Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Anyone feeling ready? We can wait.”

The Jurassic Pastels are a group of seven. None of them any older than nineteen. Pride flags on their ensembles. Dinosaur minifigs in their hands or pockets, giving them their names. Keeping a short distance from Vexillum Iris and the Protected Classes.

“Okay, I’ll go first. Let you guys psych up to it…”

“Nothing actually happened to me.”

Carnation Velociraptor sits with a long-finished vape pen in his left hand. White headphones and a red tank top showing calloused scars on his upper arms. Holding a Polaroid in his hands. A pink-yellow-blue friendship bracelet tied around his right hand.

“But I’m here because of someone I loved,” He shakes his head. “No. I still love him.”

Instead of a spotlight, a movie fragment; Chicago, Illinois. The Carnation Velociraptor zips across subways and inner city trains with bags full of card tables and half-painted pieces. He’s an expert in everything tabletop gaming, from Goblins & Grottos to Oceans & Ogres to Legends & Lore.

“I’ve dated other people too, but my last guy was special.”

Osmolskae is the prep school type. Black shag and pristine uniform. They meet at a public library their freshman year.

“He was the cheery type. Just what I needed in my life. A break from the messiness of my life.”

Junior year. They discuss life plans over winter break.

Anywhere but UCI.

Of course, of course. I was gonna major in graphic design. You?

Hmm… Paleontology sounds great, and my parents said it’d be more practical than history. I still need to think it over though.

That’s okay.

They play another round of L&L, this time online with other teens. Most of these sessions don’t last longer than a month, but Velociraptor and Osmolskae still have fun.

“I actually thought we might move in together. But everything came crashing down last year.”

First day of summer break. Velociraptor texts Osmolskae, dotting his sentences with little hearts. He doesn’t hear back for a couple hours, which turns to several days.

“I thought he broke up with me, but…”

Velociraptor makes a missing person statement. His name’s Alvin Kaisen. He’s seventeen years old and he looks like this. Velociraptor hands the officer a picture from his phone.

We’ll do everything we can, Mr. Kulug.

It’s never enough.

“He wouldn’t just drop me like that. We always talked our problems out. That was one of many things I loved about him.”

Velociraptor doesn’t talk to anyone at school. They share flyers with Osmolskae’s face on them. He graduates high school, just barely passing. Flies out to Calisota and keeps looking.

“But here’s the thing. I don’t even know if he’s alive anymore.”

The tape rewinds and flips. Osmolskae, overworking himself to exhaustion over tuition. Osmolskae, sold by his own parents to pay the bills. Osmolskae, moved between warehouses like clockwork. Osmolskae - now V3L0C1 - kept alive.

“But I want to hope he still is.”

“It’s relationship stuff for me too. But mine was already over before I got here.”

The Lavender Microraptor’s sneakers squeak as he takes the stage. Fluffy perm with the sides shaved and dyed purple with the rest kept black, round glasses, and a pastel tee and overalls. A blue and pink and white button on the strap, joined by a pastel rainbow one and a blue and green heart.

Instead of a spotlight, a movie fragment; Manhattan, New York City. Microraptor stays up late, working in the kitchen at a gay bar. His escape from cold and unloving parents. The staff, however, treat him like their own son.

“I kinda blame myself for having low standards when it comes to guys. I shouldn’t, but I’m both gay and trans so I kinda have to.”

The school’s GSA welcomes him with open arms, as their only freshman. He helps with bake sales to fundraise for field trips. Another boy catches the Microraptor’s eyes: an apathetic junior with his sad eyes, wavy dark hair and varsity jacket.

“All I wanted was a guy who was both into other guys and saw me as the guy I am. He could try to clone dinosaurs or blow up the world with a meteor for all I cared.”

They meet up after school at the subway station. Phone numbers exchanged.

“He was sweet at first, really. But after a few weeks together, he…”

Microraptor overhears his boyfriend talking to others on the swim team.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, Sage is cute and he’s really nice, but femboys just aren’t my type.

Well, if you’re through with him, let me know. I can handle he/him pussy.

Dude. Don’t.

“He wasn’t honest about what he actually liked in guys.” He adjusts his glasses. “He didn’t try to detransition me, and he did defend me against gross comments from some other people, or we would’ve been through much earlier. Still, that’s not enough. I wonder if he was actually defending, like, me, or defending me as his property, y’know?”

