“Scottie is really lucky I love him,” I told CP as I paced up and down the middle school hallway.

  CP put his hand at waist height, raised an eyebrow, then shrugged.

  “I know they’re just kids. Know who else were just kids? Those little shits that sicked those killer birds on us at Isle de Ligré.”

  CP scowled.

  “Language? Who are you? My grandma?” I sat on one of the tiny children chairs in the hallway, knees to my chin. “I don’t know how Scottie talked me into this.”

  “Hey Lady!” Scottie ran up to Alison and gave her a hug, Bratwurst—a dog the size of a Mini Coup—followed. “I’m really happy you’re doing this.”

  Alison softened. “Anything for you, Scottie.”

  “My dad was going to come, but him and my other dad decided to take a trip to Pluto to blow off some steam.” Scottie sighed, “Seems to happen every time we have career day, family day, and conferences.”

  CP glanced at me, their eyes filling with tears.

  I stood straight and saluted. “You can always count on me. Want to show us around?”

  “Sure! Follow Brat and me.”

  We walked with Scottie and Brat down the hallway. “Hey, Scottie, does Bratwurst come to school with you every day?”

  He nodded. “I get really anxious and sad without him.”

  CP’s tears flowed freely.

  “Well, I’m glad you have him. He’s a good boy.”

  Scottie smiled. “I have you too.”

  It’s hard enough having superhero parents, I thought. Poor kid has morally ambiguous super-powered parents that just buy him shit to make him go away. Someone has to be there for him.

  “Here we are!” Scottie motioned toward a drawing on the wall. “This is my award-winning art piece! I got first place and a Gas Gift Card. It’s called ‘Alternate Reality’.”

  The piece depicted Scottie and Brat seated with a group of kids playing Ticket to Ride.

  “Scottie Shock, I see you’re showing off your beautiful art.”

  “Hey, Mx. Gerlick. Yep! Not every day you win first place!”

  Mx. Gerlick turned to me, “And this must be your mother?”

  “You know I have two dads, Mx.”

  I offered my hand. “I’m Alison, this is CP. We’re Scottie’s older siblings.”

  “Nice to meet you. Not often a student has famous siblings.” She gave a knowing smile, then took my hand. “I’m Mx. Gerlick, Scottie’s teacher. Class begins in a few minutes, and I’m sure Scottie has much more to show you.”

  We watched them walk away, then Scottie took my hand, dragging me further down the hall.

  “This is the science lab! I once filled it up with a weird purple foam and we didn’t have to come to school for a whole month!”

  CP lifted a shoulder and smirked.

  He snagged both our hands and ran us another few feet. “This is the library! I’ve installed First Fantasy forty-one on every computer. “He leaned close and whispered, “They’re going crazy trying to figure out how to uninstall it. They’ll never figure it out. Brat and I are geniuses.”

  CP grinned, both shoulders raised.

  I laughed. “Look! You’re killing CP! Soon they’ll literally be rolling on the floor.”

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  Scottie grinned.

  “We have time for one more stop before class!” Scottie took off running, we followed.

  “This is my favorite.” He pointed at a wall, then frowned. “What the—”

  “Scottie Shock.”

  We turned toward the voice and a little boy grinned.

  “How do you like my art?” The boy asked.

  Scottie stared, tears rolling down his cheek. What had once been a beautiful mural of the school with children playing out front, a canopy of trees shading them, and birds and squirrels square dancing was now a scene of chaos and mayhem. The children had horns, some were shooting fire from their butts, the squirrels and birds were doing unspeakable things, and the teachers had all been decapitated.

  Scottie cried, Brat growled, CP scowled, I started pulling the sharpest pencils I had from my coat.

  “Well if it isn’t Alison Alistair and her silent lackey.”

  I spun toward the voice. “J.D. Yeats, you villainous cretin. What are you doing here? Got tired of stealing college theses so you switched to middle-school ones?”

  “No. Yours was the only one I wanted. Since then, no one else has dared talk bad about me.”

