AN: I should really be working on other stuff... but I had another idea. ;_; Review and tell me your thoughts! (and yes, they will learn about the Cybertronians, but not yet.)

Miles stared listlessly out of the window of his math class, daydreaming. His first period class, and he was already bored out of his mind. He'd finished his worksheet already, and what else was there to do? He had a perfect view of the parking lot, and he spotted that familiar bright yellow paint job with black stripes, Sam's Camaro. That gave him somewhere to direct his thoughts to.

Even if he texted Sam he was unlikely to get a response. Ever since the previous school year, they'd been drifting farther and farther apart. Miles knew something big had happened and changed his friend, but not what. He had gotten the car, gotten the girl, and then all Miles knew was he'd been there during Mission City. His car had been damaged and he was reimbursed with a new, better one. Miles also knew that Mission City incident was a government cover up, and whatever he thought he knew about it wasn't true. Sam and Mikaela knew the truth, but neither could tell. The one time he had asked Sam had nearly had a fit.

And then there was Mikaela. He'd never really liked the girl, never really had anything against her, either. His comments stemmed from the brotherly protectiveness he felt towards Sam, since Sam had been head over heels for her since Elementary school. He was pretty sure she hadn't even known Sam's name until last year, but they had been together all through summer and a week into the school year. They had broken it off, but still remained as close as ever.

That was something that annoyed Miles. They weren't even together anymore, and Sam still went out of his way to spend time with her, ignoring any plans he and Miles might have made. Sure, he hung out with the both of them, but not as frequently as he would like to, and there was just so many little inside things between the two. Half the conversation he was left out, like he was never there in the first place. It was just easier to leave them both alone.

"Miles?" The teacher's voice snapped Miles out of his thoughts, and he looked up at his desk sheepishly.

"Yes, Mr. Ruben?" Miles asked, before being gestured up to Mr. Ruben's desk.

Mr. Ruben smiled, "I've been looking at the grades so far this year, and you've been doing remarkably well."

"Thank you, sir." Miles said politely, "Now what's the point to all this?"

"Smart boy," Mr. Ruben laughed, "I was wondering if you had time to take on being a tutor. One of our star football players is having trouble in his math class. He's in your grade, so you might know him. His name is Trent DeMarco."

"I know him by name only, but if he's that bad off then I can tutor him." Miles replied.

"Excellent!" Mr. Ruben was a little too cheerful, and Miles wondered how many good math students had said no from fear of the jock. "Your lunch periods are the same, so I'll give you a pass and you can both meet in the library."

"Okay."

Miles half wondered if he should think about how Sam would feel about him tutoring the jock. Then he realized that he didn't really care. He knew Sam, and was fairly certain that any rivalry between the two was all in Sam's imagination. He doubted Trent even knew his name, and Sam's only because he had stolen Mikaela away from the jock.

Miles made it to the library a little early, he'd asked to go to his locker and his study hall teacher had just let him out a few minutes early. Wonderful. Now he had to sit and wait for the jock.

He took the time to think about what he actually knew about Trent. He had dated Mikaela, though for how long he wasn't sure. He was one of the most popular kids in school, always in some social clique or another. He was on the football team, though what position he played Miles didn't know. Now he knew that the jock apparently sucked at math.

Miles remembered the incident at the park clearly, and while it looked like Trent had started it with his 'how to suck at sports?' question, he wasn't so sure. It hadn't held any malice behind it, like it could have just been light teasing or meant to be a joke, and Sam had reacted badly. And it wasn't that much of a surprise with Trent reacting the way he did to what Sam had said.

Trent's teacher had given him a folder with a copy of all the tests and work he'd turned in, as well as a system report on his grades. He had glanced over it, and nearly cried at how horrible Trent was. He knew the teen needed help, badly, but he was a bit wary about tutoring him. Trent was a jock and he wasn't. Compared to Trent he was a scrawny little nerd, a nobody.

"Lancaster, right?" Trent asked by way of greeting, letting his books hit the table with a loud slam that made Miles flinch.

