Disclaimer: Of course I own nothing. I wish I could be the ruler of an entire race. Maybe they're selling 'em off e-bay…
The author's note: A/U Bulma is a misfit in a world of stereotypes (a.k.a. my school, I will eventually get around to bashing the cheerleaders.) Vegeta is captain of the football team. Bulma is in the lowest position of power; and captain of the football team is probably the highest. Not real sure, I'm still stuck in middle school (They're in high school) parentheses will probably be me, if not, oh well.
Let the chaos commence.
'Cause I can.
"Watch it!" Bulma shouted. Once again some jerk decided to be exactly what he was, and knocked Bulma's supplies all over the floor. Books and loose-leaf papers were everywhere within a 5 foot radius of where she was standing.
The guy walked right on by with his friends, laughing.
"Hey, asshole, I was talking to you!" Bulma screamed at him before he was out of sight. She also spat profanities to anyone else that trampled her papers on their way to their classes.
It was a simple enough word for him to understand, and separating from his friends he walked to where she was still trying to gather her papers, the blob of a human with a little tuft of brown hair on the very middle of his small head, stated simply:
"You talking to me?"
Bulma glared at him, while continuing to pick up as much as she could. The other students went on either side of the hallway, some to get out of there as soon as possible, others to watch the inevitable fight.
"No, I was talking to the guy with an IQ of 4 over there."
The blob took exactly 1 minute to decide he had intimidated his opponent in the one-sided battle of wits. Then miraculously, another 30 seconds rushed by before he realized Bulma was being sarcastic.
Bulma had given up on the guy figuring out that she had insulted him the first 5 seconds, and proceeded to pick up the remaining few papers and headed towards her classroom. The crowd had done the same earlier when they thought just a lot of talking was going to take place.
Passing the blob's group of friends, who appeared to be thinking hard as well.
Blob's hand grabbed Bulma's neck.
Bulma's free hand, the other one holding her binder and books, instinctively went to try and pry her neck loose.
As reason set in, Bulma have up her futile attempt, and instead went for the blob's wrist, and then went on to press a bundle of nerves, which in turn, sent messages to his brain that reported he was in pain, calling upon the immediate release of Bulma's neck in order to cease the pain.
'Thank you biology.' Bulma thought, happy that the wonderful sensation of breathing had returned to her.
Unfortunately for Bulma, blob had managed to yelp out his distress, causing the nearest classroom door to open. Out stepped everyone's favorite teacher, Mrs. Loce to step out.
She was the teacher everyone got a Christmas gift for because she was nice. Her short blonde, curly hair, was pulled back by a headband, she was one of the keyboarding teachers, and seemed to get along with all her students.
The only problem was she hated Bulma.
Allow me to explain; Bulma hated the cheerleaders, Mrs. Loce seemed to thrive on her friendships with the cheerleaders, so when she allowed her students to write their opinions to practice keyboarding skills, Bulma bashed the preppies for all they were worth.
Seemed as though Mrs. Loce didn't appreciate Bulma's unique paper, which wasn't on malls or lipstick color like the majority of the girl populace had written.
Bulma was now trying desperately to explain the situation to deaf ears.
Or, Mrs. Loce was too busy babying over blob to hear a word coming from her mouth.
Bulma seized the opportunity to try and escape. Step by step, she managed to get as far as the end of the hallway.
"And…fake sniffle she…fake sniffle hit me." The blob said, evident he was faking everything.
"Oh you poor dear, that girl will be sent to the office immediately." Mrs. Loce now looked up to where she thought Bulma was.
'One, more, step…' Bulma thought, almost to her class.
"Ms. Briefs? Where did you think you were going?"
Groaning at how close she was to her classroom, and at the same time so far away, she turned to face her keyboarding teacher.
"One lousy step away, one. Just one. 3 more seconds and I would have been home free." Bulma muttered to herself, having been stuck in the principal's office for the last hour or so.
Turning to the secretary, Bulma asked for the 32nd time since she had been sent in,
"May I see the principal, he's not doing anything. We're both wasting our time. I've missed half of English by now."
The secretary stared blankly at Bulma, and of course Bulma stared back. But after a while your eyes do start to hurt.
Sitting back down in defeat, Bulma thought about how miserable her life was, who all made it miserable and how to make those who made her miserable, miserable.
Shouts, ranting of words not suitable for people who wouldn't be able to see the PG13 movies without a parent shattered the silence.
The chemistry teacher walked into the office, pulling an unwilling, teed off, and very angry teenager, by the ear.
The chemistry teacher being possibly in the running for the oldest staff member, handed a lengthy list to the secretary, and then left, but not before telling what's his face to sit down and no cause anymore trouble.
"The bitch." The guy mumbled before he sat in the only other vacant seat (next to Bulma) in the office.
The secretary looked over the list, and started to type madly on the computer next to her.
Bulma looked up to a fellow delinquent. He had on a jacket that clearly said he was on the football team. As far as physical features were concerned, everything looked normal, except his hair. Let's just say, it had something against gravity.
"What are you here for?" Bulma asked, not really expecting an answer.
"What's it to you?"
"Give me a break! Just trying to make conversation here."
"Please do me a favor and keep your 'conversations' to yourself."
"Make me."
"Believe me, I will."
"Sure." She was already here for being in a fight, what more harm could come of this?
"I don't waste my time on nobody's like you."
"Now I see what the problem is."
"What problem?"
"All that hair gel's leaked into your brain."
It went on like that for a long time. The principal was doing nothing to stop it, too busy doing 'something' on his computer.
Frog guts went flying in an all out war.
In other words, someone had carted in dead frogs into an office that held to very pissed teenagers.
Bulma had started it, being the one closest to the cart. (Why the carts in the office? Some lazy kid didn't want to walk the extra 5 yards and hated the principal, and everything else as well, so…)
Green, red and all those other gut colors covered the walls within a few minutes. The stench wasn't all that great, and what a stench it was. The principal was very conscience about the order of his formally clean office (he didn't like the smell either). The war ended when the, oh so grand principal emerged from his office and sent the two quaking in his wake.
At least that was Mr. Featah's original plan.
After several futile attempts at communicating the participants in the frog war, he sought shelter in his room.
Back to what was going on with the fight.
"You'll pay dearly for that." Bulma was cornered, and getting pelted with deceased amphibians.
It didn't help that the guy was the quarterback of the school's team.
The attacks stopped. "You give?" He asked, tossing a frog up and down in his right hand.
Rather then admit defeat, Bulma scrapped splattered frog innards of the wall, having run out of ammo a while ago (He had control of the cart) and threw it at the guy.
From what Bulma could tell, he was either red from anger, or from the bowels of some dead frogs.
The assault of frogs subsided.
"VEGETA! MS. BRIEFS!" Mr. Featah had come from his office, along with the secretary.
"INTO MY OFFICE, NOW!"
The two teens walked into the designated room, dropping what ever they were holding.
I have a confession to make.
I snapped.
Sorry.
Due to popular demand (two people) I have taken out most of the author's notes.