Author's note: Hello everyone! This is a story I've had in my head for a while now, and I thought I'd post the first chapter to see if anyone's interested in reading it.

Summary: (Set loosely in the bayverse.) Mr. Diamond, the Principle of Pissyard High, has very little to do. Students are regularly funneled through his office, but their offenses are minor things like exploding class seats and creating a tactically ingenious fortress out of cafeteria tables in response to a food fight. With the arrival of a strange young man named Orion Pax, however, as a substitute teacher for the History section B, it seems there may be an excessive workload in Mr. Diamond's future. (OptimusxOCxMegatron, SideswipexOCxSunstreaker, and possibly others. Rated M for language and inappropriate content.)

Transformers High

Chapter one: A Man Named Peace

Pissyard High was named after a historical figure. That was the entirety of what most people knew on the subject. The time of life, place of birth, and gender of this person was unknown, but no one in the Lappington community was especially bothered by this.

Lappington was the town in which Pissyard reared like a sprout of poison ivy amid soft orchids. It had a population of three thousand and twenty-three, since the birth of Mrs. Abbot's little girl, April, on the eve of the thirteenth of April (to everyone's less than great surprise). Within the city's tranquil confines sat white houses, brown houses, pale blue houses, yellow houses, and one red house on the corner of fifth and Willow road. A few shops were sprinkled on Commercial street; a Walmart, a C.V.S, and an AT&T store being the most prominent of the lot. Trees grew along dark grey lanes, casting the clean asphalt into pleasant shade with their web-like weave of branches and emerald leaves.

It was a simple neighborhood; peaceful and content to flourish beneath the warm California sun.

The addition of Pissyard High to this lovely neighborhood painting all but made the paint run in sticky streaks, effectively ruining the beauty of the piece.

Physically, the highschool was pleasant; a bit modern, with sandy coloring and clean white blocks in straight lines here and there amid the buildings. Brown roofs baked in the afternoon glare, and yellowish lawns spread out beneath the circular arrangement of academic buildings. There was an observatory, a gym, a building devoted entirely to computer mastery and tech labs, and several other subjects of learning that very few attending adolescents found at all interesting, but that had their own buildings for the sake of propriety. At the center of the campus was the admissions building, in which the chapel, cafeteria, and staff offices were located. This building was the tallest, excluding the observatory, and had a total of five floors. No student knew the purpose behind every floor, but it was a campus-wide fact that the Principle's office changed location every semester for 'security reasons', and so it was assumed that the different floors were simply rabbit holes into which other known departments might likewise retreat.

Like an apple, glossy red on the outside, brown and rotten within, Pissyard High was deceiving in appearance. On the outside, nothing was out of place; those who made the withered grounds their home were careful to portray a pleasant exterior and acceptable manners to any inhabitants of Lappington they might run across. But the school's eccentricity was well known and proudly displayed within its walls, in the form of maniacal Science professors and several muscular men in the place of normal, demure cafeteria ladies.

Pissyard's strangeness was portrayed through other 'conduits', as well. Food fighting was not allowed, but one might use his fork to near-lethal effectiveness without fear of repercussions. Forks, after all, were eating utensils, not weapons, so naturally no case of assault could be made - even if the security guards were inclined to make one. Students were expected to use common sense in everything. The small matter of the majority of the attendees being adolescents had apparently been overlooked in the school's board meetings, because this expectation was reinstated (and rarely met) every month.

In the student body itself, there was strife. When a child from Lappington entered into his freshmen year and began attending Pissyard, he retained the cherubic, obedient character his parents enforced upon him for approximately four days, by the staff's estimate. What emerged from this youthful chrysalis of sugary perfection after the four day period had elapsed was varied. The universal truth that held for all cases was that the newly formed adolescent had a new sense of destiny. Some found they were secretly assassins, after the fashion of Jason Bourne. Others discovered their calling to be less villainous in nature; they were newest scientific prodigy, for instance, or a History guru bent upon discovering the exact location of the elusive Eden of the Bible. Then there were the more common cases, those who made up the citizenry of Pissyard High; cheerleaders whose defining characteristic took form as lust or "bitchiness" (or both); teacher's pets whose only goal in life was to glean the respect of their tutor in any way possible; and countless other cliches.

The school staff were hardly any less diverse, only less boisterous in their exhibition of it.

Mrs. Jawbrawn, the librarian, was not married. The students called her "Mrs." because her formidable aura demanded they refrain from calling her miss. She wasn't old enough to be a ma'am, nor young enough to be referred to by any name other than her last. Mrs. Lawbrawn had the impressive distinction of being the only human being on Pissyard campus that truly held the entire student body in perpetual fear. The library was her domain, and she never left it. There was no restroom to be seen, nor was she seen to be eating at any point of any day, but there was no doubt that she continued to live, thrive, and terrify.

Books were never returned late at Pissyard High.