"Yeah, I know you already." Miles replied politely, eyeing the jock warily. He wasn't sure what to expect.

Trent glanced him over, frowning. "You're Witwacky's friend."

"One: it's Witwicky," Miles enunciated carefully, "Two: we're here to talk about the class you're failing, not Sam."

"I'm not failing."

Miles took out the folder he had been given by Trent's math teacher. He showed Trent his current grade, which was indeed an F.

"Oh." Trent groaned, "God, I'm so screwed. M'dad's gonna kill me if I fail."

Miles watched Trent sit down heavily, putting his head in his hands. He could tell the other teen was fairly distressed by how bad his grade was.

"When's your next test?"

"Friday."

Well, that didn't give Miles much to work with. It was Monday now, and Trent's test was less than five days away. Miles took back the folder, and glanced at the teacher's notes, looking over what the next test was on. He'd already covered that in his class, but then again he was in the AP version of it, and not the academic like Trent.

"Wanna come over tonight?" Miles asked, closing the folder again. "It'll be easier than both of us skipping lunch and being hungry in the rest of our classes, not to mention lunch is so short. I can tutor you at my house, or yours, whichever's easiest."

"Yours." Trent didn't sound enthusiastic. Rather like he'd already lost all hope.

"Okay," Miles nodded, scribbling his address down on a piece of paper. "What time?"

"How do you get home?"

"Bus."

"What, Witwa-" At Miles pointed look, Trent changed his pronunciation. "Witwicky doesn't give you a ride home?"

"No." A little curt, but Miles didn't want to talk about Sam to Trent.

"Then I'll give you a ride home. What's your number?"

Miles gave it to him, and put Trent's in his contacts. He was rather happy with how easily Trent had given in on calling Sam Witwacky. Then again, he might have really thought it was Witwacky, but he doubted it. Miles had to hold back a smirk; it looks like the jock really was desperate if he was going to listen to what a scrawny little nerd said. That gave him some confidence.

Miles hoisted his backpack on his shoulder, and looked around for Trent. He spotted the jock by his beloved truck, talking to his friends. He sighed, he knew better than to go over there, and all the buses had already left. He didn't feel like waiting for the jock, and a glance around spotted Sam and Mikaela leaning against the black and yellow Camaro. He walked over to them.

"Hey, buddy," Sam said in surprise, "Missed your bus? I can give you a ride home."

Miles eyed the car Sam and Mikaela were resting on. He'd never felt comfortable in Sam's first Camaro, and he'd chocked it up to it looking like a death trap. But he didn't feel comfortable in his knew Camaro, either. He always got the strange sense he was being watched, and the radio always acted up. He knew it was insane, but half the time he thought it was responding to their conversations.

"No, thanks. I got a ride, but they're busy so I'm waiting."

"With who?" Mikaela asked curiously, flashing Miles a smile.

"I got stuck tutoring someone 'cuz they're failing math, so we're going to my house."

Sam laughed, "Did you warn them about your mom?"

"His mom?" Mikaela frowned, close to a pout. "I haven't met her yet."

"Good," Miles said, "Because she'd have you tied to a chair and have enough food for an entire third world country shoved down your throat in five minutes."

A buzz drew his attention, and he took out his phone. A text from Trent, telling him to 'hurry the fuck up'. He rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, duty calls. See you tomorrow!"

Miles unlocked the door, stepping inside and holding it open for Trent. Or he was until he was tackled by one hundred plus pounds of hyper Mastiff, happy to see him again. Trent raised an eyebrow, but he was clearly amused.

"Sorry," Miles grumbled, shoving the dog off. "This is our dog, Mason."

Mason barked at his name, going and sniffing at Trent while Miles picked himself up. Trent grinned, patting the large dog's head.

"Oh, who's this?"

Both teen's looked up at the voice to see a woman poking her head around a corner before coming into view, wiping her hands on an apron. She looked to be in her 60s, and Trent assumed her to be Miles' Grandmother.

She smiled at Trent, "Miles didn't tell us he was bringing any of his little friends over. I'm Miles' mother."

