CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

"That took too damn long," Miss Professor said with tears in her eyes as Shersharmjorp entered the classroom. "So we got ice cream," she rubbed her temple, wincing from the ice cream headache.
"Where were you?"
S-jorp looked around the classroom. Everyone had ice cream in front of them. Every color of the rainbow. And all the toppings: cherries, sprinkles, whipped cream, salt, bananas, pickles, more ice cream, hot fudge, butter.
This would be an OK way for Shersh to forget about her mutilated mother for a bit.
"My mom died. Can I have some ice cream?"
"We're out. Sorry," Miss Professor stared at Shersh. They weren't out, she just didn't want to share any more.
"Sit down, Willow."
"It's Shersharmjorp now."
"That's ridiculous! Why? What?"
"I changed it just now, in the hallway."
"Your parents must be disappointed in you," her words hung in the air. Miss Professor realized the depth of that insult in this moment. She leaned in, grabbed Shersh by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes.
"So disappointed."
The loudspeaker crackled again.
"Oh, Shershmajrop?" It was Pocketwatch, "I forgot to tell you how they identified her. She'd been skinned and the patch with her tramp stamp of two arms with bulging biceps with tribal tattoos fisting her gaping vagina was found covering her eyes.
"So crazy!"
The loudspeaker clicked off.
Shersh looked out at her classmates.
Zarp coughed into the awkward silence. He always had to make it about himself.

CHAPTER TWENTY

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CHAPTER NINETEEN

Principal Pocketwatch was snuffing out a joint when Shersharmjorp entered.
"Willow," he said, "Man do I have a bummer for you."
"Shersharmjorp," she said.
"What?"
"It's not Willow anymore. My name is Shersharmjorp," she affirmed, really starting to settle into the freedom of picking her own name.
Pocketwatch raised an eyebrow.
"It's a... thing," she said, dismissing his eyebrow.
She looked around the office and saw a bunch of things but the only one I'm going to describe is the stamp that reads "I GREW HEMP" that Pocketwatch used to mark dollar bills. Just the kind of man he was.
"Shermashnorp," he began.
"Shersharmjorp," she corrected him.
He sighed. "Shersharmjorp, I've just gotten off the phone with Detective Fart down at the - stop giggling - Detective Fart down at the police station. It's about your mother, Shersharmjorp, like I said over the speaker to the entire school."
"Yeah, that was a little cruel."
"Sure, whatever Anyway, your moms is totally dead."
Shersharmj went stony faced. Not literal stone, you understand. Just a metaphor.
"Yeah, she was pretty gruesomely killed. Like torn apart. Detective Fart -" a crack appeared in Shersh's stony facade (again, not a literal crack or literal stone) "- said it was, like, super nasty."
"My mother is dead?!" Shersh exclaimed.
"Oh yeah. Big time. Like, torn apart and disrespected. Like, organs everywhere and decapitated and - ugh - just gross stuff."
"Oh my god."
"I know!" said Pocketwatch, "and, like, it was weird because there was no blood. Like a vampire tore her apart or something."
DUN DUN DUNNNNNN
"But that's not to say there were no fluids there, oh no," he said, laughing to himself about what a strange day this had been. First the weird dream where his mother gave him all her teeth, then there was that three-legged dog in the park. Now this!
"Fart said they found, like, a pint of some dude's semen in her vagina," he shook his head, "Which they found had been crammed into her mouth."
What a weird day! Ha ha!
"And also a lot of butt lube."
"Oh my god."
"Isn't it crazy?!" he said.
She just looked at him.
"Well," he said, leaning back in his chair, "I guess it's back to class with you."
Shersh shakily got out of her seat and moved to the door.
"Oh, and Shersh?" Pocketwatch said as she grabbed the doorknob.
"Yes, Principal Pocketwatch?"
"Her eyes were, like, totally bugged out and crawling with maggots - even though she'd only been dead a few hours."
Shersh gaped at him.
"Isn't that wild?!"
Shersharmjorp left.
Pocketwatch thought again about that dog. Man, it'd been having a great time chasing a squirrel!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Willow walked down the hallway to the principal's office.
"Oh man," she thought, "I bet this is going to blow."
She hated the corridors. She wanted to like them but couldn't figure out a way to make them a metaphor for her teenage feelings.
Maybe halls are like the teen years of architecture or something? You pass through them on your way to other rooms? Of life?
No, that's not working.
Hey, is that Jonathan Mooseknuckles in the same hall?
It is!
Willow approached him.
"Hey," she said to try and get his attention.
It worked!
"Sup?" he said. Gosh, he's so cool.
"I..." Willow had run out of things to say.
Jonathan took over.
"Hey, haven't I seen you at the gym or something?"
Willow nodded. He'd noticed her!
"You're totally banging," he said, "I bet you'd rock red hair."
A part of her - a TEENAGE part of her she'd recently been acquainting herself with. A lot. - exploded with joy and arousal and moisture.
"I'm Jonathan," he said. "I totally beefed up a hot milf last night with my wiener," he added.
"Oh. Cool," said Willow, finding a few words. "I'm..."
Shit. She'd forgotten her name. Edward? No. Man's name. Susan? No, not quite right. Names, names... Miss Professor? No that was the teacher's name. Banana? No! That's fruit.
Damn this was taking too long.
Just dive in.
"I'm Shersharmjorp."
Dammit.
"Shersharmjorp?"
She was locked in.
"Yes."
"That's a terrible name!" he laughed. "Do you want to try again?"
She did but found that she couldn't. She stuck with it.
"Shersharmj for friendsies," she explained, "Shersh if you're really short on time or maybe are in a passionate moment of sexual ecstasy with me."
I guess she found her words! Where were they half a page ago?"
"Anyway. I've got to go. Principal's office."
"See you around, Shersh," said Jonathan Mooseknuckles.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Willow Tree," said the loudspeaker, "Please report to the principal's office for some straight up bummer shit."
Willow looked up from her school book. A real artist had had the book before her and had covered the thing in dong doodles.
"It's a real downer," the principal went on. "It's about your mother."
Willow looked at Miss Professor.
"You better go," said Miss Professor, "We'll wait."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The murder scene was nasty. Grizzly. Real SVU shit.
And not just because it was found by two dock workers just starting their shift.
It was a woman. Or had been. Now it was more like a pile of gross fleshy stuff.
No blood, though.
Weird.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"OK, now that roll call's finally over... any questions about science?" said Miss Professor to the class.
Nobody spoke.
"Nobody. No one cares what you think."
Nobody shut up.
Willow raised a hesitant hand.
"Yes, Willow?"
"Um, not that I'm a werewolf or it has a direct influence on my nightly activities," she said, laughing a little to show the class the VERY IDEA of such a thing was ridiculous, "But, um, what's the deal with the moon?"
"The moon?"
"Yeah, you know. The, like, night ...sun?"
Miss Professor sighed. "It's a big rock that orbits the Earth in space."
"Excuse me, Miss Professor?" said that first douche from earlier.
"Yes, douche?"
He ignored it. "Why waste time explaining the concept of 'moon' in a high school biology class?"
"I was done, douche," Miss Professor spat, "And, douche, I'm not here to debate the philosophy of education, douche. That's a different class. Douche."
The douche looked down. The rest of the class looked at the douche.
"Douche." She said again.
"It's not pronounced 'douche'!" he finally snapped. "My name is Douché!"
"I don't see an accent mark."
"That's because we're talking out loud. If this were written in a book, say, or on a blog, it'd be there clear as day!"
"Douche!" Professor shouted, "Principal's office!"
Douché sighed. He knew what he had done.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Geez. That's a dumb name, too. Sorry, I'll try to do better.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Sorgum, Jumper," said Miss Professor.
"Here," said another dweeb.