Microraptor rummages through the thrift bins and dumpsters. A few black hoodies and grey sweats. Graphic T-shirts of bands he doesn’t listen to. He comes to school the next day, not bothering to wash his finds. His boyfriend slapping him on the back.

Looking good, Sage!

An awkward chuckle from the Microraptor.

“That said, he was pushy, but not violent about it. And I wasn’t going to just dump him. I wanted to work it out with him, even if it meant not being my real self.”

A text in the middle of class. Got the apartment to myself again. Wanna come over? ;)

And Microraptor does. He knows exactly what’s going on. He grabs his hoodie strings and is stopped with Well, you don’t have to take anything all the way off. Actually, you look kinda nice like that.

I don’t know, Leo. I feel kinda gross.

Well, I think you look better this way. More relaxed.

“We did fool around a bit,” Microraptor looks away from the stage. “He already knew what I actually liked wearing, but he wasn’t violent about it. I thought he’d punch the drywall or choke me or start crying and threatening to kill himself.”

Microraptor freezes up in the longest fifteen minutes of his life. For his boyfriend, it’s just another Tuesday.

They keep going steady, Microraptor dreadful and anxious each time he goes over. Cries to himself when all alone. The boyfriend doesn’t bother to visit Microraptor’s apartment or workplace.

“I still loved him, but he wasn’t the guy I thought he was. I thought about breaking up with him after the comments he made about my pride buttons, except…”

A text on the way to his apartment. I think we should see other people. Microraptor looks up at the ceiling of the bus. Takes another route back home. Lies down in his bed. Ignores the hundreds of DMs from a server he’s in.

“He broke up with me. And he moved on as quickly as I fell for him in the first place.”

Microraptor lurks in the hallways, taking his time before going to a GSA meeting. Sees his ex-boyfriend talking to someone else, this time a student not in the swim team.

So what happened with you and Sage Xing?

We’re through. He turns cold. He was violating my boundaries so I told him to beat it.

Oh. I’m sorry, Leo.

I’m not. He was too girly for me anyways.

Microraptor wants to tear into him, but saves his anger for a rage room.

“I don’t miss him in the slightest, but I do miss what I could’ve had.”

Microraptor still dreams of sharing an apartment. Owning a restaurant together. He’s kicked out of his family’s apartment once he finishes high school. Takes a cross-country Amtrak. Moves in with the rest of the Pastels.

“But instead, I can work on what I have now.”

“I did a reading today before coming in here. I know it sounds foolish to some, but I have my reasons.”

Mint Stegosaurus shuffles a pack of tarot cards in her hands like a magician. Her black twin buns are tied back by green scrunchies, the same shade as her pastel ensemble. A pair of yellow sandals lie to the side - a compromise made in her philosophy.

Instead of a spotlight, a movie fragment; Seattle, Washington. Stegosaurus is in all the counterculture scenes. She goes to grody dive bars and sticker-covered coffee shops and everywhere in between like a high priestess preaching gospel. Lights up patchouli sticks and drinks coffee burnt to the last drop.

“I find it helps me to connect with others and reflect on myself,” Stegosaurus’s smile beams like an empress’. She waves to the Countess, who waves back. “My mother was skeptical at first, but she came around when she saw how happy I was.”

Her mother is a stone cold butch in leather and spikes, but not tyrannical like an emperor. She takes the Stegosaurus to her workplace; Lava Java, a coffee shop meets music venue. Customers and potential musicians become curious about the Stegosaurus’ newfound interest.

Stegosaurus stops smiling, now as serious as a hierophant. “She had a business back in Seattle,” she looks back down at her deck. “It was popular for a while, which is usually a good thing even if some people say it’s not.”

Lots of visitors, from friend groups to lovers to tourists. Stegosaurus happily picks up shifts to keep up with demand. Potential musicians inquiring as well, from grungy punks to dreamy shoegazers to indie in name only.

“A lot of musicians wanted to play there. Like Death Morgue - they’re Seattle alternative, they did the song Chariot Overdrive. But one of the musicians is the reason I’m here in the first place.”

