As they have been every year, the rising juniors of Cavelier Highschool are being provided a new printing of the student handbook, accounting for changing staff and new district bylaws and some new very pointed rules about exactly who is permitted in which bathrooms.
This particular book's cover appears to be a misprint, CMYK all disjoint, but apart from the slightly dizzying misalignment it appears entirely ordinary.
It lands on its appointed desk, and the student passing out books moves on.
Because Camillo is bored, and also a compulsive rule-follower, he flips through the booklet.
Because he's bored, and also seventeen, he draws dicks in the margins, and underlines disseminate and assessment and meningococcal, and edits a particular section heading:
Use by of Students During and After School
As the book falls shut, the full weight of early-morning torpor descends on Camillo. The room is warm and quiet, whispered side chatter overlaid with the drone of the homeroom teacher.
He can put his head down on the desk for a minute. Just for a minute. Better now than in history.
As the homeroom teacher comes down the row with another handout,
Canillo gets a kick in the ankle across the aisle from a good Samaritan.
He kicks back, automatically, before sitting a little more upright and mouthing sorry, thanks.
A grin, and a thumbs-up.
(There’s a red plastic band on his wrist today, the kind they use at water parks and hospitals.)
...eyebrow raise.
Cutting gesture across wrist.
He seems confused, and tilts his head, before the teacher passes between them.
The rest of the class period is, tragically, orientation, but Z hangs back by the door at the end as usual.
"Hey.
You been, you know...?"
(The gesture, again.)
“…sure, but not, like, extra.”
They’re walking in the same direction for a little while, thankfully.
"You need to do that less."
“But I’ve got so much free time.”
"Maybe if you did your homework..."
“But then they’d take me out of the PSP.”
He wiggles the wrist with the red band demonstratively.
"Is this a new thing? I didn't finish reading the handbook."
He looks unsure how to proceed, for a moment, half-smiling uncertainly like he’s trying to figure out the joke, before something else gets his attention.
“Of course you read the fucking handbook.”
"Someone has to know what the rules are."
He laughs, and punches him affectionately in the arm.
“I can’t believe I hang out with you.”
"Good heavens! Violence! A violation of rule 36, subsection F!"
Pffff.
He makes a grab for Camillo’s hand,
and then remembers where they are, and shoves his hand firmly in his pocket instead.
Camillo takes advantage of the crowded hallway to walk close enough to bump shoulders with him.
"Speaking of homework. Did you actually bring yours, today?"
“I gotta go to my locker.”
He sprints the other way down the hallway.
...on the one hand, this is going to make him late for class.
On the other hand, dollars to doughnuts, Z is going to get to his locker and forget why he's there.
Camillo follows him.
Z is in the process of entering his locker combination when Camillo shows up.
“—you didn’t have to come,” he says, and then stares at the lock for a moment in despair before starting from the beginning.
"I will take any excuse to miss getting my quiz back, Mr. Harding always hands them out face-up and I don't know if it's worse when I have an A+ or an F."
“Like you ever fail.”
The lock clicks open, and Z peers into his backpack.
“…uh, what was I—”
"Homework. One time I filled in all the answers one off."
“Homework,” he confirms, and after a moment of searching he pulls a notebook out of the backpack.
“Did he let you fix it?”
"...in retrospect I should probably have asked."
“Man, you need to stick up for yourself.”
He pushes his locker shut and heads back down the hall.
"It was fair! My answers were wrong!"
“Your answers weren’t wrong, dude, your bubbles were.”
"Debatable."
“…well, your bubbles were more wrong, I guess.”
This is where Z has to break off and, after a brief wave, sprint up the stairs to his next class.
Time for chemistry!
(He has an A- on the quiz. It goes in the bottom of his backpack, on top of the student handbook, so he doesn't have to look at the offensive grade any more.)
Z is waiting in their usual spot at lunch.
By the time Camillo sits down, he’s already through most of his sandwich, and is wolfing down the rest of his lunch as fast as possible.
Camillo deconstructs his own sandwich, and nudges the offensive components (tomato slices, the bun with mayo on it) onto Z's plate.
"Did you remember to turn in your homework?"
Ooh, free food. He disappears that too.
“Yep,” he says, a little triumphantly, through a bite of tomato.
"Nice. Since when do you have an appetite, did you skip breakfast?"
He swallows.
“I’ve got a bathroom shift. No time to enjoy the scenery.”
"TMI, dude, I'm eating."
He laughs, shoves him a little, and then stands up, tossing him the packet of cookies out of his lunch box before heading down the hall.
He’s still not back after fifteen minutes.
It occurs to Camillo to wonder if "bathroom shift" meant "drop the kids off at the pool" or, like, "do hard drugs." Probably he should go find out if it meant "do hard drugs."
He crams the last of the cookies into his mouth and goes Z-hunting.
He does find him — in the first bathroom he checks, too!
He’s knelt up against the wall by the urinals, getting his throat fucked by a bored-looking senior with one eye on his phone.
There are a few more people in line.
Okay so like.
Number one: hot.
Number two: what.
Number three: it's not like this is, necessarily, totally unprecedented behavior. He would not necessarily have been flabbergasted to find Z sucking dick in the bathroom. But, like ... in a stall. Like a normal person. With one dude. Maybe two, if it was his birthday or something.
Number four: wait, he said shift. Is this a thing Z's doing? Is he charging? Is this sex work? Oh god is his friend a survival sex worker?
Number five: how come he wasn't informed?
Number six: is this even consensual? Did these guys just jump him? That might be Z's number one fantasy but that doesn't make it okay!
Number seven -- and for some reason this is the one that comes out of his mouth --
"--really, dude? On your phone?"
The guy looks aside at him, annoyed.
“What?”
(An exaggerated moan plays quietly from the phone’s tinny speakers.)
Well now he's committed to this angle, apparently.
"Do you seriously have to watch porn to get it up for a blowjob? That's pretty fucking pathetic."
This downgrades the boy’s apparent mood to “annoyed and contemptuous”.
“Uh, yeah. Because I’m not a complete faggot.”
One of the boys in line snickers.
Despite his current situation, Z is managing to shoot him a very familiar “dude, why” look.
"Your dick is literally in a dude's mouth right now, you moron," Camillo says, because how do you not say that under the circumstances, and then punches him in the face.
The guy, perhaps predictably, punches back. And then punches back again.
Why!
Z, because he is a good friend, pulls the (swearing and yelling) dude off Camillo before he can do any more damage.
This very rapidly attracts attention from the hallway. There are already a couple of students peering in the door.
Camillo has literally never gotten into a fistfight in his life.
"Fucking ow," he says, pulling himself up from the floor, and then adds, "that's a very rude word," for good measure.
“What, faggot?” the guy repeats, mostly to be contrary.
Camillo wearily takes another swing at him.
His fellow student returns the favor.
This time, the ones who pull them apart are the security guards, and they’re both marched down the hall to the principal’s office.
Camillo takes this with the attitude of a martyr being escorted into the Coliseum.
(He is going to get expelled and then he'll never get into college and he won't be able to get a job and he'll starve on the street lighting matches one by one to keep himself warm.)
They are both, without room to get a word in edgewise, roundly reprimanded — especially Camillo, who “should know better”.
They are also both suspended for the next three days. Camillo is told to sit in the office until his parents can come to take him home.
Camillo says "but--" and "he--" and "I--" and "you--" and then resigns himself to sitting sulkily in the office texting Z.
dude wtf
you first!!!
no I'm pretty sure you first!!!!!
i’m not the one who punched a guy
he said the f word!!!
like the bad one!!
twice!!!!
yeah like i’m not saying i’m a fan of the guy
but you were already starting shit before bathroom slur time
okay but like
since when do you spend lunch period sucking dick
and not even invite me
dude i told you i had a shift
???????????
that was not NEARLY enough information
seriously dude it's cool if you're taking 'school bicycle' to a whole new level but you have GOT to get some self-worth and make them get off their phones first
There’s a ten-minute pause.
dude you’re acting really weird
are you feeling ok
???????????????????????????????
is this about the fight
that is objectively a fighting word
i mean kinda??