"I'm Trent DeMarco, ma'am." Trent replied automatically, looking between Miles and his mother a few times in surprise.

"Oh, how polite." Elizabeth laughed, "Just call me Mama Lizzy, hun. Will you be staying for dinner?"

"I-"

"Wonderful! I'll set an extra place at the table."

Miles snorted at Trent's expression, and headed for the stairs. "Don't let her bully you into staying for dinner if you don't want to."

"I don't care, it's just…" Trent trailed off, following Miles into his room.

"I'm adopted." Miles said with some amusement, dropping his backpack on his bed. Trent's reaction was about the same as everyone else's who had met his parents. They assumed they were his grandparents, and then were floored when it turned out to be his parents.

"Oh." Trent replied, glancing around his room while Miles got out his math stuff.

Trent wasn't sure what he was expecting Miles to have in his room, had no idea what the teen might even be into, so he couldn't stop himself from looking. A skateboard in the corner next to a pair of roller skates, a large dog bed with some toys in it, a TV at the foot of his bed, a desk with a laptop on it, a dresser, a nightstand, and a closet. The TV was on, but muted, and Trent didn't recognize what was on right off hand.

"Let's get started." Miles said, and Trent sat at the desk.

An hour and thirty minutes later, and Trent was bored out of his mind. Miles was checking over his work, so he took a glance at the TV. A Victoria Secret commercial caught his eye, and he watched with interest. Up until Miles turned the TV off with his remote, that is.

"I was watching that!" Trent protested.

"If you want to look at scantily clad women do it on your own time," Miles replied, not even looking up from the paper he was reading.

Trent glared, "What does it matter? You're checking my stupid paper anyway, Lancaster."

"If you stopped focusing on big boobs and a great ass maybe you wouldn't be failing math, DeMarco." Miles retorted flippantly, realizing that could be a bad idea only after he said it.

Miles met Trent's glare with his own. He wasn't in the mood for Trent to think he could push him around and waste his time. He was being kind enough to help the jock out; the jock could at least be decent.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Trent asked, a warning in his voice that Miles should back down.

Miles was never really good at backing down, though.

"It means that if you're going to be wasting my time, then leave." Miles said dryly, slapping the paper Trent had been working on down on the desk. "You've barely been paying attention this entire time, and it's really no surprise that you're failing if this is how you act in class. Oh, and stop flexing your muscles, as if that's going to intimidate me. You're about as threatening as a skunk. Get serious about this, or get out."

"Don't press your luck, Lancaster." Trent ground out, but Miles didn't even look fazed.

"What's my first name?"

"It's-"

Trent cut himself off, blinking in surprise. He had absolutely no idea what Miles first name was. In his head all he thought of him as was Lancaster. Trent quickly backpedaled, he knew for a fact his mom had used it when they had talked, but he couldn't remember it at all.

Miles looked smug, "Now, are you actually going to start trying?"

Trent glowered, but nodded. Miles had a point, even if he didn't like it. He really felt like punching that smug look right off his face, but if he did he doubted he'd get help then.

He took the paper back, looking at everything Miles had marked wrong, and sighed, getting to work. The two started up a routine, one that actually worked. At first, Trent was too stubborn to ask for help with anything he found confusing, so when Miles noticed he was struggling he'd help him work it out slowly. He never did the work for Trent; he made him find all the answers on his own. Trent appreciated that whenever he was struggling with a particular thing, Miles would say he'd had trouble with it too. He figured that Miles was lying, but it was nice of him either way.

At seven they were called down for dinner by Miles' mother, and Miles led the way. It was on the stairs that Trent asked.

"So what is it?"

"What is what?" Miles asked, bypassing the last step altogether with a jump.

"Your name."

Miles looked over his shoulder with a smirk, "You'll figure it out someday, Trent."

Trent glared at Miles' back as Miles made his way into the kitchen. He really felt like punching the teen to shut that smug mouth of his, and he doubted that would be changing any time soon. He was stuck.