A woman in an oversized green jacket. Bleached hair and fake tan. She carries a Tyrannosaurus-themed keytar everywhere. Enough strength that the Stegosaurus struggles to pick it up. And she laughs it off.

“She wasn’t a hermit or anything, but she didn’t seem interested in anything else besides her band and what she wanted. I didn’t talk to her before, but I didn’t like how rude she was. I won’t name her, she’s probably a nobody at this point.”

Stegosaurus draws the Wheel of Fortune for herself in between sips of her lavender latte. The woman in the jacket argues with Lava Java’s owner.

Tina, you have to be patient. I have twenty other bands lined up for this month alone. We don’t have room for you and the Tyrannosaurs.

Well, we’re going on tour next month and we have to play here before we leave. Come on, Juan, you’re the only spot that isn’t booked for the next three months!

You should’ve asked me before your tour, then.

I did ask you, but you blew me off.

The woman flips her off as she leaves, angrily slamming the door.

“My mom’s great though. She’d walk through a mile of broken glass just to get justice for me.”

A text at five in the morning, after Stegosaurus’ daily reading. The Hanged Man, upright.

Hey, Stella. I’ve got some stuff to take care of. Can you open Lava Java for me?

Sure I can.

Red key’s for the back. Green’s for the front.

Stegosaurus is handed a carabiner dangling with multiple keys. She goes for the back entrance, not noticing the woman behind the dumpster.

“I did tell her what the musician did to me. I was scared to death that my mom would blame me or herself for the whole ordeal, but she was furious instead.”

The woman sneaks into Lava Java. Locks the door behind her and grabs Stegosaurus by the arms. No temperance or hesitation, just anger and aggression.

Where is she, you fat bitch? she snarls.

Stegosaurus struggles in the woman’s grip, kicking the air. She’s not- Her mouth is covered by the woman’s hand.

“I don’t want to know if she would’ve done the same thing to my mom, but…” Stegosaurus shudders like she saw the devil. “I wouldn’t rule it out either.”

The woman towers over the Stegosaurus, tying her wrists with her shoelaces. Traps her against the stage. Mutters to her Your stupid cards won’t save you now. She kicks Stegosaurus in the stomach, slaps her across the face, and heaves as she claws into her.

“I’m still thanking my lucky stars that my mom stepped in. That woman could’ve killed me. All over not getting a spot to play.”

Stegosaurus’ mother unlocks the front door with a moon-themed key. Horrified, she runs inside. Pushes the woman off her daughter and beats the former in revenge. Heaving as she stands over her. Don’t you ever fuck with my kid ever again. Do you hear me, Tina? One last slap across the face. You and the rest of the Tyrannosaurs aren’t welcome here anymore. Got it?

The woman spits out blood. Fuck you, Lan.

Don’t make me call the cops.

You wouldn’t dare. She gets up slowly. Leaves shaking and still fuming.

“Things didn’t get any better from there. Word got out and nobody wanted to play at mom’s venue again. The Spines, Death Morgue, The Suns, all of the Seattle scene took her side.” Stegosaurus sighs in defeat. “I told Mom that we should’ve pressed charges against her, but she said that it would’ve made things even worse.”

No more customers. The Tyrannosaurs write a song, Judgement at Java. It doesn’t leave indie stations, but it speaks to the local music scene. One final post online. Closing day, only two people inside. Lava Java, faded away instead of burned out.

“It felt like my world was ending when Mom had to close down. We both came here for a fresh start. It’s been hard, of course, but I’m not alone.”

Lava Java is reborn, this time as an independent label. All online. Stegosaurus moves in with the rest of the Pastels, but still keeps in touch with her mother. Shows her how to read tarot. Cheers her on when she starts seeing another woman.

“We’ve always got each other's backs.”

“I still don’t know what I’m going to do with my life.”

Wisteria Triceratops tightens her grip on the handle of her pet carrier. She’s stylish like the rest of the Pastels, but in a more comfortable way. Hoodie and leggings, locs shaved on the side, long earrings and birthmarks near her eyes. Blue-pink-purple ring on her finger.

Instead of a spotlight, a movie fragment; Atlanta, Georgia. Wisteria Triceratops explores everything she can, from the botanical garden to the museum of high art to the aquarium. Her room piles up with things related to short-term interests, but she can’t just let go of them.

“I thought by this point I would’ve had everything figured out by now.”