Another pause.
but also this is not a new thing and like obviously wasn’t my idea and you’re being weird about it
and not in the you way
ok shit wait what
shit
dude i'm sorry
shit do you like
need help
are you ok
sorry dumb question
what can i do
An even longer pause.
dude
it’s just psp stuff i’m not like getting human trafficked
seriously are you ok
NO
are you in a gang or a frat or what?????
wtf is psp
Z is taking a while to respond this time.
wait is psp a drug
is this a drug thing
dude
dude you can't leave me hanging like this
peer service program???
dude i’m not gonna call your dad but this is freaking me out
okay either someone is fucking with you or you are fucking with me
wait are YOU fucking with ME
NO
THAT WOULD NOT BE FUNNY
ok it’s in the student handbook and i’m not having a psychotic break
...Camillo consults the student handbook.
(He knew he should finish reading this thing.)
Flipping through it, he won’t see any of his underlines or scribbled dicks. The pages are clean and new, like they’ve never been written on.
And on the page where he made a correction —
Use of Students During and After School (PSP)
Certain students (those enrolled in a PSP for disciplinary reasons) will be accessible for peer relief throughout the day at lunch and rest breaks, and after school. Enrolled students are required to remain in their assigned areas as scheduled.
The following areas will be staffed, whenever possible, by a PSP-enrolled student:
…
...Camillo counts his fingers until he gets the same result three times and feels confident he isn't dreaming.
Then he writes the sky is green in the margin of the book, just in time for his dad to arrive, looking disappointed, and escort him to the car.
The sky does not, in fact, turn green.
But when he opens the book again, there is a quote block at the top of the page, among the other slightly glurgey inspirational messages.
He says the earth is an oval marble that nobody can win. He says the sky is not blue and the grass is not green. He says everything is a matter of perception.
- Sherman Alexie
Incredible.
(He glowers out the car window at the irritatingly blue sky.)
hey i'm really sorry about this but shit has gotten super super weird for me all of a sudden
can i get you to answer some deeply bizarre questions and not, like, freak out or call my parents
i will owe you so many
hey what are friends for
you are the actual best
how long has the psp been a thing
uh
don't know off the top of my head but like it was a thing freshman year so...at least two whole years i guess
i'm pretty sure they've been doing it for a while?
okay
thanks
Time travel! No problem. This is great and he is not panicking at all.
Camillo flips to the first page of the handbook, crosses out Cavelier in the title, and writes in Dickbutt.
He closes the book.
He opens it again.
He has so much power.
so uh
what's the name of our school
are you just trying to get me to send you dickbutt out of context
no but that would admittedly be hilarious
He crosses out "dickbutt" and rewrites "cavelier."
...and looks at his text history.
Z’s message has been replaced.
cavelier. why
I will definitely explain when I am finished figuring it out
Back to the title page.
Under Cavelier High School, he writes, in his best handwriting, for immortal teens.
This time, when he opens the handbook again, there is a long horizontal bar underneath, containing “for immortal teens” in very pale grey.
Over the bar, in miniscule text, is written
PENDING
and to its right, greyed out,
0%
God fucking dammit why does his phenomenal cosmic power have loading bars.
okay so like
i would love to tell you what's going on
but i have no idea and also you are literally not going to believe me
try me
i’ve seen movies
i don't have, like
evidence
gotta start somewhere right
pinky promise not to call the nice men in white coats
man i wouldn’t sell you out like that
if you have brain chips i support you
Here goes nothing.
i changed the name of our school to dickbutt
and then back
and you thought it was normal both times
ok one how did you change the name of our school
two lol
three i don’t remember literally any of that
yeah about that last
psp didn't exist yesterday
oops
what
on which note
one more weird science please
can you cross out cavelier on the first page of your student handbook
and write something else
literally anything
dickbutt is fine
ok done
Camillo checks his own copy.
Okay. Thank fuck. The entire junior class has not been endowed with phenomenal cosmic powers.
thanks
so uh
i guess yours is ... not magic
your handbook is magic
i am aware of how bullshit this sounds
yeah kinda
but awesome if true
brb parents
Camillo's parents, it transpires, are not impressed with his explanation for the fight. They are even less impressed when he isn't interested in writing a letter of apology to the other boy involved. Electronics are confiscated. Groundings are issued.
The next time Camillo sees Z is three days later, at school.
In the hall before class, Z looks extremely relieved to see him in person.
"Hey. Grounded for life?"
"Hypothetically grounded for a month. In practice my mom will probably change her mind in like a week. How are you ... doing?"
“Not bad. Really curious.”
"Can't blame you. Please tell me you can, like ... see this."
He flips his handbook open to the title page.
Cavelier High School
pending
for immortal teens ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ 0%
pending
in memory of Joe Cavelier, eradicator of malaria ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ 0%
pending
offering automatic admission to the Ivy Leagues since 1999 ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ 1%
~~~ World peace begins with inner peace. ~~~
~~~ If you want to feel rich, just count the things you have that money can't buy.~~~
"...h...uh."
"If I get too ambitious it does the loading bars. If I go totally unrelated to the school it does inspirational quotes."
"...your third thing was the Ivies?"
"Look."
"This is how I know you're not just fucking with me."
"...did you do anything that worked?"
"Yeah. You know how school didn't start at eight this morning?"
"...it started at eight?"
"You're welcome!"
"Kids already get up at six to get on the bus!"
"It was exactly as terrible as it sounds."
"Thank you, gracious overlord."
"Also, the last time I saw you, you had, like. Three less piercings."
His hand goes up automatically to the line of helix piercings down his right ear.
"...how'd you do that?"
"Dress code!"
"They can't ban ear piercings anymore. There's, like, a religious freedom thing—"
"...I guess that didn't exist, either," he says, slowly.
"There's a -- did I make there be a religion??"
"I...think it was a tribe or something? Maybe they were just extra oppressed before."
"I'm not ready for this much great responsibility."
Neither is Z!!!!
"What did you even do? Was there, like, an idol or something? Magic lamp? Spooky artifact store?"
"No! I got my handbook like everyone else and I wrote in a dick joke and next thing I knew you were sucking dick in the bathroom!"
"...you're sure this is actually happening, right?" he says, weakly.
"I am willing to entertain the hypothesis that I am stark raving mad."
"...cool. Because I'm gonna go in with you on this as long as we both know it's maybe insane."
"You are the best friend anyone has ever had and I'm gonna cry like a girl in front of everyone."
He snorts and grabs him to hug him. There is a light noogie involved.
"Gah! I take it back! You're the worst! The worst!"
"Nope! No take-backs! I'm the best!"
When he finally lets go to sit back against the wall, he's still grinning a little.
"...so. If you could change one thing about school...."
He ponders this.
"...I'm not gonna remember once you change it, right?"
"I can tell you about it. But yeah."
"...can't move us out of Texas, right?"
He plays with his earrings a little more.
"...I mean. The handbook does have the address in it."
"...would that move us, too, or..."
"I have no idea!"
"The real problem is people being assholes, anyway. Which is kind of a constant."
"I mean, I can try adding 'rule zero: don't be an asshole' to the handbook."
He snorts.
"...it'd be cool to have less homework to forget," he ventures.
"Yeah, you know what, that's a great idea."
Homework (All Grade Levels)
Homework is an integral part of any successful our educational system, and students will need are encouraged to complete all most assigned work.
Homework is a strategy that is designed to reinforce what your child has learned and provide the opportunity to practice what your child has learned in the classroom.
We feel strongly that it is the responsibility of all parties involved including teachers, students, and especially parents to encourage daily completing assign no more than one hour a day of homework assignments across all classes.
In the event a student fails to complete assignments for some reason, he or she may be subject to disciplinary action given a cookie.
"...uh – I feel like I just came up with something but then I lost it."
"...yep. That's because I just changed it."
He shows the book to Z.
"...which part?"
"The homework policy. Basically the -- entire thing. You wanted less."
