The bell rang and, like almost every day, Art Baker stumbled in two or three minutes late. The History teacher – his official name was Mr. -, but everyone called him The Major – sighed. Baker offered him an apologetic smile. "Sorry… but… I got caught behind everyone else because this is the first class and I was eating breakfast…"

"This is the fourth time this week you've been late. Usually, once someone gets four tardies, they get detention. You've accumulated twenty tardies total this year, and it's October 15th."

"Um…"

The Major sighed and wrote something on a piece of paper. "Come to the gymnasium after school. Cancel all previous appointments."

In second period history, another opportunity for The Major's plan arose.

Gary Barkovitch was copying down the assignment from the board, trying to ignore Harold Quince pushing on the back of his chair, despite the fact that his ribcage had come into contact with the desk and it was really starting to hurt.

He lasted two more minutes.

Barkovitch slammed down his pencil and turned around. "Okay, Dumbo, cut it out!"

"Cut what out?" Quince asked, playing dumb.

"You fucking know what! Stop it!"

Quince was still playing dumb. Before Barkovitch could say more, however, he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was then that he realized that he was, in fact, in class and had just dropped the f-bomb. Some teachers might let you get away with a 'damn' or 'hell' every once in a while, but considering whose class he was in, he wouldn't even get a warning – he'd be straight in detention. If he was lucky. It was actually more likely that he'd get suspended.

He turned around. The Major was just looking at him. Barkovitch grimaced.

"Talk to me after class."

To nobody's surprise, after The Major went back to his desk, Harold Quince continued pushing on Barkovitch's chair.

Collie Parker hated chicken noodle soup.

Maybe it was the fact that whenever someone in his family blew their nose his mother shoved it down everyone's throat, but he fucking hated it. He sure as hell wasn't eating lunch today. He'd have his chocolate milk and apple and dessert, but he wasn't eating this chicken soup.

"What do I do with this shit?" Parker muttered to Abraham, who had just taken a bite of said atrocity. Abe swallowed and glanced around the cafeteria, his gaze landing on the one of the only tables that was not shoved full of kids. It seated that prick Gary Barkovitch and some blond kid – they weren't talking, of course, Barkovitch didn't have any friends and blond kid looked like he didn't like people. Parker grinned. One of the reasons he liked Abraham was his creativity.

"You'll probably get suspended, but, you know. Whatever," Abraham said, shrugging. "There's my voice of reason. Now go."

Parker stood up and, bowl of soup in hand and almost skipped – except he was Collie fucking Parker, he didn't skip – over to Barkovitch. Barkovitch didn't see it coming.

Parker, who had by now garnered quite a bit of attention from surrounding tables, turned over his bowl.

Barkovitch stiffened as the lukewarm soup ran off of his head and onto his shirt. Noodles, mushy vegetables and probably-fake chicken caught in his hair. The entire cafeteria went quiet, and, to no surprise, the teacher that decided to use their authority was The Major.

"Give Mister Barkovitch a new shirt and then come with me."

Barkovitch was about to grab his bag and go, but then remembered that he needed to go to the gym for some reason. The Major hadn't actually said what they were going to do, but he'd said that he wouldn't get the typical day of in-school suspension that usually came with swearing of that caliber in the middle of class. And Barkovitch had spent enough time in in-school already, so he'd taken it.

Of course, during lunch Parker had dumped soup on his head and he couldn't even retaliate in fear of getting in even more trouble, so he'd had to take the polo Parker had handed him with no comment, even though the sleeves went down to his elbows and the shirt itself went halfway to his knees.

There were five other people in there. The blond kid that often sat at the same table as him during lunch was sitting alone, writing something down in what looked like a scorebook. The ginger that hung around Parker and his (possible) boyfriend were there, as well as two kids he didn't know – one with a scar on his face and one that really had nothing special about him. Barkovitch stood there awkwardly until some shoved him from behind.

"C'mon Barkobitch, don't block the doorway."

Parker. Of course.

The Major walked in at that moment and passed a critical eye over the group. "We're just missing Olson, then," he said. "We'll wait a few more minutes and if he doesn't show up we'll have to start without him."

Thirty seconds later a boy who Barkovitch supposed was Olson walked through the door.

"Now, how many of you were planning on playing basketball this winter?"

Two hands went up – Parker and his ginger friend.

"Forget about it."

Parker, of course, complained. "Look, I've gotta-"

"No. Because you'll be busy," The Major said. He began to pace. "This year, this school and a few others have decided to start doing something new. Each school can use up to seven students – female or male, though this school has gone male – that cause problems of some sort and put them on a basketball team."

Barkovitch was more than a little nervous about this statement. He hadn't touched a basketball since the fourth grade, when he'd decided to play PeeWee basketball and quit the first day.

This was not going to be fun.

I have two chapters written on this one as well. My interest in it kind of depleted after I completed watching Kuroko no Basket.