Her senior year of high school. She goes through extracurriculars like nothing. A few weeks at most. Grades are passable, but she’s given multiple options after graduation. Gap year, trade school, two-year, four-year, graduate school, right into the workforce. Triceratops spaces out in the middle of class, trying to catch up afterwards.

Miss Purnell?

Yes?

Can I see you after class?

A short lecture. Triceratops doesn’t get the help she needs.

“I know my life doesn’t begin or end at eighteen, but at that point, everyone around me had it together…”

Even her online friends seem to be doing better than her. She still sends tracks over Styx, but they’re sporadic. More vocals than guitar. Half-finished.

“And I thought I could just blow off some steam and go to a local festival. I kept telling myself that it could be the motivation I need in the first place.”

WormDrama
Hey, you still going to CalderaFest?

Trishceratops
Hell yeah :D

WormDrama
Awesome. If you see anyone there, can you give them some demos?
pukefactory.mp4
tracks 1-12.mp4
spacecaverns.mp4

Trishceratops
??? How?

WormDrama
Cassette tapes or CDs should do it.

Trishceratops
I’ll try. It might get busy though.

“It was a total bust,” Triceratops tugs on her hoodie strings. “The musicians were great, but things got really crowded and I couldn’t find anyone I knew.”

CalderaFest 2017. Neon graphics and inflatables. Triceratops joins the crowd in tossing beach balls. She rushes the moshpits with strangers. A newer musician takes the stage - a clowncore rapper decked out in purple on purple. Spits bars about land dolphins and sea flamingos and elves of nature.

On stage now: Lethal Injection Crew. And in line for the bathrooms, Triceratops and the musician. He offers her a hit of his vape pen. She takes it.

You were great up there!

Lol, thank you. He gives a charming wink. What was your favorite song?

Bloodbound Lover had a really good flow, and I loved its metaphor for bisexuality! But Idolatry of Lust was just enchanting. How’d you come up with the lyrics?

A chuckle. It’s more fun if I don’t tell you. He pulls her into a porta-potty and locks it, his strength almost pushing it over. When he’s done with her, he takes the tapes out of her pockets.

“I had one job and I couldn’t even do that right,” Triceratops sighs. “All Pterodactyl asked me to do was give out demos, but one of the headliners ruined that for me.”

Triceratops leaves CalderaFest early. Comes back the next day, once she knows that the clowncore rapper isn’t there.

“I didn’t talk to them for a few days. I was scared they’d get mad at me or blame me for the tapes. We had digital copies, of course, but those are harder to share in-person.”

A week after CalderaFest…

WormDrama
So, how was CalderaFest? Thinking of going again next year?

Trishceratops
It was horrible. So, no. I’m never going again.

WormDrama
I don’t understand? I helped you fundraise for it. I was even gonna buy tickets so we could go together next year.

Trishceratops
Fang. I’m sorry. I really am. But there was someone there and…
[spoiler]

WormDrama
Oh… I really fucked this up.

Trishceratops
No, not at all. You didn’t plan this to happen. But, uh, is it cool if Worm Drama is yours for a while? I’m not gonna be in the right mindset.

WormDrama
Yeah. It’s gonna be okay.

“We had to put the band on hiatus. I still wanted to play, of course, but I told the rest of them that it’ll be on my own terms.”

The Wisteria Triceratops graduates weeks later. She takes a gap year and packs up her stuff. A one-way flight out of Hartsfield-Jackson. A face from the stage picks her up at the airport.

“I like it here, I really do, but,” Triceratops gives a nervous yet sad smile, “I still miss Atlanta. I’ll have to figure out when I’d want to visit again, but I don’t want to do it alone.”

“The Pastels are my family now.”

Apricot Aquilops adjusts the spiked crown in her long brown hair. Black dress with a sheer layer and floral embroidery. Orange eyeshadow and red nail polish.

“They accepted me when mine wouldn’t.”

Instead of a spotlight, a movie fragment; Denver, Colorado. Aquilops keeps to herself on the subway, reading a short book on plants like ramps and glitter berries. She’s wrapped up in a black hoodie, the hood covering her shorter hair.

“My parents were… traditionalists, to say the least. Probably to fit in with other people there. White people.”

