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.