Disclaimer: All of the characters in this non-cannon (AU) story are owned by Akira Toriyama.

Trunks

8:15 a.m.

One of Mozart's sonatas echoes down the hallways. Orange Star High School has this stupid tradition of playing a song before ringing the bells, so we, students, don't have an excuse to be late for class.

A crowd of seniors follows behind me as I walk down the halls. Ah… seniors. It feels good to say I'm already one of them. In no more than two months, I'll be finally gone. I'll get rid of all those teenagers copying everything I do. Sluts who claim to be students won't longer be disturbing me (no, I'm not gay. They simply are more gross than sexy). Teachers, lets not forget about them. I'll finally get rid of people commanding me, giving me orders. About time of switching tables. It all seems too good to be true, but if it's not, at least I'll be somehow free.

Because people really overestimate the power of being famous and popular. It's getting old. Well, not really. It got old when Jun Koyama gave me her A-cupped bra back in the 8th grade to become my popular girlfriend. The annoying part is that I was expecting a B-size. Now my lack of privacy turned into none, like a psychological prison. It's sickening.

So the next time you think of growing up to a rich family to end up being the heir of Capsule Corp, do it more than twice, because it's not as worthy as it seems.

I shut my locker's door to see one of the hottest 12th graders waiting for me behind it. "Hey there." She's smirking at me, her right shoulder leaning on the blue lockers.

"What's up?" I make my way down the hallway. No need to squeeze myself in, they all open up like if I were a blower.

"Wait up!" that squeaky voice that stuns my ears. Though she's my girlfriend, it's one of her many flaws I can't stand. "Trunks!"

"Leave high heels to nightclubs, Marron." My voice teases in a warning tone, still walking forward and without giving a glance behind me. But she's so dumb that she doesn't get it. She gets none of my jokes actually.

I mean, don't resent me. I really like her, but maybe I just want—need—someone with a higher IQ level…? I can't help but mentally slap myself… What am I thinking!? She's, like, literally the hottest girl on campus, with a capital h.

Whatever.

I get rid of that thought as I keep walking down the halls. The sound of her heels clacking on the marble went lowering. I could feel her far from me.

Phew!

I must say that being able to walk through the corridors without being pushed is one of the best perks of being me. I could walk blindfolded and still be a hundred percent sure that nothing or no one would hurt me. So I just take my phone out of my pocket and check my inbox. You probably assume my phone is a nonstop message receiver. Which is partly true, if work messages count.

But then I'm stopped. Someone runs into me. Or I run into him/her? Whatever, we come across each other. That someone is a girl. Her black bangs and pale face aren't new to me.

"Hi Trunks…" she manages to not stutter, like other times before.

"Hey… Pam!"

"Pan."

"Right," I try to disguise my shame with nerve. Why can't I ever remember this girl's name!? I scratch the back of my head as I keep checking my messages, "what brings you around?"

She stretches out her arms towards me, holding a yellow folder in her hands. "It's the Sybil essay you asked me to do."

Yeah, I know. It's kind of lame for a senior to ask for a sophomore to make his homework. But in my defense, she's a bookworm, which probably means that she has experience on writing. I'm not really sure though. Of all the essays she's done for me, I've never read one.

I grab it from her hands, but before I can even thank her, she bows and walks past me. I snort. Nobody does that anymore.

1:20 p.m.

Time passes by so slowly that it makes me think classes will last forever. Long and boring days like this leave me a throbbing head, how am I supposed to "learn" something with veins protruding from my forehead? Not fair for us.

I finally make it to literature/my last class of the day. And all I can think is thank Kami. Because all you do in this class is read. No, I don't read, but at least I can fall asleep without being called by the teacher. Because I'm pretty sure that behind that Don Quixote book, he's holding a playboy magazine. His secret is safe as long as he doesn't bother me.

"Okay guys, turn in your essays."

Yeah, maybe it's not always like that. Today was an essay delivery day, which meant talking about the book we were supposed to read, slash pretend to be listening and zone out.

I open the yellow pasteboard folder Pan… or Pam? Whatever, I open the folder the pale girl gave to me earlier today. I'm a little impressed at the work's first sight. It looks so neat and white, like if she had taken care of it with life itself. But I'm used to it, she always does it this way.

I pass it over to the person in front of me, but when I do, I notice this other pinkish paper folded to the half inside the folder. Is that supposed to be for me…? I let my instinct go with the flow and slowly unfold it.

Pan

8:17 a.m.

I'm starting to regret what I just did.

My head starts filling with these torturing thoughts. What if he just throws the paper away? What if he doesn't like my drafting? What if he doesn't like me?

Jeez… Why did humans have to develop a subconscious mind?

Perhaps I should just exchange folders and make up an excuse… yes, that's right. If I'm not mistaken, he doesn't have Literature until the last period, so that means I have enough time to—wait, no. I can't do that. Bulla said he likes confident girls. What I did requires a lot of nerve and confidence. So I really hope that my feeling-outburst is worth my dignity, it'd better.

"Son Pan!" speaking of the devil…

I shot my locker before turning around, a light growl escaping from my lips. "For the umpteenth time, just Pan."

She rolls her turquoise eyes, unlike Trunks' aqua ones. "It's your name, isn't it?"

I sigh deeply. "Whatever."

"So, what happened?"

I wouldn't call us friends. We're more like allies aiming the same target. See, my uncle used to have this girlfriend and he can't let go of her. Stubborn and immature… He's hurting, badly.

But it's understandable, though. I mean, I don't blame Marron Chestnut for choosing Trunks Briefs over, well, uncle Goten.

But in this case, we're talking about my crush for over 3 years now. So yes, I do blame her for stealing my ideal-man's heart. No doubt she'll end up shattering it into a million pieces for a better match (if that's even possible).

Plus, she made uncle Goten's life, and I quote, "senseless and pathetic". Not like I'm oh-so-worried about him, but you know, I am. Besides, I don't like this bimbo, so I got an excuse to hate her rather than being my platonic love's girlfriend. He keeps chasing behind her, like a homeless puppy.

For some odd, stupid reason, Bulla likes that homeless puppy.

This is when she comes in, the perfect girl for him. Maybe too cocky for his liking, but she can get anyone she wants eating from the palm of her hand. If we wouldn't be fellow combatants I'd think she's the exact replica of Marron. It makes sense.

But the only problem is that Bulla is shy.

Not in the way she hides from everyone to go unnoticed. Bulla is the kind of shy that is awkward, probably the only thing I like in her.

2:00 p.m.

Last bell, finally.

I make an attempt to rush towards my locker. And in about 15 minutes I finally get there. A downside of being a small sophomore is that people don't notice you at all, so you end up all trodden and pushed. Yeah, it's a daily struggle.

I spot the corner of a paper sticking out of my locker's grids. Like if someone was halfway of tucking it in. My nerves are gnawing my insides. As if it were made of a thin layer of glass, I carefully pull it out, to see that it's my letter. The same I gave to Trunks earlier, just that now is folded in 2 halves.

He read it.

I open the locker, just to see if he left a note or something, but all I can see are my books arranged neatly, nothing out of the ordinary.

Maybe this is his way of turning me away. What else could I expect?

"So, shall we call it a date?"

The beating of my heart suddenly becomes so strong that it deafens me. It's all I can hear. But my ears manage to catch the words and my brain tries to understand them. His voice is unmistakable, and even though he's facing my back, I got the feeling he's inviting me.

How can I turn him down?

Italics = emphasize/subconscious thought

A/N: Hi there! This is my first story, so please be nice! Mahalo