Another example of secret eccentricity was Mr. Call. Mr. Call was cheerful, and without a doubt was the most popular teacher on or off campus. He had been called handsome, but it had been a lie; Mr. Calden was easily forgettable in appearance save for the colorful bow ties he wore ceaselessly (day and night, it was rumored). He taught computer operations, which was doubtlessly fifty percent of the reason for his popularity. As far from strict as he was from outwardly critical, his classes were pleasant jaunts into the world of computerized play. Very few students felt the need to mock or scorn him, but those that did swiftly learned that, amenable and childish as he was, he was not a man to be trifled with, either. Mr. Call was brutal in the few detentions he did hand out, and his vengeance for wrongs perceived against him was legendary. He was cheerful, and possibly the closest in terms of friendly relationships with the students, but there was a reason his schoolyard designation was The Mob Boss. He had…connections.

Last of the most striking cases in the Pissyard staff roster, Mr. Alabaster was unique. From his perpetually white suits and pearly dancing shoes to his shock of jet black hair, the youthful French professor caused cheeks to blush red on first sight, and limpid eyes to glisten with shy adoration. This did not last long. He was the most cruel, harsh, cold, and callous professor any teen had ever had the misfortune of encountering on Pissyard campus, and, as far as anyone knew, quite enjoyed this distinction. Very little was known about him aside from these few facts, but the students of Pissyard and Mr. Alabaster himself seemed to prefer it that way.

These examples were far from the most eccentric of the Pissyard staff, but they were the most influential. Others simply had little to no interest in their students' lives whatsoever, or were too fascinated by the works they were required to teach to bother learning anything about those they taught them to.

As leader in chief and dictator of Pissyard High, Principle Diamond held a position that was, as far as the Pissyard hierarchy was concerned, undefinable. He was like the puppeteer holding the strings to a massive play, who suddenly finds he has lost his interest in the occupation. Students were often channeled through his office, but their punishments were token; hardly carrying any weight or meaning to them. He left the campus infrequently, choosing to spend most of his time in the Principle's Lodgings on school grounds. At the beginning of each year he recited a speech he had created during his first term of office. It was never altered, and some swore his tone replicated the original presentation pitch for pitch on every word. This was the extent of his contact with his students. The monthly meetings he was required to hold by law* rarely heard two words from his end of the rounded table, so his staff knew little more of him than the students did.

This was the way of Pissyard, until the day Mr. Orion Pax, from Tranquility, Nevada, agreed to substitute for Mrs. Peels.


It was morning, but the pavement still sizzled with heat. The sun scorched the yellow grass; even the football field's artificial turf was beginning to dry out. Flies buzzed frantically against the glass windows of Pissyard's History building, desperate to reach the cool air within. It was October third, and Mrs. Peels was ill.

Mrs. Peels was a minor history professor in the triad of history professors that prowled the History building and library. The other two were men: the Russian brothers Tutenashta and Sasha Veilavich. Sasha was the grand historian, and the other two acted as his second and third in command (Mrs. Peels ranking third, of course, since blood is always thicker than water). Mrs. Peels was a quiet woman with a passion for Napolean the Great and chocolate. Hardly a candidate for cancer, but cancer had found her.

She had departed too quickly for a proper Pissyard farewell, in an wailing ambulance, not twenty-four hours in the past.

It was said that the man coming to take her place had known Mrs. Peels at some point in her life before Pissyard had laid its claws on her. The rumor was that he was her estranged nephew or long lost son.

Nancy Hamish didn't believe the gossip, but she didn't have an alternate opinion.

Nancy sighed, flicking a shredded bit of paper off of her desk, trying to ignore the steadily growing boredom that was eating away at her brain - a brain already sensitive from far too much studying and far too little coffee. The air stank of cleaning supplies and chocolate, as it had since Mrs. Peels had taught her first class at Pissyard. The fans overhead whirred and thrummed through relatively still air, their bulbs casting a kind of yellowed light over the classroom; the kind that reminded Nancy of home. Behind her, Stanley Belton snickered to his fellow football jocks; she could hear them muttering something about beer and eight o'clock. Nancy grimaced down at the smooth, polished wood of her desktop, barely acknowledging the notebooks and pencils that littered its gleaming surface. The clock ticked loudly overhead from its regal perch on the wall above the teacher's desk, and chimed the ninth hour. "Napolean the Great", section B, was supposed to start on that chime.

The other students in the classroom chatted and bickered noisily; Oliver Hallpoint slouched sullenly in his chair, one seat ahead of Nancy, dark brown fingers playing with a ruler. Ahead of him, Jade Donnalt's thunderous laugh rang out as her companion, Ellen Jadder, told a particularly crude joke.

Suddenly, with a clear click, the door opened, and everyone who didn't fall instantly into silence gasped.

Nancy glanced up, startled by the breathy wheezes, and blinked. Whatever she had expected the substitute teacher to look like, it hadn't been this.

