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 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 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 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 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.