"...yeah, that sounds like me – how much did we have before?"
"Like ... three hours a night, maybe? And then half the time you forget to turn it in on time so you get a C on an A homework."
"—three hours? For real?"
"Honestly I can't believe that worked -- did the cookie thing go through--"
"...I mean...it's not in the rules. But, uh, Mr. Teegarden had me stay back during lunch once, to, like — check up, when I kept forgetting stuff — and he gave me this shortbread thing..."
"Lucky," Camillo sighs.
"You have such a fucking crush."
"I admire him! As a teacher!"
"I mean, sure, you're gay and a nerd."
"I can look up to someone without it being gay! Not everything is about dick!"
Even if Mr. Teegarden probably has a gorgeous one.
"Yeah, but you think about dick like 60 percent of the time. It's just statistics."
"Like forty percent at most."
"Yeah, I'll take it."
He's started to flip through the handbook, glancing over the different sections.
"Do you think it would be terribly wrong to edit the dress code. Like -- recreationally."
"...like, to what. Because this already sounds ethically weird but also pretty hot."
"...no shirts? Leather pants? I'm taking suggestions."
"...man, I'm just gonna think it's normal no matter what, right? I don't know whether that's depressing or kinky."
"...I guess we could make a rule banning something. And then it wouldn't be normal."
"...I guess. Does it work like that?"
"Literally how would I know."
"Science. Obviously."
"I was holding off a little bit on the science in the interest of not going completely Batman-villain-style off the deep end while I was grounded."
"Legit," he allows.
"Do you know — what happens if you change something and then change it back?"
"Our school seems pretty solidly not named Dickbutt High."
The moment of trying not to crack up in the hallway is painful.
"Okay, so — ban jelly bracelets or something."
"That just sounds like something they'd do anyway."
"So pick something totally harmless. —like, that they know is totally harmless."
"... you know, that's harder than it sounds ... uh. B...elts?"
"Go for it."
Students should not wear clothes so revealing, or in such a state of disrepair, as to distract from the educational environment. Parents are cautioned that halter tops, fish-net type shirts, bare midriff tops, tops or dresses with extreme necklines, dresses with high slits, belts, and extremely tight pants tend to distract from the educational setting and are not permitted.
He also crosses out the section of the dress code that bans long hair on boys, as a little treat for himself.
The universe seems to feel very strongly that Camillo should take a little nap.
Right now.
"--okay this is really exciting science but I got up for school that started at eight and I have got to go fall asleep on my first period desk. Continue later?"
A thumbs up, and a wave.
He should really pay attention in this class, one of these days.
Not today, though.
When he wakes up, no one in class is wearing a belt. Although, if anyone were wearing a belt before he woke up, would he remember?
(One of the boys is also sporting a floppy skater haircut a little too long for the old rules.)
Really, universe? No manbuns? No little ponytails? His life is a travesty.
He texts Z, phone inside his desk.
hey
hey
tell me how you feel ........ about BELTS
what
they’re hot obviosuly
why
is this a magic book thing
cool it worked!
yeah i banned them
ok if i change it back now
oh Nice
do it do it do it
Students should not wear clothes so revealing, or in such a state of disrepair, as to distract from the educational environment. Parents are cautioned that halter tops, fish-net type shirts, bare midriff tops, tops or dresses with extreme necklines, and dresses with high slits, belts, and extremely tight pants tend to distract from the educational setting and are not permitted.
To Z:
hey
hey
tell me how you feel ... about BELTS
what
uh great sometimes i guess
i like gothy ones, they hold my pants up
you can hit people with them which is cool
did you already do the thing i don’t feel different
yeah you thought they were super hot
and got all excited about me changing it back
awww nice
i'm living his best life
btw how long is your hair
inquiring minds want to know
depends
which side
...long side
shoulder
niiiiice
you saw this like just now
from my pov anyway
MAGIC
Z has to stop texting now because if he laughs he will definitely get caught.
Possession and Use of Personal Telecommunications Devices, Including Cell Phones, and Other Electronic Devices
The district permits students to possess and use personal cell phones for safety purposes; however, these devices must remain turned off during the instructional day, including during all testing, unless they are being used for approved instructional purposes. [For graphing calculator applications on computing devices, see Textbooks, Electronic Textbooks, Technological Equipment, and Other Instructional Materials on page 50.]
...wait, no. Better.
Possession and Use of Personal Telecommunications Devices, Including Cell Phones, and Other Electronic Devices
The district permits recognizes the legal right of students to possess and use personal cell phones for safety purposes; however, these devices must remain turned off during the instructional day, including during all testing, unless they are being used for approved instructional purposes. [For graphing calculator applications on computing devices, see Textbooks, Electronic Textbooks, Technological Equipment, and Other Instructional Materials on page 50.]
Ha. Take that.
In short order, Kamil gets a selfie.
Z’s hair is, in fact, shaved entirely on one side, the rest pulled into a messy ponytail behind him. He still has the extra piercings.
I forgive my magic book for the loading bars
no I don't
but I'm thinking about it
Hmmmm. He flips the book open again, and gets to work on the electronic devices policy.
A student must have approval to possess other personal telecommunications devices such as laptops, tablets, or other portable computers ansibles.
If he's already got time travel, why not faster-than-light communication? For that matter...
The use of cell phones or any device capable of capturing images personal teleporters is strictly prohibited in locker rooms or restroom areas while at school or at a school-related or school-sponsored event.
What else does Star Trek have to suggest.
If a student uses a telecommunications device replicator without authorization during the school day, the device will be confiscated. The student/parent may pick up the confiscated telecommunications device replicator from the principal’s office for a fee of $15.
This is fun.
Confiscated telecommunications devices that are not retrieved by the student or the student’s parent pet robo-dog will be disposed of after the notice required by law. [See policy FNCE for more information.]
Okay, okay, great power, great responsibility, he's being good.
...okay, just one irresponsible one.
Students must obtain prior approval to use personal telecommunications or other personal electronic devices vibrators for instructional purposes while on campus. Students must also sign a user agreement that contains applicable rules for use (separate from this handbook).
Seems like a good time to take a nap.
Goddammit his narcolepsy isn't usually this bad ohhhhh. Oh okay that's probably a magic thing isn't it. That would make sense.
Zzz.
When Camillo wakes up, a few minutes later, there are no immediately obvious changes. No robo-dogs patrolling the classroom, at least.
But he wanted a pet robo-dog.
He consults his handbook.
Pending.
Pending.
Pending.
Pending.
And…
Students must obtain prior approval to use personal vibrators for instructional purposes while on campus. Students must also sign a user agreement that contains applicable rules for use (separate from this handbook).
Of course.
Camillo (who has resigned himself to not learning any social studies today) texts Z again.
okay I am TRYING to be responsible but this thing is making it so hard
haha, hard
I put in like six things and the only one that went through was the kinky sex one
what things
FTL and teleporters and replicators and pet robots
and uh
don't laugh
wait nvm you think it's normal
school vibrators
wait were vibrators a scifi thing until just now
seriously
no no no
just not uh
school .... appropriate
damn
misogynistic as fuck
alk;sjdf
I typed that out on a touch screen just for you
BOYS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE JERKING OFF AT SCHOOL EITHER
what did you do, go home
oh my god this universe is so beautiful
no dude you just waited till after school
or I guess in your world you
oh shit
dude do I have to like
turn off the psp
yeah, probably
i know some kids who are kind of fucked up about it
well now I feel like a terrible person
And he didn't even get to have any fun with it. (Which is a terrible thing to think.)
He finds the relevant page, crosses out of, and writes by.
The page reverts neatly to its previous version (after a quick nap).
