The International Baccalaureate program is a two year internationally renowned university prep program, usually completed during grades 11 and 12. 150 hours of CAS (Creativity, Action/Activity, and Service) hours are needed in order to recieve the diploma. Some schools are down right nasty (mine) and make the students do 180 hours. It's not even a matter of doing the time that's the hard part, it's documenting it with journals, pictures, newspaper clippings, and reflections. You can't count hours if you're paid for them. Walking the dog doesn't count, either.
Eventual shounen-ai if some people like it. It takes me a long time to write anything.
Disclaimer: If I owned Naruto, Rock Lee and Gaara would be the main characters.
"I'm sorry Gaara, but in order to graduate, you need 32 more Action hours in the next two months. I suggest you talk to the gym teacher, Mr. Gai, after school about being involved in some of the intramurals or teams."
Gaara had known this was coming. He had come all the way from Suna to enroll in the International Baccalaureate program at Konoha High in order to have the best education offered. Unfortunately, being an IB diploma candidate didn't just mean staying up all night studying and writing a 4000 word essay, it also meant you had to complete a minimum of 150 "CAS" hours: 50 hours each of Creativity, Action, and Service, all in the name of becoming a "well-rounded individual". Of course, Gaara had no trouble with Creativity and Service, especially since he'd had two years to do those 100 hours. He had an affinity for art, especially sculpting, and he also took guitar lessons. As for Service, he was an incredibly academic student and tutored many of his peers in every subject. However, his week point, as Ms. Tsunade, the headmistress and IB coordinator, had pointed out, was physical activity. Not that he was in terribly bad shape, but the muscles in his back came from carrying his heavy schoolbag to school every day. He didn't have the time or the skill for sports teams, and to be honest, he was too embarrassed by his skinniness to willingly sign up for intramurals where he'd have to run around in gym shorts. Now he was in grade 12, and two months away from graduating with a measly 12 hours of Activity to his name.
"Thank you, Ms. Tsunade; I will follow your advice."
"Good luck, Gaara. I would hate for a great student like you to have to redo a year."
Gaara nodded, not showing any emotion. He closed the door with the plaque "Headmistress" on it behind him, and returned to his Math HL (Higher Level, or Higher Loser as Naruto liked to call it) class. Shikamaru was asleep, like he usually was. When asked why he didn't do any work in class, he'd reply, "I already know how to do it. It's too troublesome to bother now. I can wait till the exam." Most people wondered why Shikamaru had bothered with the IB program, and Gaara wondered how the lazy genius had gotten any of his CAS hours done.
"Psst Gaara, did you get in trouble with the hag?" Tenten whispered from behind him, referring to the way he'd been called to the office earlier.
"No."
"Headmistress' pet." It was well known Gaara was by far the best twelfth grade student at Konoha high, although he was sure Shikamaru could give him a run for his money if he only showed some effort. "So watcha gonna do about those CAS hours?"
"Tenten, pay attention! Shikamaru, wake up. Now, take the derivative of this quartic..."
The lunch bell rang, and students poured out of the classrooms. Gaara found his friend Naruto waiting for him at his locker.
"Man, I still don't know what you were thinking, taking another Higher Loser class instead of a free. I've already eaten; I managed to convince Sakura to come with me to Starbucks. I mean, sure I had to invite Sasuke too, but it still counts, right?"
"You could have studied instead. You'd make better than a 4 in English if you did that." They sat down on a bench by the back windows. Gaara shifted so as not to sit on fresh gum.
"You're such a geek, Gaara, why on earth should I try that hard? I wouldn't even be in IB if I didn't have a darned teacher for a guardian..." Iruka, the history teacher, was nice but extremely strict. "You should try having some fun once in a while, maybe go out on a date or something. I know that Matsuri girl in 11 looks at you all the time..."
"No."
"Geez, you're being worse than usual. What's up?"
"I have to complete 32 more hours of Action to graduate."
"Action? I had that done first term last year! You should have joined the rugby team with me and the guys, it's loads of fun."
"Do I look like a rugby player to you?"
Naruto looked down at his short, redheaded friend. "...well, maybe not."
"I'm going to talk to the gym teacher after school." Gaara winced mentally at the thought of having to talk to the overenthusiastic Mr. Gai. Normally, he avoided him at all costs to keep from being temporarily blinded by shiny bowl cut hair and brilliant white teeth.
"Well, have fun with that. Hey, you gonna eat that sandwich? I didn't eat much because I had to pay for Sakura and Sasuke..."
Gaara had hardly knocked on the door before it flew open.
"Excuse me, Mr. Gai..."