We're close to the name now, scout's honor.

"Sprigblatz, Quizfish,"
Ugh. That's no hero's name.
"Here," said another stupid testicle.
"Tree, Willow," called Professor.
"Here," SAID THE WEREWOLF.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Jonathan Mooseknuckles was lounging hotly and handsomely in his chair in math class.
"I don't even need this class," he thought to himself. He picked his nose and flicked the booger out the window.
"Mooseknuckles," said the teacher, "You don't even need this class. You're a genius who has already been accepted to Yalvard College, the secret college for super geniuses. And you're one of the few models to grace the cover of Playgirl AND Playboy."
"Thanks?" said Jonathan.
"Just providing a little background," said the teacher whose name wasn't important.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

But, I mean, she didn't go in looking like a werewolf.
This whole time she's been a human looking person. Face, fingers. Coat. I don't know you've probably got an idea.
Oh, red hair. Are you thinking red hair? She doesn't have it, but she's the kind of <strike>person</strike> werewolf who always thought she could pull it off. "Tilda Swinton ain't got nothing on this," she'd think to herself, "I'd rock the ginger look."
Anyway, she sat down in her classroom. One of the science ones.
All the teens were there in the classroom doing their stupid teenage bullshit. Unpacking bags, passing notes, finger-banging.
The teacher walked in. Miss Professor. She looked like a badass, or as much of a badass as a teacher can look. But remember that Indiana Jones was kind of a teacher, too.
Miss Professor sat at her desk.
"All right, kids," she said, snapping a piece of paper, "Stop doing your dumb teenage bullshit. You two, stop finger-banging. Tim for roll call."

This is the part where we find out the werewolf's name.

Miss Professor snapped the paper again.
"Ahem," she coughed.
The tension was palpable.
"Miss Professor?" said a particularly douchey looking boy, "Why do we all feel tense?"
Miss Professor just looked at him. And by the way she looked at him, all the other students knew that she too thought he was a douche.
"Ahem," she said, "Agraplotz, Aloisius."
"Here," answered some doofus.
"Blargrophinsunston, Zarp. Ugh, that's a stupid name," Professor said, correctly.
"Here," said the idiot with the dumb name.
Teens suck.
"Ugh. There's two of them," she said, "Blargrophin- You know," Professor interrupted herself, "I'd think these names were completely made up if I hadn't divorced the jackass who gave you them."
No one in the class spoke.
"Nothing to say for yourself, Zarp?"
"Well, you kinda say it a lot, Mom," said Zarp.
She stared at him.
"Miss Professor," he corrected himself.
"That's better," she said with a punctuational cough. "Blargrophinsunston, Zorp"
"Here"
Professor looked disapprovingly at the dumb shit who said it. She coughed again. She does that a lot.
"Blargrophinsunston, Zurp."
"Here."
"God you three are intolerable.