And then it's passing period.
okay so recap, idk how much of this you remember
I have a magic school handbook
no one else remembers the things I change with it
(no I'm not fucking with you)
I accidentally changed a thing and suddenly the school had students sucking dick in the bathroom
ran into you doing that
flipped out
you thought it was normal
and were confused
I explained about the magic book thing
we've been messing with it all morning
then I realized I should change the bathroom thing back
please don't flip out
swear to god you’re not fucking with me?
scout's honor
uh school used to start at 8 and we had like 3 hours of homework and no piercings or long hair for boys and no cell phones in class
and no one jerked off at school
I mean like they did secretly in the bathroom but you weren't SUPPOSED to
I realize this is maybe crazy
but not fucking with you
swear to god
cool. i trust you
also what the hell
you are a really unreasonably good friend
I tried making people immortal and stuff but that gets loading bars
I can show you those at lunch
is it cool that people jerk off at school or should I change that back
did they just like go home before
how did anybody survive all day
yeah don’t change that back
ok cool
I feel really bad about the bathrooms thing
like no one remembers it but apparently it fucked people up
was this like mandatory dicksucking or something
I guess it was a disciplinary thing?
idk man I wrote a free use joke in my handbook and it ... filled in the details
so like i definitely am not gonna ask you to put that back
but it sounds really hot and i want to
This does, in fact, make him feel a little better. At least Z doesn't think he's a terrible person.
a dude fucked your throat while watching porn on his phone
and then claimed it didn't make him a
homosexual
he didn't say homosexual
oh my god my life was free use porn
brb
wait for me
you're in bio, right?
If he gets in trouble he can always change the school rules.
👍
Camillo obtains a bathroom pass, and carries it in front of him to the bathroom near Z's biology classroom.
The boys’ bathroom is…bigger than it used to be. And there are more stalls, some marked with a 🚾 and some unmarked.
Z grins at him from just outside one of the unmarked stalls.
"Oh my god this is amazing -- they didn't have sex stalls, for the record, you were just out there with the urinals and a line of guys -- get in there--"
“You’re not supposed to fuck in them,” he says, half-laughing and dragging Camillo in.
There’s a simple bench that spans the back of the stall, and a dingy pump dispenser on the wall.
"How is that different -- are people in this universe really just cool with teenagers jerking off -- never mind answering just suck my dick--"
Z pushes him at the bench and drops to his knees on the floor.
“Working on it!”
The moment he gets Camillo’s pants undone, he cheerfully complies.
Z's hair is so much more convenient for wrapping his fists in, at this length.
Camillo holds Z's head tightly and moves it just how he wants it, slow at first and then faster, deeper.
(He didn't get to play with the PSP but he'll get to play next time -- he'll figure out a better way to do it, something voluntary -- maybe not too voluntary -- a little voluntary -- and he can have anything he wants if he can figure out how to do it right, he can make all the boys gay, he can make all the boys want him, he can make Z sit under his desk and suck his dick all day -- he can give himself a twelve-inch-dick and make Z worship it -- he can get an A on a test and have Mr. Teegarden tell him he's a good boy and fuck him -- he can make half the school fuck Z while he watches and Z will love it -- no more football just gangbangs, no more detentions just spankings, no more--)
"--fuck, Z--"
Z’s eyes are fluttering open and shut, and he keeps moaning a little around Camillo’s dick, taking short breaths through his nose whenever he gets a chance.
His pants are open too, now, and he’s jerking himself off desperately as Camillo fucks his face, dripping steadily onto the floor.
Moaning, Camillo thinks hypocritically, isn't very discreet of Z.
The solution to this is obviously to shove his dick down Z's throat while he comes.
Solution accepted without protest.
He swallows — he swallows a few times, actually, and then shudders and drips a little from the corners of his mouth as he comes (and comes, and comes, a dripping handful’s worth at least) on the ground.
Okay, that's really hot, but also -- "dude are you okay."
“—uh—yeah?”
He pulls back and wipes his mouth, catching his breath.
"...have you not gotten off in, like, a year, or something."
“I think it’s been, like…a day?”
He looks down.
“—ah, fuck. Condom. Every time!”
He pulls a few squares of tissue out of a dispenser to mop up.
"...okay, even for you that's not normal, and I have no idea why that would change."
“…I am pretty sure I’ve been forgetting shit my whole life.”
"No, dude, the thing where you came like a gallon."
He looks down.
And up.
And down.
And up.
"...yeah, no, that was...totally normal."
"It is super not and I'm a little concerned you're going to shrivel up like a raisin."
"Dude, you almost fucking drowned me. Like, that's not weird for you, but it definitely happened."
"Okay, that's ... also new ... and I do not remember putting that in the student handbook."
"...kinda makes it make more sense that you could just not jerk off at school."
"Oh my god, I have totally restructured society. What the hell do, like, astronauts do. What do surgeons do. Do people take a break in the middle of open heart surgery to jerk off."
The look of existential horror pairs oddly with the dick still hanging out of his pants.
"...never really thought about it. But, like, they've got to take a break to piss anyway, right?"
He pats Camillo's hand and, after a second of thought, puts his own pants all the way back on.
"What do marathoners do. Are women just better at everything because they don't have to interrupt themselves all the time. What have I done."
"Girls need to get off too!" he says, automatically.
"Okay but they don't, like! Get backed up! There's no -- ew, I don't want to think about this, dude."
"That one was one hundred percent on you."
"This is all on me! Everything is on me! I'm not ready to be Spiderman!"
"Okay. I am pretty sure this is not yet a Spiderman situation. Take a breath."
There is just enough room to squeeze onto the bench next to him.
He immediately flops against Z, head on his shoulder.
"I did time travel rape."
"You didn't do time travel rape, come on."
He puts his arm around him, as securely as he can.
"You didn't even know you — did magic, then, right?"
"...I guess."
"So you wrote something dumb in a notebook and then some bad shit happened. And then you fixed it."
"I fixed it four days later."
"...does that matter if it's time travel?"
"I don't know," he says, staring off into the middle distance. "Maybe? Maybe I murder the entire population of Earth every time I write in that book? Oh god I'm not Spiderman I'm a supervillain."
"—okay, no more thinking. Deep breathing only."
He squeezes him a little tighter.
"Bossy," Camillo mutters, but he buries his face in Z's floppy hair and takes deep breaths of reassuring friend-smell.
He just squeezes him and pets him for a little while. Poor guy has had a day.
"...it'd probably freak you out worse to cut class, huh," he says, a little resigned.
"What if I miss something important."
He ruffles his hair with his fingers.
"I'm gonna miss something important either way," he says, cheerfully.
"Haven't figured out how to make a school rule against that yet."
"You can't stop me. I'm way too powerful."
He tucks Camillo's dick back into his pants.
"The most powerful."
He zips up his pants.
"...okay, before we go back to class. You have to tell me one thing."
"—yeah?"
"What does the word bukkake mean to you?"
"–the worst! You are the worst!"
He shoves him, laughing.
"Go look it up yourself!"
"There's no way it gets through the school filters and I want to know if it's different here!"
"You have a phone! Use it!"
He drags Camillo up onto his feet.
"I can't believe you'd abandon me like this in my hour of need."
"If you want another blowjob you're gonna have to wait until lunch."
"Or alter the fabric of the universe."
"Oh, sure, take the easy way out."
He looks a little flattered.
"I -- oh, shit, bell."
The bell is in fact clamoring.
"Okay. Okay. See you at lunch!"
"Ah, shit. See you!"
He bolts.
Even breaking every rule about running in the halls, Camillo can't retrieve his abandoned backpack in time to avoid being tardy to his next class. Great.
Mr. Teegarden will be so disappointed in him.
Mr. Teegarden is, luckily for him, still taking roll when he comes in.
He pauses, briefly, to glance at him passing through the door, and a second later —
"Fitzroy?"
"Here!" By the grace of god.
"Fantastic."
And he continues on with roll.
(Mr. Teegarden thinks he's fantastic.)
(All right, it was probably sarcasm, but he'll take what he can get.)
Camillo unpacks his books, and also his student handbook, just in case. But he'll try to pay attention. Mostly. Definitely.
Once roll is called, Mr. Teegarden proceeds with, as usual, making his best attempt to squeeze some honest literary analysis out of Honors English 11.
“Show of hands, please — who’s finished the reading? Honest answers, please, this is a strictly practical question.”
