. Let me taste…" the colorless officer leaned in, extending an ashen tongue… Puck stifled a gulp, pupils huge.

"NO!" Officer Abbacchio exclaimed, aiming a stream of water at the alien creature, "How many times do I have to tell you guys? Don't do that in public!"

"Why not? It's delicious!"

Seeing an out, Puck abruptly slammed a fist into Markus's stomach.

Hard.