He was quite tall, probably over six feet. A simple pair of jeans and a red dress shirt clothed a frame that was far too sculpted and muscular to be disgraced with such simple clothes. White sneakers encased his feet. The man's pale face was almost too perfect; only the faintest of frown lines creased his thin lips, and a gentle cleft cut down to his clean, angular chin. But his stunning face might have been overlooked as normal. Some men were simply gorgeous; it wasn't their fault. What made the substitute one of the strangest men ever to walk off of a fashion magazine, in Nancy's opinion, was the last two of his physical attributes.

Blazing blue eyes the color of water dumped into deep space watched them all with a gentle, almost hesitant expression. Hair the color of Nancy's blue nail polish fell in straight, thick layers to his eyebrows and ears; she couldn't see if the almost Aisian hair style incorporated a braid in the back, but Nancy was tempted to ask him to turn around so she could see, just for the fun of it.

Mr. Pax was instantly entered into the popularity contest of Pissyard High with several points in his favor from the feminine percentage of the classroom, and a few from the masculine as well. It was very clear he had no idea why they were staring, too, which increased his humility advantage (most students found humble teachers more tolerable and thereby more popular than arrogant ones) by four points.

"Hello," He began, and several gaspers repeated their breathy exclamations. "I am here to substitute for Mrs. Peels."

Nancy hadn't heard a voice she could so easily describe before. It was chocolate, melted and swirled with butter. It was thick and creamy and clear, each deeply spoken word carefully licked into existence out of soft, slightly mumbling lips. Nancy blinked again, and dropped her eyes to her desk, trying not to smirk to herself. The poor man was going to be mobbed.

"Damn…" Jade Donnalt breathed into the silence. Mr. Pax heard, it seemed, but did not comment.

Nancy heard him approach the teacher's desk, placing a few books (had he brought books? she hadn't noticed) onto its surface before addressing them once more.

"I have a few rules you will all have to follow, but do not worry," His words took on a smirk. "I will not destroy the possibility of fun." That…might have been funny. If he hadn't said it the way he did. Nancy grimaced; Mr. Pax's popularity scores would be docked slightly for excessive dictation and thereby terrible humor.

Someone must have raised their hand, otherwise the substitute's next words would have made absolutely no sense.

"Yes, in the back?"

"Yeah," Stanley Belton. Shit. "I was wondering if you're a pedophile."

There was a pause during which Nancy's eyes narrowed and glared holes into her notebook. Pissyard didn't have a good reputation as it was. Jerks like Stanley Belton made it a thousand times worse.

"I am not. Let us begin with-"

"Would you consider being one? There are a lot of cute butts around, not all of 'em girls'."

Mr. Pax set something down; Nancy could hear it thunk gently against the desk. "What is your de- name?" He corrected. Nancy blinked, wondering what he had been about to say.

"Stanley Belton. Want my number?" Jade Donnalt's chair skidded against the floor as she shifted sharply, and Nancy heard the girl snicker.

"Only if the phone belongs to your parents. I will be having a word with them after dismissal." Mr. Pax raised his voice, speaking to the entire class. Nancy kept her gaze firmly locked on the doodles scribbled on her notebook, but she listened. "Since I have not laid out the rules for this class period, Mr. Belton's remarks will be allowed to stand. After this moment, any other such comments will be properly dealt with. Am I understood?" The words were calm, but firm. The class had seen better bluffing from Mr. Call's golden retriever.

The affirmatives from the students had an air of snideness to them. Nancy simply nodded, thinking up ways to get back at Stanley that wouldn't incriminate her later. He knew she hated it when he pulled these sorts of stunts…Asshole.

"There will be no cursing, vulgarity, or use of inappropriate language of any kind in this class." Many students, including Nancy, shifted guiltily. "There will be no commentary of any kind from any student unless I so indicate, and no student is to speak without raising his or her hand. Class projects, assignments, and other activities will be explained in detail by myself and no other at the time they are assigned. Any questions a student may have that do not relate directly to the subject matter will be addressed to myself after class is dismissed, or during my office hours by appointment. Any other rules will be made at another time, as we are already late. I apologize for this."

The class was silent, until Jade called out: "It's alright, honey."

Several students snickered, and Mr. Pax joined them with a base chuckle that was over as quickly as it had started. "In the future, Ms. Donnalt, please raise your hand. Class, Turn to page fifty-four."

Nancy fumbled with the pages of her book, smiling to herself. Something told her this semester would be…interesting.


Author's Note: Well, there we are. Just in warning, this story will be more relaxed that my other one, and far less involved. It's just something fun to do when I can't force myself to write on "Light of My World". That said, please don't expect much plot, or really much of anything beyond cute romance, dry humor, and the occasional serious conversation or situation. As I mentioned in the summary, this story will be an OptimusxOCxMegatron fic, and SunstreakerxOCxSideswipe as well. Any other romances are unplanned but welcome, if I find something is working out that I didn't exactly plan for.

Please review and let me know how you like it! If no one's interested, I'll be removing it from my profile.

Thanks!

~TheWeepingWillow555