Look who is a good student.
He takes a quick count.
“Excellent! Thank you all for your participation.”
He makes a note.
“Everyone who didn’t — you have the next ten minutes to catch up as much as you’re able. Everyone who did — yes! Drugs and sex featured in Chapter 3! Group up, discuss, get it out of your systems!”
Okay but he hates breaking up into small groups. He would rather sit here and think about Mr. Teegarden saying drugs and sex.
"Everyone in this book is straight and it's dumb," Camillo opines to his neighbors, flipping through chapter three and looking for inspiration.
(Most of it sounds too poorly thought-out to be a good idea, but too insipidly pleasant to be a fun idea. Centrifugal Bumble-Puppy sounds fun, though, maybe he can implement it in PE? He scribbles Cent. B-P and feelies and soma on a notecard.)
“Maybe they just didn’t show any of the gay people yet,” says the student next to him, tentatively.
“Not everything has to be gay,” says another, rolling her eyes.
"I finished the book. No gays. Just breeders," he adds, to antagonize the heterosexual who has somehow wandered into Mr. Teegarden's Flamingly Homosexual Literature Class.
“—no, they don’t have babies themselves. That was in the first chapter.”
Ginger immediately seems to realize this may have been excessively literal, and flushes, looking down at the floor.
"I know that!" he says, defensively. "So they should all be gay! Clearly Huxley didn't think this through."
“…it would be pretty weird if they were all straight,” another student admits. “Like, since they’re all supposed to be having a bunch of sex all the time anyway…”
“Most people just aren’t gay!”
"Wanna bet? -- HEY GUYS RAISE YOUR HAND IF YOU'RE GAY!"
There is, rather than a helpful count, a general uproar.
It takes their teacher a minute or two to quiet things down.
This is a minute or two for which Camillo is spared small-group discussion.
(He is incredibly smug.)
After another few minutes of argument, Mr. Teegarden stops them all to solicit insights from the class at large.
Camillo's hand is in the air immediately.
"They keep calling girls pneumatic. It's the thing where they're making humans into machines again. Which I still think is just that Huxley doesn't get people or machines. He has them massaging sunburns!"
“Good insight!”
He notes it on the board— HUMANS INTO MACHINES — “PNEUMATIC”.
“Can anyone else give me examples of the same thing from this chapter? Humans being made into machines?”
This goes on for a little while — he collects themes and examples, letting the occasional argument among the respondents play out until it veers a little too far off topic.
Camillo basks in the praise for a good five minutes before he loses the battle of self-control and surreptitiously opens his handbook back up.
(...adding "mutants" to the protected categories probably wouldn't get him X-men if it even went through, just nuclear fallout ... it would be very wrong to edit the section on corporal punishment ... probably the rules about teachers texting students are there for a good reason, and probably he couldn't get Mr. Teegarden's number anyway...)
“…before we begin, does anyone have questions?”
He has lots and lots of questions but somehow he thinks can I have your number? I know I'm the best student in the class but am I your favorite? have you ever taken off your jacket even once? what's your middle name? have you ever heard of grindr and would you consider getting on it? would it be terribly wrong of me to alter the universe so I can suck your dick? wouldn't entirely fly.
By way of substitute, he wracks his brain for questions about the reading, but he can't come up with anything better than why is Huxley so mad about people having nice things all the time? which isn't exactly an impressive literary analysis question, so he keeps his mouth shut.
“Then I’ll leave you to it. You have twenty minutes!”
He surveys the class once more, as notebook paper rustles, and then steps carefully out the door and shuts it behind him.
....shit shit shit he was not paying attention and, in retrospect, should have had questions like what are we doing and did you say anything important in the first part of class.
He nudges Ginger. "What are we doing?"
“—oh! It’s, um, we’re picking two or three of the themes off the board and writing a paragraph. About a point he might be making with them all together. Do you need some paper?”
"I'm good. Thanks."
Ginger is a sweetheart. And the assignment isn't bad. He can write about ... technology and religion? Too easy. Extended adolescence? No he hates that shit. Individuality versus mass production, okay, and -- sterility? consumerism? -- where is Mr. Teegarden, shouldn't he be proctoring -- bathroom, probably -- right, individuality versus mass production and consumerism, that works well --
-- oh, god, is he in the bathroom like that, it's not like passing periods are enough time, right, teachers must need to use the other stalls too --
-- consumerism! Okay citations citations he has to say something about the centrifugal whatchamacallit, and about the surnames -- does that really tie in with consumerism though -- but there's something to be said about Marx -- that's a paper not a paragraph -- the clothes, the obsolescent clothes and the obsolescent people and Mr. Teegarden in the bathroom, one hand on the wall and his pants unfastened, head hanging down, breathing a little heavy -- focus -- everyone belongs to everyone else --
-- he could just change something for a minute, some rule that would let him go make himself useful, something like the PSP, he could go help Mr. Teegarden in the bathroom and then he could change it back and it would never have happened, no one harmed, no one would know --
In Huxley's Brave New World, says his paper, and then a blank expanse.
Mr. Teegarden returns to the room and takes a seat at his desk.
Oh no oh no oh no oh no.
Two minutes left.
He should write something quickly but he's panicking. In Huxley's Brave New World ... people do things ... mass-production ... shit, shit, what rule can he change to fix this -- it won't help if he makes the rules say that he can't get in trouble for not writing it, that's not what he's worried about, he can't make a rule that Mr. Teegarden won't look at it -- wait maybe he can -- what the hell is it going to do to the world if he makes a rule that teachers can't look at students' assignments--
“All right — make sure your name is on your paper and pass it to the front, please.”
In an act of desperation, he passes his paper to the front unattributed.
Papers are passed and collected.
The rest of the class period is, apparently, open for reading. Mr. Teegarden thumbs through the papers at the front of the class as his students take out either their books or their phones.
Phone. Google.
B-U-K-K-A-K-E.
The very first image result is a young woman dripping white from head to toe, tongue out, beaming and flashing peace signs.
It looks like this is roughly the same as it is on earth, just…more so. (There is a truly incredible video, thumbnails of which are linked often and enthusiastically, of an extremely feminine young man reclining in a clawfoot tub, painting his nails as man after man approaches the tub and comes into it. There is vigorous debate about how much if any of the fluid filling the tub was fake.)
...okay that's pretty incredible.
Also it's some kind of testament to the human psyche that, no matter how much people come, they'll still go okay, but what if we came way more.
......seriously, pretty incredible, though. He can watch that a few more times. For ... research.
He’s tapped on the shoulder.
“Camillo—”
He has never turned off a screen more quickly in his life.
...yeah, it didn't help, did it.
"...re...search...?" he ventures, hopefully, and then wonders why the hell he thought that would be a good thing to say.
“…do you happen to have a paragraph for me?”
Wow, this interaction somehow got worse.
"Nosir."
“…please see me after class.”
He makes his way back to the front of the room.
Not now, boner.
He waits at his desk, when the bell rings and the rest of the class files out.
Camillo shuffles over, clutching his book bag in front of him.
…he sighs.
“I’m going to put this all down to a very bad day.”
"It has been a hell of a day," he says, and then, more appropriately, "thank you, Mr. Teegarden."
“You’re quite welcome. —I do have to stress that you absolutely cannot watch pornography in class.”
"It won't," he begins, and then realizes with a painful clarity that it absolutely will happen again, and finishes lamely, "...be ... a thing ... you see... again."
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“…if there’s something happening in your life, and you need to talk to someone, you know where to find me. I know it’s not ideal, but — know it’s there if you need it.”
He has a moment of desperate, beautiful hope. He could tell an adult. He could do the responsible thing with his phenomenal cosmic power. He could not be a supervillain.
...except that Mr. Teegarden isn't Z, and isn't going to take his word on this. So until he can figure out some way to prove things ... no dice.
"Thank you," he says, and flees to lunch.
Z is waiting in their usual spot, looking vaguely self-satisfied. He waves him over.
"My life has gotten so stressful. Hi," he says, sliding in.