Aquilops’ parents light up veladoras at home. They only speak and pray in English. Changed their last name from Ramírez to Ramsey.

“To say that they didn’t accept me would be an understatement as big as a meteor.”

Her parents are quiet. They leave the apartment more frequently. They confess to a priest, who hands them a pamphlet. To stop your son from going against God’s nature.

“Both of them decided that they’d rather save the son they never had.”

Like Pinky and the Brain, Aquilops is sent to camp. Unlike Green Lake, it’s indoors, kept spotless. Campers are not allowed to leave the building. Maximum security. The staff use paper clips to explain the “problem” to their campers.

“They called it reparative therapy.” Aquilops shakes her head. “But it didn’t repair anything. Rather, it destroyed me from the inside out.”

The staff do not cane or whip Aquilops. They do, however, degrade her in other ways. Isolation closets, repeating passages about repentance. Pills and needles every week. They throw her in ice baths when she spits out the pills or slaps the needles away from her.

“I thought it would never end. I had to find a way to break out of there or I was going to die. I had a bunkmate who thought the same.”

An accountability buddy, in the bunk bed above Aquilops’ own. Locs cut down and thick eyebrows. He makes a plan with her after the lights are out. He shows her how to get her phone back. They hide them very carefully.

“I couldn’t remember his name for a while. It was either Steve or Derek, but those might’ve been fake names too.”

Are you crazy? We might get killed, she whispers to him.

Rosa. If we don’t do something, we’re going to die anyway. He grabs her hand. And I have to get out of here too.

“We didn’t feel any degree of attraction to each other, but we had to make it work. We thought of other people the whole time.”

The boy with the locs and Aquilops let themselves get caught, one on top of the other. Furious staff beat them in front of the other two bunkmates. Drag them to the entrance and kick them out.

“The last thing the staff told us was that we weren’t worth “saving”,” Aquilops sighs. “But their definition of salvation was cruelty disguised as kindness.”

The duo runs to a bus station. The boy with locs borrows a stranger’s phone. Dials an Atlanta number.

Trish? You won’t believe where I’ve been. I have so much to tell you.

Aquilops listens in. Her bus stop is coming up. She lets the boy keep talking, waving sadly as she gets off. She comes home to a locked apartment. Jiggling the door and finding the place cleared out. No furniture, decor, appliances, not even a letter.

“I couldn’t stay in Colorado after that. I had no one to go back to after the hell I was put through.”

She goes back to school. Stays at an unhoused shelter until she can legally leave high school at seventeen. Uses the public library to keep in touch with the Pastels.

“But I had several people to reach out to.”

A one-way plane ticket. She’s picked up from the airport. The Pastels help her feel at home. Triceratops infodumps with her on everything botany. Microraptor helps her pick out pretty dresses from the thrift. The Stegosaurus takes her out on dates.

“And I don’t know where I’d be without them.”

“I’m queer too.”

Lilac Parasaurolophus folds her hands together on her lap. Strands of a strawberry blond bob in her eyes. Red ribbon in her collar. A nine-stripe flag on the strap of her satchel.

“It took me a little longer to realize it than the rest of us, but some of you told me that it’s okay.” She smiles to the Gender Spectrum. Ally gives her a thumbs-up.

Instead of a spotlight, a movie fragment; right here in Calisota. Her sophomore year. Parasaurolophus is part of the yearbook committee at Calisota City High School.

“I’m only attracted to non-binary and-slash-or genderqueer people,” she explains. “People make it out to be more complicated than it really is.”

She’s on good terms with the LGBTQ+ group, but doesn’t feel ready to join them. She does, however, write down chosen names on personal yearbooks. She’s thanked by some and side-eyed by others. And reprimanded by others in the committee.

Naomi, don’t you think that’s inappropriate?

She shakes her head. No.

“There’s other people like me out there. Some go by diamoric, but that doesn’t work for me since, well, I’m cis. I’ve joined a few online servers though.”

Parasaurolophus takes a break from editing photos. Goes between two servers - It’s Always Open and Dinosaur Dungeons. She’s the only one in both, until a notification pops up.

It’s Always Open

# intro >

WormDrama
Fang, 17, they/them, NB.

PrettyHeroNaomi
Hi, welcome to the server- ohmygoodness hi :D~

Hours of DMs lead to something more.

