CHAPTER THIRTY

Shersh stepped into her empty home.
"Mom, I'm ho- ...oh, right. This is going to take some getting used to."
She dropped her bookbag at the door and stomped up to her room.
Throwing herself on the bed, she first sighed with the weight of the world, then screamed at the man in her room. Then demurred.
"Oh, hey Jonathan Mooseknuckles. I didn't expect to see you here."
"Sup."
"Cuz it's my room and all."
"Oh, I was just..." he started, closing the top drawer of Shersh's dresser slyly, "I was just... is this not my room?"
"No," said Shersh, "It's mine."
"Rightio. Well, I've been bewitched by you since the moment you noticed me in the hallway before, or whatever." He slid close to her, "But what if this were our room?"
"Ew," said Shersh, "That was super douchey."
"Yeah, well, I'm kinda trying to tap dance around explaining what I was doing in here."
He brought his clenched fist to his nose and inhaled deeply.
"Not that I'm not into it," she said, "It's just... things are weird."
She thought of that lusty, musty-gym wolf romp from earlier.
"Oh, with your mom dead and all?" offered Jonathan.
"Oh, right."
She thought further. Here was the strapping Jonathan Mooseknuckles standing before her. Shirtless, for some reason, and sniffing his fist again.
And where was Vonce? She'd just come home for the first time since her mom died and where was he?
Probably overlooking a majestic canyon in that jacket and thinking about the world while the sun set.
And here she was. Alone. In her time of need.
No. That's not right. Not alone.
"Come here," she said to Jonathan Mooseknuckles.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

This chapter starts with a person monologuing, but we don't know who is speaking yet. Mysterious, hmm? Intriguing!
"A queef," the speaker began, "Is a pussy fart."
"That's what I figured," said the other mysterious conversational participant.
"Yes, I know. I chose the word carefully.
"You see, 'queef' is one of those words... you can just tell what it means. It has that feeling, you know?  'Fuck' isn't like that. 'Fuck' is good, you know, it's visceral. You can picture fucking. But there are different kinds of fucking. Fuck can be angry, aggressive, joyful, weird. And so using 'fuck' can invoke any of those feelings.
"'Queef' only means the one thing.
"I'd like to think that there's some language, maybe a tribe those linguists care about in Papua/New Guinea, where 'queef' means something benign. Like 'butter' or 'read a book.' So then if, say, one of those tribesmen came to America and went to a juice bar in the early afternoon in Los Angeles, they'd hear something like "Oh man, my husband took me from behind this morning and I totally read a book at bikram. Like a huge book."
"Miss Professor?" asked Douche or Douché or whatever.
"What, Douche?" Miss Professor exhaled.
"While queefs have a loose biological connection, I question the value of this rant in a high school biology class."

Douche was sent to the principal's office.

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.