“—ooh. New book stuff?”
"Not even. Mr. Teegarden kept me after class. You look like the cat who ate the canary."
“What even happened? — guess you probably need this extra now. Sorry.”
He digs in his backpack for a second, and produces a truly enormous chocolate bar, only a little scuffed and lead-marked by its time living in a backpack.
"...aww, hey, what's this all about?"
“You had a panic attack about being Spiderman, like, an hour ago. It’s emergency chocolate time.”
"I would literally die for you, you know that?"
“See, that’s the kinda thing we’re trying to avoid.”
He unwraps the chocolate and proffers a piece.
He's not about to turn down chocolate.
"Want to help me revise the universe?"
“You know it.”
"Okay, so here's what I'm thinking. There's a whole section on child sex trafficking -- I guess just taking that out won't get rid of it, but there's gotta be something we can do. Required vaccinations -- we could add some they don't have yet, right? Unless that would make those diseases worse or something? And I kind of want to add a dress code for teachers. Plus, you know, taking ideas."
“—hang on, you gotta tell me how this works. You just — write stuff in and it’s a rule?”
"Right, sorry, other timeline -- yeah. Unless it's too fancy, and then it gets a loading bar, or it turns into an inspirational quote."
He shows him the front page.
“…your third thing was—”
"Oh my god would you give it a rest."
“—what?”
"You said the exact same fucking thing last time."
“…aw, man, I’m gonna run out of new jokes and not even know.”
"What, you have new jokes? -- anyway I can't just, like, make a rule against bad things happening or something, it doesn't grant wishes it makes school rules -- we did an experiment where I banned belts and it made you horny for them."
“What? Nice.”
He puts his chin in his hand, contemplating possibilities.
“Can you just — get rid of stuff? You said you fixed the thing where you weren’t allowed to jerk off at school, right?”
"I mean, there wasn't a rule against it -- not in the handbook -- I just put vibrators on the list of electronic devices and I guess it, like, extrapolated -- but, sure, I can get rid of rules. Except maybe then that changes things so people weren't trying to do it? I dunno. Worked fine when I got rid of the rules against long hair for guys, I guess."
“Huh. Guess it’s kind of a gamble.”
“…they seriously didn’t even have a rule about it?”
"...I mean I feel like you would have gotten in trouble if anyone caught you? But how would they even know?"
“I don’t know, man, how do people get in trouble for fucking on the roof? They can smell it or something. Like sharks.”
"...designated fucking zones."
“…I’m listening.”
"...okay, okay: designated sexual instruction zones."
“That kinda seems less like a zone than a class—”
“…buuut you can’t get Mr. Teegarden to teach Sex Ed.”
"Like hell I can't. The handbook has names of people in charge of some things."
“—hang on, weren’t we in the middle of curing AIDS or something?”
"Right! Yes! AIDS vaccine! I love it. Want to do the honors?"
“—hell yes I do.”
He flips through the book to the list of vaccinations, and pencils in “HIV” right by the end.
“…and now what.”
"Oh -- reboot to install updates." He makes a book-closing gesture with his hands.
“Cool.”
He shuts the book.
Then he peels it back open.
“…aww, man.”
Loading bar. 0%.
"Oh, come on, I can accidentally install free use but I can't do HIV vaccines? What the hell!"
“…I guess it has problems inventing stuff. Or something.”
He flips back and forth a little, scanning the pages.
"...you should change something dumb, just to see if you can remember it when you do it. Name the school dickbutt again."
THE CAVELIER DICKBUTT HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT HANDBOOK
He shuts the book.
Then he jumps a little in his seat, eyes going wide, like he’s just been stuck with a pin.
“—jesus fuck.”
"--what happened?"
“…uh…just — I definitely remember Cavelier. And I also remember…dickbutt. Which feels halfway totally normal and halfway fucking insane.”
"...okay, you have to change it back and see if you keep the memories."
He nods.
“Yeah, sure—”
He edits, closes, opens.
He sits and thinks for a minute.
“…so I can definitely, like…remember remembering it. If that makes sense.”
"At least that means you probably won't go mad with things man was not meant to know."
"...we could tell an adult, now."
It would be the responsible thing to do. And he kind of wants to. But not only would there be no more sexy shenanigans -- what if the adult did the wrong things with it? What if they were stupid, or careless, or secretly homophobic? What if they wanted to get FDA approval before using it?
“…man, I don’t know about you, but I know literally no adults who I would trust with this kind of shit.”
"It's a lot of trust," he agrees, immediately relieved. "Okay! What if we did a vaccine for something smaller? Like the common cold?"
He nods, and flips back through the handbook—
“—oh my god.”
HIV | 1%
"Oh holy shit -- wait holy shit does that mean that the other ones might get there too -- oh my god oh my god--!"
“—dude we’re attracting attention.”
They are, in fact, getting a couple of stares.
...he glances around.
"MY MATH COMPETITION WENT REALLY WELL!"
This does, at least, succeed in losing the interest of the crowd immediately.
Successful, and yet somewhat existentially depressing.
Not laughing. Supporting friend.
And then it starts catching up with him.
“…holy shit, though,” he says, as quietly as possible but with feeling.
"...yeah. Yeah."
"Give that -- no, wait, you should do it so you can remember -- put cancer and depression and -- god, what else..."
cancer, depression, ADH
He erases the last three letters.
AD
Erases them again.
multiple sclerosis
The cafeteria is not the place for hugs so Camillo gives him a sympathetic punch to the shoulder.
He seems grateful for that.
“We should, like, camp out in the library and make a list later.”
"Yeah, we should -- oh, hey, I changed the timeline, I'm probably not grounded anymore, you can come over to my place after school!"
“Oh, nice — yeah, I don’t remember you being grounded. What’d you do?”
"Punched a guy."
“—what, you? Like — I know you want to, like, all the time, but…”
"He felt it was important to express that getting a blowjob from you didn't impact his orientation. I didn't appreciate his language."
“…shit, you punched a guy for me?”
"Yeah, dude, duh. I mean also for honor and stuff but, like, I was pissed that he was watching porn on his phone while you gave him a blowjob. Some people have no taste."
“…that is pretty hot, though. But, like, in a sad way.”
"You're not wrong. Just, like, come on."
“…well. You’re great, is the point.”
He shuts the book, reopens it, fiddles with the corner of the page.
"Anything go through?"
“…nah — cancer’s pending, depression just turned into a quote…”
"Damn it -- what if we just do, like, breast cancer..."
“—sure, hold on…”
breast cancer, leukemia/lymphoma
“—wait—fuck, what if this makes cancer contagious.”
"Oh shit -- can you cross it out while it's still pending--"
“Gonna try!”
Frantic scribbling, shut and open.
“…okay. All gone.I left HIV.”
“…which is at two percent!”
"Okay that's good!!!!"
“Maybe we should, like…do some cafeteria experiments or something before we try to fix the big stuff.”
"I guess."
“Contagious cancer.”
"AIDS vaccine!"
“…chocolate ice cream.”
"...dicks."
“Aaand we’re back.”
"Are you saying you don't want dicks as a meal option."
“Dude that’s the most easily ruined wish I can imagine.”
"I wasn't going to phrase it like that!"
“How were you gonna phrase it.”
"...I hadn't gotten that far yet."
Snort.
“Problem with sucking dick through lunch is that then you don’t, like, eat.”
"Ruin all my fun, why don't you."
“Hey, that’s not a veto! Works great if you wanna skip lunch.”
"No, no, you skip lunch too much already."
"Amphetamines are great like that," he says, cheerfully.
"Man cannot live on adderall alone, dude."
"How about adderall, blowjobs and dinner?"
"No. Eat your damn lunch."
"Now who's bossy."
He will reluctantly put sandwich in his mouth. Nom.
"I'm not bossy, I'm the boss."
Sandwich. Handbook-perusal.
"So we're getting rid of the Pledge of Allegiance bullshit, right?"
"Oh, for fucking sure. I don't get how people don't realize how creepy that shit is."
