Chapter One: Michelangelo Loved the Slackers

Date posted: June 2/ 07

ISF: Long time no see, huh? I haven't had the spark to write a fic in a long time, so I made myself write this one, which I've had the idea for for some time now. Enjoy.

Notes: The story is set in Japan, but will be sort of Americanized. Just to let you purists know. Also, the lowest passing grade in my area is a 70, so that's what I'm using in here.

o o o o o o o

History: D

Math: D-

Science: D+

PE: A+

Japanese: D

Home Economics: D-

All in all, thought Joey, as he packed up his belongings when the last school bell had rung and made his way through the crowded hallways, a very successful progress report…except of course, for that small little English grade at the bottom of the progress report.

English: F

F.

F. F's, F's, F's EVERYWHERE burning a big, stupid failure mark on his big, stupid failing forehead. Joey made sure to purge his anger by "accidentally" tripping a shrimpy underclassman into the girl's bathroom—the furious shrieks and terrified squealing were oddly therapeutic. Yes, amazingly, Joseph Wheeler did care about his grades, although the scholastic ambition fell short of "overachievement" and ended up somewhere around "glad I wrote gibberish for my last homework assignment five minutes before class and that the teacher only glanced at it briefly before marking that I did it".

Barely scraping by wasn't just anything to Joey, who was now struggling to remember his locker combination; it was an art form. Surely Michelangelo and the guy that painted cans of soup would really appreciate the time he took into barely scraping by. Joey mentally sighed and, after closing his locker and dusting cobwebs off of himself (it had been two months since he had last opened that thing, and he found with mild surprise that a forgotten ham sandwich was in fact capable of supporting life), made his way to room 206, his English teacher's classroom. Hopefully, his teacher would see eye to eye with someone who had such an unhealthy fascination with Campbell's.

o o o o o o o

"For the last time, Mr. Wheeler," said Mr. Walls irritably, "I can't just give you extra credit on your grade. You earned that grade, so take it."

"Funny," frowned Joey. "You weren't saying that when you made me wash your car first semester."

"Well-"

"-Or when I helped you move your furniture from your old classroom to this one."

"Hang on now-"

"-Or when I fixed your TV for you."

"Enough! Look," Mr. Walls said, straightening his glasses, "I'm starting to regret this anyway. People talk. If it gets back to the principal that I've been giving grades to students that don't deserve them, then I will get fired."

There was a long silence before Joey opened his mouth and said, "You don't have any more things for me to do, do you?"

There was an even longer silence as Mr. Walls flustered for an answer.

"Well…no," he said. "The only thing I need to do right now is to get more milk and bread for my house—and I think I can afford to stop by the grocery store and get some myself, Mr. Wheeler," he finished coldly, for Joey was halfway out the door and counting the change in his pocket.

"So, I'm not going to pass for the year?" Joey said. "You only gave me the lowest grade to pass all year. If I fail this quarter, then that will bring my grade down to…."

"A sixty-two," said Mr. Walls. "Eight points below the pass and fail cutoff line. Oh, please don't start crying on me, Mr. Wheeler..."

"I wasn't crying!" Joey said fiercely. "You've got paper particles floating in here that are sticking to my eye!"

Silence.

"…Um, as I was saying…" Mr. Walls continued, "I can't give you the pass grade, but I think I can manage something."

Joey pricked up his ears.

"There are three weeks left of school, which…"

Joey looked reasonably happy.

"…Gives you more than enough time to complete a four-page essay on the English book of your choice."

"WHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!"

"Now, now, Mr. Wheeler, no need to act like that. I'm serious, Mr. Wheeler. Get out from under my desk IMMEDIATELY. You're only allowed to do that if there's a bomb threat!" He wrenched the trembling mass that was formerly known as Joey up to his feet. "I know that the essays are what you did worst on, but if you manage to write a passing essay, then I can give anyone who asks a reasonable excuse as to why I passed you for the year."

"Oh, God…." Joey moaned, his hands cradling his face. "I can't do those…please, Teacher, anything else, just not that….I'll even clean your house again like I did the year before."