It might take a while for this whole "name" thing to play out. Let's check in elsewhere.

CHAPTER TEN

The pride of Hormonetown, the town where this story is set, is an ugly, squat, just grumpy looking stupid fucking building. That building is Buttsack Memorial High School. You know the kind of building I'm talking about. Dumb bricks, shitty concrete. Dumpy stupid athletic fields. Just looking at the nasty thing filled everyone - students, teachers, faculty, even passing pigeons and birds and shit - with inarticulate rage.
Just an angry, miserable building.
The werewolf went inside.

CHAPTER NINE

It's later now. The next day, probably. And with different characters. In a different place.
"I'm so much like this river," she said, hands in pockets. Looking out over a river.
"Always the same. But also always changing."
The river was beautiful. A serene spot for an angsty teenager to come and consider her feelings and things and also swat bugs. That las part wasn't a draw, really, but tended to happen out of necessity.
"If there's a perfect metaphor for the things I'm going through as a teenager, it's this river," she said, "And if it's not this river," she went on, "It's that I'm a werewolf. Ugh! I'm always dealing with things. Oh, river, if only you could hear me, you'd understand."
"Bullshit!" said someone who we didn't know was there yet.
"Who said that?!" shouted the werewolf, "I didn't know someone else was here yet!"
"It's me," said a beautiful woman dressed in a flowy blue gown. She had deep blue eyes and a blue tinge to her hair. Blue sandals on her feet. Long lacy blue gloves on her hands.
She was really committed to the whole "blue" thing.
"Who are you?" asked the werewolf.
"I'm the river nymph. This river is essentially an extension of me and vice versa.
"Hence the blue," she explained.
"Hence the blue," said the now-awed werewolf.

Awed as in astonished. Not odd as in strange. She'd always felt a little of odd. Out of place. Like she didn't quite fit in in regular-
"I'm gonna stop you right there," the river interrupted the narrator's kinda messy joke.
"Huh?" said the werewolf.
"You need to stop. You're not special," said the river to the werewolf's face.
"Excuse me?! I'm a were-"
"I don't care. For millennia I've been here and literally every single fucking person who has come to this god damn river has felt lost, out of place. Different."
"Oh. It sounds sad."
"No, it's exhausting. And stupid."
"Oh, but I'm not stupid. I'm a totally unique-"
"Fourteen," interrupted the river again. She's awfully interrupty.
"What?"
"Fourteen fucking teen werewolves have stood exactly where you're standing."
"Oh, I-"
"And that's just this decade. I've also seen ten vampires, three lizard people and once, the Loch Ness Monster. Not to mention the drifters, ex-cons, soul searchers and artists - don't get me fucking started on the fucking artists."
"You sure swear a lot," observed the werewolf.
"God damn fucking right I do. I'm a fucking river. What're you gonna fucking do? Stop drinking my damn water?"
"None of this is really helping me."
"It's not supposed to. I do not care about you at all."
"Geez! What if I just kill myself?!"
"I hope you do. There's a whole river in front of you. Jump in and drown. I'll flush your shitty corpse into the sea. Then you're Poseidon's problem."
Nothing from the werewolf.
"That's what I thought," the river said, spitting at the werewolf's feet. "Now don't you have somewhere else to be?"
"Oh, dip! School!" The werewolf ran off.
"Pussy," the river said, merging again with the water.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Wait a minute," said the handsome, young, possibly underage vampire, "Are you telling me that instead of banging the person everyone thought I was banging, I was banging her mother?"
"Who's 'everyone'?" asked Tina.
"Oh, I-"
"Doesn't matter," she said, "Yes."
"Okee doke."

"Say," Tina began, "What's your name, you handsome and probably emotionally complex teenager with parents that don't understand you?"
"Me?" asked the vampire - you know, the only other person in the room where the sex was, "I'm Jonathan."
Wait for it.
"Jonathan Mooseknuckles."
"I'll remember that name," said Tina, "Sounds important. Now, are you ready to pork me again?" she said, breathing huskily into his ear.
"Where'd all this shucked corn come from?" Jonathan asked.
"Oh, I needed the husks for my breath. I can stop if you want."
"No," he responded, "It turns out naked corn is a turn-on for me."
"Jiffy pop!" yelled Tina before they reporked.
The corn came in handy.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Look. I'm an unreliable narrator.
You're just going to have to accept it.

CHAPTER SIX

"Oh man, that was so good. My privates are so slammed," she said.
"Yeah, I know," he said, vampiricly, "I've been practicing with, you know, like, books and movies and props and such."
"And such?" she asked, askingly.
"Yeah. You know, well, like straps and things."
"Oh, OK," she said with her mouth.
"Do you know my daughter?" she continued, "She's a werewolf. I'm Tina."