“Some are really nice. Others… not so much.”

“I try to focus on what I can do rather than what I can’t, but it’s never been easy. Sometimes I don’t get thanked, for one.”

Calisota’s GLAAD chapter. Parasaurolophus signs petitions and attends protests in her free time. Reports hate speech online. Buys handmade stickers off BeBop. Helps people at pride gatherings, from finding shade in hot weather to safe spaces for the overstimulated.

“There… was a guy. He was queer too.”

Parasaurolophus walks home from a meeting, sitting alone at the bus station. Not alone for long. A young man with a dyed blue undercut and snake tattoo poking out from his white shirt sits next to her, giving her a smirk as he texts on his phone.

“He was part of a band. The other two guys were queer too. The worst part about it all is that they said their shows were safe to be at. As for outside their shows…”

The bus is running late. He knocks her glasses off her face when he’s done with her. It’s her route home. She leaves without him.

“… not so much,” Parasaurolophus looks despondent. “And I know it wasn’t my fault, but I still feel I’m betraying the queer community over it.”

Her parents talk her into getting a forensic kit. She gives a statement to the police.

We’ll do everything we can, Miss Ostrom.

And she talks to the rest of the Pastels.

PrettyHeroNaomi
swampbabies.txt
I’m not a bad person, am I?

WormDrama
No, you’re not. He is.

Stellasaurus
hug.jpg Is there anything we can do for you?

PrettyHeroNaomi
Just keep this between us. I don’t want word to get out about Nick. Swamp Babies fans make Dethklok ones look like Boy Scouts.

“We have each other, but I’m still scared of what might happen. Or if he’s going to hurt anyone else.”

“I used to think it was better to burn out than fade away. But I won’t burn out if I keep my fire going.”

Silver Pterodactyl sets down a guitar case covered in stickers. They push a strand of silver hair back. Their black tank top and skinny jeans are lovingly distressed. Yellow and purple bracelets between their black and white ones.

Instead of a spotlight, a movie fragment; the suburbs of Houston, Texas. Parents: Lebanon-born. Pterodactyl and Pterodactylus: Texas-born.

“That’s from a song I’ve been working on.” They shrug their shoulders. “It’s taking me a while to finish, but I think it’s okay if I take my time with it.”

The tape skips between full color and black-and-white. Mother and father love both of their children deep down, but aren’t around as much as they’d like to be. There are weekends that Pterodactyl and Pterodactylus spend alone.

“Like when I realized I was nonbinary. I started with changing my pronouns online. I still dressed the same as I usually do.” They pick at one of the holes in their jeans. “I just wanted to be safe.”

Pterodactyl comes out to Pterodactylus over aynar and baklava.

You’re not mad?

Of course not. You’ll always be my older sibling.

Thanks. I’m thinking of going by Fang. Well, when it’s just us. I don’t think Mom and Dad are gonna take it well.

Well, we’ll wait for them.

They come out to their parents.

Just make sure to keep your grades up. Can you do that for us?

“I know I’m not that safe here either, but it’s still better than where I was before.”

High school. Pterodactylus earns several scholarships and a free ride to a private academy for high achieving boys like him, and Pterodactyl… public. All in tax records and name only, that is.

“I didn’t let anyone in my last school know I was nonbinary, but people found out anyways.”

Ten Commandments on the wall. “See You at the Pole” gatherings that are optional on paper, but… The speaker goes off in homeroom.

Fatima Alhalabi, to the principal’s office.

Students ooooh and gasp and laugh to themselves as Pterodactyl walks up in shame.

The principal is a glaring man, grey at his temples around an angular face that’s faintly green in repulsion.

Miss Alhalabi, do you understand why I called you in today?

Was this because I was using my phone during lunch? Because there were other people using theirs too.

Well, no. See, I’m concerned about your antisocial behavior.

Antisocial?

Some of your classmates have informed me you hadn’t been showing up to See You at the Pole. You understand how this is important for school spirit, right?

I was told that it was purely optional. And my family isn’t religious.

We’re just concerned, that’s all. We haven’t seen you attend any pep rallies, you always sit by yourself at lunch, and you’re not involved in any clubs or extracurricular activities.

That’s because none of them caught my interest. I asked about forming a GSA but you vetoed it.