"...hold on, let me look up its origin and make sure we're not reversing a decisive victory in World War Two or something."
"...yyeah let's. Wait on that, I guess."
He thumbs through pages in the meantime.
"It's cool, lemme just..."
Google is his friend.
"...yeah no it was just some dude who thought it would be a cool idea."
Pledges of Allegiance and a Minute of Silence (All Grade Levels)
Each school day, students will recite the Pledge of Allegiance to the U.S. flag and the Pledge of Allegiance to the Texas flag. Parents may submit a written request to the principal to excuse their child from reciting a pledge.
"—wait, I should get that one. So I can remember it."
"How attached are you to remembering that? Sure, I guess."
He erases his strikethrough and passes the book over.
He replaces the strikethrough.
"I wanna know how good I have it."
Book shut.
He shudders a little.
"—whoof. That one's — not as bad, actually? Still weird."
"I really hope remembering too many timelines doesn't drive you stark raving mad."
"If I start feeling the cosmos too hard, you can put some stuff back."
"Yes, because madmen are known for putting in a polite letter of notice before attempting to summon Yog Sothoth."
"You are such a nerd — I don't, like, have a line on Cthulhu and Friends. And I'm not subtle crazy."
"Exactly! How am I supposed to tell the difference?"
He can't completely contain a laugh.
"Rude."
"You've stopped eating your lunch again."
"–right. Food. Food goes in mouth."
Food does, in fact, go in mouth. He spends a few minutes focusing on that instead of improving the timeline.
Camillo eats one-handed while flipping through the book.
"...I feel like we can do something with the homelessness policy. Like -- if you're at risk of an unstable housing situation, tell us and we'll give you a house, something like that."
"—oh, yeah —maybe some form they can give you for, like, a national thing? So it's not just here?"
"Yeah! Put in 'federal law requires' or something -- okay, how is that gonna go wrong..."
"...shitty program, I guess, but that's better than nothing? House...theft?"
"...more people homeless so they need the program? Seems like a stretch, not like we don't need it now..."
"We could test it later and then fix it if it fucks things up, right?"
"Or test it now and fix it if it fucks things up!"
"Hey, it's your magic book.You're the one who's gonna have to re-explain shit to me."
"Not if you write it in!"
“…this is gonna be hard to fit.”
He readies his pencil.
“How are we gonna say it?”
"Eh, it filled in the details for the PSP, I just did the title. Take your best shot and we can always edit after."
Housing-insecure or homeless students can visit the front office for a federal housing program application form. Students will be eligible for school housing in the unlikely event of
No, wait,
All students are additionally eligible for school housing, and may apply at any time.
"...can the school housing have gloryholes?"
“Yes — how do I work that in?”
"I guess we shouldn't require people to work shifts -- uh, maybe there can be expectations about how you treat shared amenities -- keep the kitchens clean, bowling alley closes at ten, no girls in the gloryholes...?"
“—ooh, yeah, sure—”
Jotted in the margins—
STUDENT HOUSING RULES
- keep kitchens clean
- turn off projector when you’re done
- no nude swimming
- no girls in boys’ gloryholes
- don’t hog snacks
"What do the girls need gloryholes for?"
“Girls need to fuck too!”
"Okay but like it's not my problem."
“…some of them are gonna be dudes in a couple years?”
"...and when they are, they can use the gloryholes?"
“I’m still not gonna take it out.”
"Okay but when it turns out that the girls don't use it, I reserve the right to replace it with a Polly Pocket Pretty Pink Princess Palace."
“…dude,” he says, for lack of a better response, and he shuts the book.
Sleep time now.
"...right, we should have left this until after school, it keeps giving me narcolepsy attacks. I am so fucking tired."
“…yeah, uh, that’s…good plan…”
He sways a little in his seat.
"Okay, that's just ridiculous, you don't even have narcolepsy," he says through a yawn, and puts his head down on Z's shoulder and is promptly asleep.
When he wakes up, his face is on the table, and Z is on the floor. Someone is trying to nudge him awake.
This is probably just a book effect but it's still kind of alarming to see.
"Dude, you OK?"
Tiny snore.
"...dude?"
Poke.
He mumbles a little in his sleep and makes a grab for Camillo’s leg.
Camillo is torn between the equal and opposite forces of Do Not Betray Friend To Authorities and Friend Should Not Sleep On Floor.
"--help me get him back on the chairs, at least."
A couple of the nearby kids step forward, after a minute, and help haul Z up.
What. Where did his leg go.
Sleeping Z does not like this post.
Camillo will sit next to him and pat him gently.
After a couple more minutes of dead slumber, he cracks an eyelid and mumbles something into Camillo’s lap.
"Welcome back to the land of the living. Lunch's almost over."
“…aww, man, did I pass out?”
He pulls himself up, still a little groggy.
"Just for a minute. Sorry, figured that would just be me."
“Is that why—”
He stops.
“…I live here now,” he says, slowly.
"...yeah, dude, that's how it works, we both live in the new timeline."
“No, like — I moved out, like, last year. I live on campus.”
"--oh. Huh. ... how are the gloryholes?"
“Full of dicks. Dream come true.”
"...and the girls' gloryholes?" he has to ask.
“How would I even know?”
"I dunno, dude, I'm not the only person you ever talk to."
“I guess I know that girls fuck in them.”
"Fair enough, I guess."
“…also there’s a staff one.”
"You're fucking with me."
"Nope. It's real. Pretty sure they don't let students back there, though."
"I can change that!!!"
“You are gonna spend so much time playing guess-the-dick.”
"God I hope so."
He elbows him and grins, just as the bell goes off for the end of lunch.
"Aw, man. I have art."
"I don't get your problem with art."
To the hallway!
"No one will tell me if I got it right or not!"
"...it's art. It's subjective. Or, like, pass/fail."
"Which means for all I know I could be getting a C!"
"Oh no. Horrifying."
And here's his art classroom!
...Camillo can make one tiny small edit to the handbook. Just a little one. Shouldn't even put him to sleep.
In accordance with state law, a parent may remove his or her child from any part of the sophomore nude drawing curriculum without academic, disciplinary, or other penalties.
When Camillo makes it to class, the room is full of easels arranged around a central platform.
And the contents of the sketchbook in his backpack are...not arrangements of vases and tchotchkes anymore.
Camillo flips through the pages, admiring his own loving depictions of ... dicks ... abs ... dicks ... butts ... dicks ... oh, there's a vase ... calves ... wow, there are a lot of dicks in here.
They're pretty good, too. Definitely better than he could draw. He's going to have to learn all of this all over again, isn't he.
By the time he looks up again, one of his classmates is sitting up on the podium, talking with the teacher.
He's stripped to the waist already, fine blonde hair just brushing his bare shoulders.
(The rest of the class filters in, one by one.)
Um.
Okay.
Camillo has only had a crush on this boy for like three years. And now he has long hair, and he's shirtless, and Camillo is officially supposed to stare at him for an entire class period.
This is either the best new rule yet, or the worst one. Judgement pending.
Just before the bell rings, he disappears behind a curtain at the back of the classroom.
When he comes back out, he's wearing a piece of cloth draped loosely around his waist — and nothing else.
He climbs up onto the platform, and takes a seat on the block at the center, leaning back on one hand.
Hey, how is he supposed to regain his dick-drawing skills from the alternate timeline like this?
Also: wow. Hot damn. There are hips. And the little dips next to the hips, and the little fuzz just below the navel ... damn.
Apparently, they're starting with charcoal sketches today. Sheets of newsprint go around the classroom, and every five minutes, the teacher calls for a change of position.
He stands and gazes up at the ceiling, stretches out over the block, puts his forehead on his knees as he draws them to his chest. He retwists and drapes the cloth every time, but it always ends up over his lap.
The lines of tension in his neck and shoulders remain even when he's leaned back and apparently relaxed.
Oh! He hates this medium! It's messy and goes in places he didn't want it to go and he can't erase anything and he doesn't have time to do anything right!