  “That’s Yeats, controlling everything with fear.” I turned toward the little prick that ruined Scottie’s mural. “I assume this cretin is yours?”

  “Yes. This is Bill Yeats. And I’m missing a very important golf game for this.”

  “I didn’t know steaming piles of poo could reproduce. The fertilizer industry will be ecstatic about this discovery.”

  “I’ll have you know I did the deed.” He crossed his arms. “With a female.”

  “Who was this unlucky woman you sweat on top of to make this.” I looked at Bill Yeats. “Miniature you.”

  “Hey!” Bill said. “I’m not—”

  “Silence, boy!” J.D. yelled.

  The kid cowered, putting distance between himself and Yeats.

  I looked at CP, they nodded.

  “I see,” I said. “You're an abusive prick. I don’t like abusive pricks.”

  “How dare—”

  “Silence, boy!” I demanded, before turning to Bill. “I’m sorry I was mean to you. I was ignorant, and I didn’t consider what your situation could be. Why don’t you and Scottie go talk? I think you have a lot in common. CP and I just need to have a… chat with your father.”

  Bill looked from me to his father, then to Scottie. The two nodded and walked off together.

  CP and I loomed over Yeats. He slowly backed away from us, and we followed.

  “What are you going to do? Call CPS? Tell my wife? None of that will work. Both are under my heel! You’ll be so deep in legal fees I’ll—” He felt behind himself, smiled, and dashed out the door.

  He ran, we followed. Twenty-five feet later, Yeats tripped over a beetle. Angering the beetle, and sending Yeats plummeting to the ground. The beetle hopped onto his face, bit his nose, then ran off.

  CP and I looked down on Yeats. “This is where you belong—the entire world looking down on you.” I smiled. “CP and I have powerful friends. Friends who will watch your every move. If you so much as touch that kid, or your poor wife, my friends and I will bear down on you like an anvil on Daffy Duck.”

  “Fuck you,” he croaked.

  CP knelt, yellow sparks danced in their eyes. He held chopsticks crackling with the same energy.

  “My friend here is besties with lightning.”

  CP brought a chopstick close to Yeats’ head, drew a circle above it, then Yeats’ hair shot out of his head, leaving a perfectly circular bald spot.

  I chuckled. “Imagine what else CP could do.”

  “I’ll do as I please. You can’t watch me twenty-four-seven.”

  Alison smiled.

  He scrambled back. “On my life, I will no longer lay a hand on my family.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “And, I’m a giant pile…” I started.

  Yeats growled, “And, I’m a giant pile of insect shit.”

  CP’s eyes and chopsticks returned to normal.

  “Excellent. Now get the fuck out of here.”

  CP and I walked back toward the school, as we got to the door I turned around and yelled after Yeats, “Don’t forget. My friends are always watching you.” He stopped and glared at us. “Perhaps you’ve heard of one? The Grim Reaper? I play poker with their grandmother.”

  We found Scottie, Bratwurst, and Bill in the library, laughing, sharing snacks—which was against the rules. I’m so proud of Scottie—playing First Fantasy forty-one together.

  “Hey Scottie, Bill, should we head to career day now?”

  Scottie turned. “Hey, Lady. We decided to skip class so I could power level Bill. He’s gonna hang out with Brat and I after school so we can go on high-level raids! I offered him Brat’s character, but he wasn’t keen on playing a kobold.”

  “Kobolds are smelly lizards,” Bill said. “I don’t really like smelly lizards.”

  “You should join us, Lady! High-level raids are epic! You too CP! We have a full party of four now.” He pet Brat on the head. “And our mascot! We can call ourselves the Brat Pack!”

  “That’s a great name!” Bill said.

  CP and I looked at each other grinning.

  “It could be fitting,” I whispered to CP. “They’re bound to end up in detention, or at a sweet sixteen party. They’re already taking a day off.”

  We both smiled at the kids. Then I declared, “The Brat Pack shall assemble for the first time tonight!”

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