Well, we’re not allowed to have political based organizations here. You understand that, right?

They say nothing of the Young Conservatives group that leaked their social media accounts to other students in the first place. I don’t.

Young lady, I’d watch that attitude if I were you.

Pterodactyl flinches at the first part. A bad attitude is nothing they haven’t heard before, but it still tears into them.

I won’t tell your parents about your behavior, but I think going to see our guidance counselor would be a great idea. Think we can work that out, Fatima?

Another flinch. Yes, sir.

“I hated every minute of high school.” They look at the other Pastels with a forlorn expression, then back at the stage. “I was lonely, and I truly had nobody. My brother was doing great at his fancy private school and what online friends I did have weren’t even in the same state.”

Pterodactyl fakes a smile. They borrow Pterodactylus’s old clothing on days they see the counselor, and keep wearing it once the staff starts banning black clothing. It starts with all-black ensembles, then escalates to any and all black colored clothing.

We don’t want our students to promote mental illnesses.

Other students are still cruel - they just find new insults. The popular kids keep calling them a fag and a dyke and a sinner. The unpopular kids call them indecisive and perverted and mentally ill. The gifted kids make memes of them behind their back and share them amongst each other. Even the other alternative kids shut them out and blame the new dress code on them. And the Young Conservatives group responsible for their torment…

Do you think she’s gonna shoot up the school or herself first?

Shoot up the school then blow herself up.

Pterodactyl flips them off. Cut; the counselor’s office.

“People at the school were hypocrites. Zero-tolerance, which means if you beat someone black and blue and they snap and push back, then they’re the only one that gets suspended.”

Why are you trying so hard to be different?

What do you mean trying hard? I’m just being myself. Isn’t that what the school says I should be?

Well, yes, but…

“I had everything stacked up against me. And the school just didn’t care that I was constantly miserable.”

Another pep rally skipped. Pterodactyl is caught in the detention room, willingly there by their own accord. A teacher, furious as she scolds them.

Have you not been listening to the counselor?

No. They’re blunt.

Another visit.

I don’t think we can do this anymore. You keep rejecting my advice and you only come in here to whine about how the other kids don’t like you.

Good. I didn’t want to be here either.

“And of course, the principal was the worst bully of them all. He could’ve killed me himself and not even get a slap on the wrist.”

Pterodactyl slips away from another See You at the Pole. This time, caught by the principal. He locks them in the janitor’s closet and throws cat litter in their face when he’s done with them, tying their wrists to the inner doorknob. Pterodactyl is found by another student, only to be laughed at instead of helped. Cut; home. A tired confession to overworked parents. And a school meeting.

You locked our child in the closet?!

Your daughter was acting out and we had to take appropriate action. Aren’t you the least bit concerned about her antisocial behavior?

We’re more concerned about their grades than anything. They can be as lonely as they want as long as they keep up with their brother.

Pterodactyl stops trying. They can’t drop out, so they find another way. In the meantime, they cut class and skip assignments. Ditch lunch detention when possible.

“Texas is a hardass about education. Over there, you can’t legally drop out until you’re nineteen. But I would’ve been dead by nineteen if I didn’t take drastic measures.”

Another one of their bullies corners them in the bathroom. Came to cut yourself again? Pterodactyl shoves them away, and another student witnesses it. Makes a report.

“In hindsight, just throwing away my education like that wasn’t the best idea. But by that point, I had nothing to lose.”

That’s it, Fatima. You’re expelled. Don’t bother coming back.

Fucking finally!

“Sometimes you have to take risks to get what you truly need in life. It was hard, but I would’ve gotten into way more trouble if I stayed in Houston.”

Pterodactyl scrapes together the last of their cash by selling band merch for Greyhound tickets. Their guitar too, sold to two blond guys in sunglasses. Borrows phones to reach out to the Pastels between. Parasaurolophus waits for them at the Greyhound station. Velociraptor and Triceratops help them set up a spot. Aquilops and Microraptor affirms them. Stegosaurus talks to her mom about a Worm Drama demo.

“Things are rough here too, but at least here there’s people who understand who I am.”

They’re the last one to join the Pastels in person. Taking GED classes between band practice. A part-time job at the same store as Le Toucher. Money for a new guitar.

A small smile. “And I wouldn’t have it any other damn way.”