"Sabaku no Gaara! What a rare pleasure! What can I do for you?"
Gaara repeated for what felt like the 100th time. "I need 32 hours of Activity by May." He kept his voice as even and unemotional as always.
"Ah, physical activity! The most youthful of experiences! You have come to the right place, my son. It purifies the mind, strengthens the body, and lifts the spirit! Nothing can compare!" The exuberant man paused, mid thumbs-up. "Not that academics are not worth pursuing." He corrected himself.
"Just tell me something I can do to get this over with... please." Gaara added the last word as an afterthought. He didn't want to sound so harsh. The gym teacher was loud, overly enthusiastic, bushy-browed, and just plain too happy to be healthy, but he wasn't a bad person, and Gaara needed something from him.
"Well then, would you be interested in joining hockey intramurals?"
Gaara shook his head.
"Badminton?"
Another negative.
"Swimming? The Track team? Martial Arts? Gymnastics? Weight lifting?"
Gaara's stomach cramped at the thought of swimming. He knew the swim team wore Speedos, and some of them even shaved their legs. There was absolutely no way Gaara was revealing that much of his weak, skinny body. The track team wasn't a good idea either: Gaara may have been a fast runner as child, but he knew he would have the disadvantage now because his legs were shorter than most of the guys'. As for gymnastics and weight lifting, he barely gave them a thought. Just no.
"Martial Arts are fine."
"In that case, follow me! You should talk to one of my precious students, for he can help you achieve your youthful goal! In here!" The teacher led Gaara down a hall next to the gym, and opened a door with a fogged up window.
It was the weight room, and it was warmer than the hall and smelled of sweat. Towels hung on hooks, meant for wiping perspiration off of hardworking foreheads, and a rack of dumbbells lined the opposite wall. There were only a couple students left, because the end-of-day bell had rung at least twenty minutes ago. The most noticeable one was in the middle of the room doing one-armed push-ups, clad in green shorts, bright orange sneakers, and a green jersey. His green headband pushed back his glossy black hair, failing to fulfill its task of keeping the sweat droplets off the boy's face.
Gaara wrinkled his nose. He greatly disliked the humidity and smell of this room.
The boy in green stood up. He was very tall. "Hello, Coach!" Hell, he didn't even look tired.
"Gaara! This is Rock Lee. He has a black belt in Karate, but also specializes in Jujutsu and Judo. As well, he participates in every sport we offer except for swimming!"
Thank goodness, thought Gaara. He's weird enough already.
"Lee, Gaara is interested in martial arts. Anyhow, I'll leave you too to talk!" Mr. Gai left the room as quickly as he had entered, and it suddenly seemed very quiet. Gaara was left alone facing Rock Lee.
"Umm... So, what kind of martial arts are you interested in, Gaara?" Tall, Dark, and Awkward said. He pronounced each syllable very precisely.
"It doesn't matter. Is there somewhere I can sign up for lessons? I just need a certain amount of hours done before May." Gaara had to look up to talk to Lee, and it was uncomfortable.
The tall boy shifted from foot to foot, and looked down at his feet. He said, "I was hoping I could teach you myself... You see, I need twenty more Service hours, or I cannot graduate." His ears were slightly pink, as if he were ashamed.
Gaara was a little confused. "You're in IB as well?" he had to ask. He couldn't remember ever seeing Rock Lee around.
"Er, yes. I am in your Theory of Knowledge (1) class, actually. But I took mostly Standard Level courses, which is why I am not in any others..."
The redhead had only one Slower Learner course (Naruto's way of saying SL), and it was French. But still, it was embarrassing for him to never have noticed Lee before. "Oh."
"But I always sit at the back of the class! And you are always at the front. So I am not surprised. Anyway, would you be ok with me teaching you? How many Action hours do you need?"
He thought about it for a couple seconds. Lee teaching him could be awkward, especially when he realized how out of shape Gaara really was. Then again, next year, they'd both be gone to university and would most likely never see each other again.
"Yes, that's fine. I need thirty two hours in two months, therefore four hours every week until May. That would give you more than enough Service hours. And I am only free after school on Mondays and Thursdays."
"Great! That works for me as well." Lee didn't bother doing the calculations in his own head. He was smart, but not very good at mental math. "Today is Wednesday; would you like to start tomorrow?"
"Why not."
"Excellent! Then I will see you here tomorrow, Gaara. Wear loose clothing! Now, I must go shower." And with that, the black-haired boy slung the towel he had been using over his shoulder and went out the door. Gaara stood there a moment, thinking about what he just got himself into, before realizing he was late for his guitar lesson.
(1) Possibly the worst course IB students are forced into.