"That is certainly not going to happen again, Mr. Wheeler," he said shortly. "I am not going to explain to my wife again why I tried to steam-clean the rugs in the shower. Good day. You have one week." He pushed Joey out of the class.

o o o o o o o

"…And I'll up that with three cookies," said Tristan, putting down his wager. He, Yugi, and Tea were playing poker in the Game Shop, and as Yugi's grandfather forbad the betting of actual money, they were forced to use the currency of Tristan's mother's excellent baking skills, Yugi's overly-large collection of potato chips in the shape of Duel Monster's heads, and anything found in Tea's backpack of a purse, with varying degrees of success for the last. Tristan rather liked the nice berry taste of the chap-stick he had won off of her last week, but his mother looked at him strangely when she found the rest of his prizes that day in his back pocket.

Tristan heard her and his father in their room that night discussing as to why their son would need tampons and a tube of mascara. It resulted in a breakfast speech the next morning that was very awkward for all of them.

But the pool seemed pretty good today. Yugi had just found a chip in the shape of a Hitotsume Giant that afternoon, so it wasn't stale yet, and Tea pulled out the big guns, a half-full box of crunchy granola bars crushed at the bottom of her backpack (those things weren't half bad, actually, he thought). He himself had those cookies and his uneaten chocolate bar from lunch at stake.

Just when he was realizing how sad he, Yugi, and Tea's lives were, he heard the bell on the store's door chime angrily (he could tell that whoever walked through it was in a bad mood) and Joey's furious voice say, "Four pages or I fail English!"

"Four pages?" Yugi repeated, putting down his hand (a straight of hearts) before gathering his winnings in a pile and opening a granola bar. "Mr. Walls wouldn't let you clean his house again?"

"No!" Joey said. "I don't know why…I didn't ruin all of his rugs, and some of them were actually pretty clean after I squeezed the water out of them."

"You're not supposed to put them in a shower, Joey," sighed Tea. "You need a steam machine for that, I think, or a rug-cleaning company do them for you."

"As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted by a know-it-all," said Joey, then dodging the purse that Tea threw (she had a lot of stuff in that thing—getting hit by it hurt), "Four whole pages! How am I going to do that in three weeks, huh?"

"It's actually just one and a half pages," Tristan said. "If it's in MLA format and double spaced. Not even that, actually. What?" he looked at his friends' surprised faces, "I'm in AP Engish, remember? Don't be fooled by the great hair, I've got the mind of a literary master."

"Gosh, I didn't know that," said Joey. "Could you help me with it, then?"

"Can't, I've got two projects that I need to make up for that class. Besides, I know you'll slack off and make me do all the work for you."

"How about you, Tea?" Joey turned around, looking desperate. Tea smiled sympathetically.

"I've got too many things to do before summer vacation, Joey."

"Yugi?" Joey looked like he would start bawling at any minute.

"I'm entering that Duelist Master's tournament in Kyoto. I'm leaving the day after tomorrow for two weeks."

"Aw, crap. Hey, wait a minute, why wasn't I asked to be in that?!"

"It's only for people who've won major Duelist tournaments. Not even Mai was allowed to come, and she's the top female duelist in the country."

"God." Joey collapsed onto the sofa, completely oblivious to the three people still sitting there. He ended up being pushed onto the floor, but got back up suddenly. "Hey, I could get Ribbon to help me! She's the student librarian, too!"

"Are you stupid, Joey?" Tristan said incredulously. "Ribbon transferred to a different school last semester!"

"Oh…no wonder she hasn't been sitting at our lunch table lately. I thought she was angry at you or something."

"Why would she be angry at me?"

"Probably because she asked me to tell you that she changed her mind about wanting to go out with you and I forgot about it."

"Why, you--!" Tristan made a leap towards Joey's neck, but was too late. Joey was already making his way to the school library (which was still open), a grim, final expression on his face.

He was making himself do something that he had not done in six years, and something that still made him want to vomit at the mere thought of it.

He was going to actually read a book.

o o o o o o o

ISF: Feel free to post constructive criticism on this. If I've made a mistake, I'd like to know. Reviews are always nice! Later.