... he could try this again later. At home. With more time. If he just takes his phone out for a second -- which he's allowed to do, now, right -- and -- flash off -- there.
Halfway through class, he dismounts the platform and disappears back behind the curtain.
There's a minute or two of silence before the teacher calls Camillo's name.
"--aww, c'mon. He was doing a great job."
The teacher doesn't seem to expect this to be a real objection.
(His classmate comes out from behind the curtain, dressed in record time.)
"...I need more practice with the charcoal. Look, this is terrible."
He displays his sheet.
"Ginger's doing great."
One time Ginger went into the boys' locker room before gym and got completely undressed before noticing. Modeling should be a walk in the park.
"I can go again!"
The teacher is...unimpressed.
"Did you get that note signed by your parents?"
"...may...be....?"
His backpack is an absolute mess of extremely important papers which have become crumpled up at the bottom. It might be anywhere in here. If he pulls them all out and sorts through them maybe the teacher will move on to someone else.
Unfortunately, it looks like his teacher will wait.
And look at him.
Along with the rest of the class.
Great. Now he looks scared.
Unacceptable.
You know what doesn't look scared? Stripping on the spot. Take that.
This is, apparently, acceptable. If unexpected.
The day's previous model is watching him undress while he sets up.
Camillo is totally okay with this.
...for about two seconds, before he really has to stop thinking about Anatole and Anatole's hips and Anatole watching him undress. Given that he's taking his pants off.
Ginger starts drawing before he even gets up on the platform.
"In a hurry, Ginger?"
And ... underwear.
(Sooner or later he is going to figure out how to use his magic handbook to make his dick bigger. The Cavelier High School For Students With Twelve-Inch Dicks? ...wait, no, then he might still have a small dick compared to his classmates...)
The teacher reminds Ginger that the assignment is figure drawing, not...whatever Ginger is doing.
Anatole raises an eyebrow and waits for a pose.
Camillo sits on the block and crosses his arms, which is technically a pose, so there.
(This was definitely the bestworst idea yet.)
His crush sizes him up and starts drawing.
So does Ginger.
(Deep concentration makes Ginger's tongue stick out.)
Ginger is the most comforting person in this room to look at, by a mile. Camillo is going to fix his eyes in that direction (and occasionally make faces, when the teacher isn't looking) and scrupulously avoid looking anywhere near Anatole.
(Hee hee!! Ginger makes faces back!!)
Presently, the teacher calls for a change of pose.
Camillo tree poses, and immediately regrets his choices.
Half the class winces in unison.
Oh dear.
He makes it through the first minute with only a little wobbling.
After a minute and a half, the wobbling is somewhat more dramatic, but he manages to more or less keep his balance.
After two minutes, he has to switch feet. That buys him another minute before the wobbling gets dramatic again, and two good minutes before he has to switch again.
The last minute is the wobbliest. But he does make it, and then sits down, thankfully, on the block, legs crossed, hands on his hips.
This time the five minutes pass pretty uneventfully.
Pose change!
This is a lot of time Camillo could be spending magically rewriting the universe, instead of being naked in front of his entire class.
He takes the next best option, sprawls across the block, and makes eyes at Anatole.
...well, he's definitely noticed.
...Now Ginger has to figure out how to draw feet.
Pose!
Seriously why did he make the worst class even worse.
Camillo crab poses.
Clothed, this would have been funny but not remarkable. Nude, this causes moderate chaos.
The art teacher is not pleased, but can't precisely fault Camillo. She spends a couple of minutes trying to get the class back under control.
Displeased but with no specific fault to find is Camillo's preferred state for teachers.
He shoots Ginger an upside-down grin and waits out the chaos.
The teacher insists, stubbornly, that the class finish out this pose, because there is nothing funny about the nude human form.
She still seems a little relieved when it's time to call pose.
Camillo considers pushing his luck, but decides there's no need to improve on perfection.
Thinker pose. See, he can be well-behaved.
And, when the time runs out on this one, the teacher finally releases him from his posing obligations.
Oh, thank god.
Clothes!!!!
Ginger thumbs thoughtfully through papers.
Anatole peers over the top of his easel, putting the final touches on a sketch.
Camillo, now fully dressed, definitely wants to sneak a peek at both of those.
Ginger's are...something. Most of them have the suggestions of the pose, but they're not quite life drawings so much as they are emotional suggestions. And the crabwalk one is...just a crab. It's a very cute crab, though.
"...Ginger, any chance I can get one of these to take home?"
They're adorable.
"—oh! Yes! Which one do you want?"
...he can't possibly take the crab. Ginger clearly loves that crab.
"This one?" Camillo thinks it's the tree.
Apparently that was a good answer!
Ginger hands over the sketch and beams.
Awwwwww.
"Thanks! I'm gonna put it up on my wall."
And now there's blushing.
Oh no, he's going to die.
...let's investigate Anatole's situation. That should be a suitable antidote to this amount of cuteness.
He's gone back to his first sketch to fill in a few little details.
He's good at figure drawing. The sketches are...a little merciless – they pay careful attention to the proportions and lines of his body, as accurate where it's flattering (his shoulders, the muscle in his legs) as where it isn't (significantly below his shoulders).
Camillo is currently having two extremely intense, extremely conflicting experiences.
First: the quintessential teenage pain of having one's awkwardly growing physical form observed, in all its gangly newness, every flaw painfully visible to its owner.
Second: his dick is hard.
"Wow," he says, articulately, and adds after a moment, "you're really good at that."
(His voice cracks, just a bit. God damn puberty.)
He looks him up and down, briefly, before he responds.
"Thank you," he says. (Does he sound a little amused?) "Do you want one?"
High-volume internal screaming.
He would regret all of his choices, except that Anatole is talking to him, and looking at him, and it sends a terrified thrill down his spine. Which he will probably regret in five minutes. But that sounds like a problem for FUTURE CAMILLO.
"That's okay, I can, uh, see myself naked whenever."
That gets one 'ha' out of him, before he turns back to his sketches.
Why does he like boys like this.
Camillo flees.
Guess what?
It's time for gym class.
Report to the boy’s locker room, your very favorite place.
It does contain a lot of nudity.
Unfortunately, some of that nudity is his.
Camillo goes with his usual tactic of sticking as close to Z as possible. It's like having his own personal lightning rod.
Z deals with whatever feelings he has about being naked in public by...being Z. This is occasionally distracting.
He's pulling his shirt off over his head as Camillo walks in. (There's something that looks — a little off — about the skin of his torso, around his hips especially.)
Naked Z is constantly distracting.
"Dude. What did you do to yourself. I leave you alone for five minutes." (Gesturing.)
"—huh?"
He looks down at himself, raising his arms a little as if to get a better view.
...on further inspection, the reason the scars stand out so starkly on his skin is that there are fewer of them.
"You did ......... negative self-harm?"
"...huh. Guess the world got a little better."
That's...kind of a lot to process. Cool. No weird feelings!
He takes his pants off and opens his locker.
"...ah, fuck. Not again."
He looks helplessly at the lock sitting sadly at the back of his otherwise empty locker.
Either Z really likes nude modeling, or the school housing thing worked out well.
"You forgot your stuff, didn't you."
"Uh...either I forgot it or I just forgot to lock it. Not...totally sure which."
"Well, the good news is you live, uh, pretty damn close."
"Cover for me if I don't make it back?"
"Up to and including altering reality."
"You're the best, you know that?"
He takes off out the door.
Camillo ... is left to discover that his locker combination is no longer 06-28-31.
Fuck.
This is so unfair. It's not like he changed the value of any fundamental mathematical constants!!
Other awkward teenage boys change around him, not paying much attention to him despairing at his combination lock.
After the usual five minutes, the teacher enters to herd them out.
"My lock's broken."
He looks done with this already, and proceeds over to assist.
"What's your combination?"
"I can't tell you that!"
Hasn't this man ever seen one of those emails that say that staff will never ask for your password??
"Then you can take an F for today, since you don't have your uniform."
With the absolute confidence of the righteously indignant: "You can't fail me because my lock is broken!"