Hey guys... so I know I haven't written anything in at least a month so I'm really sorry about that. I've been really busy, but now it's Thanksgiving break. Which means I have time to write FanFics now. So don't be surprised if a lot of oneshots start poppin' up.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sammy Keyes or any of the characters in this story. I do wish I owned Billy, though.

Oh, and btw, it's from Billy's point of view. I found this one challenging because, you know, it's hard to measure up to someone that great!

"BILLY PRATT YOU BETTER GET OUT OF BED RIGHT NOW OR- OW! Billy, ow, you suck!"

That's my psycho freako brain sister. She's seventeen, hormonal, and today her perfume is so freaking strong that I swear all the ants in my room just died right now. I just threw my history book at her- screw Mr. Velasquez - in hopes that it would get her somewhere it would hurt. Mission: accomplished.

"You can pluck your nosehairs, Mercedes," I replied back with the first comeback I could think of, considering I was still only half-awake. "I'm hibernating, so don't wake me up!"

She covers up her nose in fright. "No one's supposed to know about that!" she whines. "Besides, I just need my hair straightener that you stole from me, which by the way, I'm going to tell Mom on you if you keep on taking my stuff- OW!"

If you hadn't caught on yet, that was the straightener I'd thrown at her. Which by the way, does not suggest what it seems like it suggests- my English paper was crumpled in my backpack and I thought straightening it would be surefire. Did you know that paper burns in about five seconds? I sure didn't.

But I really should be getting my sleep. My therapist says that if I don't get enough sleep, my ADHD will make my body malfunction and I will explode. Or at least I think I will explode. I kind of zoned out during that part.

Before I knew it, I was asleep again.

I guess I would've never woken up if I hadn't fallen off the bed. I think was being chased in my dream and I fell. In this case, off the bed.

I look at the clock. It's already... wait, what? Seven fifty eight? That meant I need to be at school in two minutes.

Okay, okay, don't panic, I told myself. I run to my closet, throw on some clothes and shoes. I think for one second about brushing my hair, but my hair always looks cool, so no worries. I grab some food off the counter, swing my backpack on my back and run out the door.

I silently pray to myself that Mercedes decided to be nice today and not pop my tires, like she usually does with those dagger fingernails of hers as she's walking out the door. I sigh with relief as the ride is smooth.

I go double-time down Broadway, quickly saying hi to my hobo friend Steve as I swish by. Finally, I'm at school.

Without missing a beat, I lock my bike on a rack and race into my first period science class. Okay, so I was late. But sometimes, if you are smart, which I just so happen to be, you can talk through it. Watch and learn, folks.

I take a deep breath before opening the door.

Phase 1: Try and sneak in.

This one usually doesn't work, but I always add it anyway because it makes me feel sneaky, like James Bond.

But the second I walk through, my plan is foiled because Mrs. Carter looks at me square in the eye and says "Billy, you're late."

Those words activated the next phase.

Phase 2: Denial

This one works, sometimes.

"No, I'm not. I had to go to the office... for my meds and, um, I ran into Mr. Caan on the way and he gave me a lecture and stuff so..."

"Billy, no excuses. Late is late," she replies sternly.

Ok well, I didn't expect it to work anway. Mrs. Carter knows how to fish out excuses. Mainly because she's had a lot of experience with me.

When all else fails, it's Phase 3: Confuse the enemy.

This is how it goes.

"Well, techincally, you can't not know that I'm not late because I knew that I wasn't not late and so did Mr. Caan. And so did the custodian. My mom actually called to say that she knew you would think that I was late because I really wasn't, but she ended up not calling because she believed in your virtue, Mrs. Carter. You hear that? She believed in your virtue," I say innocently.

Ok, so I don't know what I just said but the whole class is cracking up so maybe this will work.

"Detention, Billy. After school."

Or maybe it won't. It was a fifty-fifty shot.

I walk over to my seat, right next to Cricket. She's snickering as I take my seat.

"Way to go, hotshot. You even had me fooled," she teases, laughing again.

I give her a face. "Ha, ha. Very funny."

"Well, someone's in a bad mood!" she retorts.

I shrug. "I woke up late and had about thirty seconds to get ready. I have the rights."

Okay, now it was time to see what I managed to get off the kitchen counter. I shuffle through my pockets and pull out one of my mom's diet bars.

"No!" I say before I can stop myself. Everyone starts laughing. I don't remember making a joke...

"Billy? Do you have something to say?" Mrs. Carter asks, her arms crossed.

"No...yes...no...maybe?" I stall. "What just happened?" I whisper sharply to Cricket.

In between laughs, she manages to say, "She just told us that Santa Claus wasn't real, and then you popped in and said... no!" And then she cracks up again.

But I am stunned. "What? Santa Claus isn't real?" This cannot be happening. First I have detention, and now this? Might as well stick a fork in me.

Her brow wrinkles. "Billy, you really didn't think that Santa Claus was real, did you?" She laughs. "Santa Claus isn't real, just like the Tooth Fairy isn't real."

"WHAT? The Tooth Fairy isn't real either? What kind of crazy world is this, where adults lie to their children?"

By now, everyone is listening to our conversation and laughing their heads off. Yeah, it's hilarious. It's completely hilarious that my childhood has now been ruined.

But I'm Billy, right? I brush it off, and answer Mrs. Carter's question. "No worries, Mrs. Car-taire. It's all cool now."

"No, it's not, Mr. Pratt. I am tired of your constant interruptions. Can't you learn to control your mouth?"

I wasn't really focused on what she said after "no", because a fly landed on my desk. This sucker was gonna burn. I take my whole backpack off my desk and smash it on the fly, several times, for good measure. You never know. Sometimes when you kill flies, you think they're dead, before bam! They pop right back up like a ninja. I can't take that chance.

But now Mrs. Carter is staring at me, and so is the rest of the class. "There was a fly, Mrs. Carter," I explain as innocently as possible.

Her brows crease together and her whole face is pretty much scrunched up in the center. "Billy, outside, now. And don't come back in until the end of the period. I can't have your constant interruptions ruining my lesson."

Here we go again. Hey, at least it wasn't Mr. Caan's office. I can handle most figures of power, but that man's head is too big for his body and I swear sometimes he's acts like he's freaking king of the world.

I walk outside, slapping hands with people who hold them out before doing a pirouette out the door. Don't ask how I know how to do one, or how I even know the name, but I just do. I'm Billy, c'mon. Whadya expect?

The door is closed, but Mrs. Carter's back is turned as she writes something on the board. I press my face to window on the door, stick my tongue out, press the thumb of my open hand to my nose and wiggle my fingers around. Everyone who is looking laughs and points at the door. I hear Mrs. Carter ask what's so funny and get on my knees so she can't see me.

"It was all your fault! You were the one who told Mr. Wolf that you didn't know what the number after six was!" I hear a girl's voice scold, but it's in a teasing way.

Another voice laughs, a guy. "My fault? You're the one who said that it was okay if he sent us outside because at least it wouldn't stink of bad teaching!"

"Yeah, I guess that's partially my fault..." the girl admits. "Hey, is that Billy?" she says.

I laugh as I look at who said it. Sammy. Sammy and Casey. "In the flesh!" I shout. Then I run to the beginning of the hall, get a running start, and rockstar slide down the hall which is suprisingly very slippery.

Casey laughs. "Hey man! What's up? Did you get kicked out like us?"

"Yeah, but I like to consider it injustice." I shrug. "What's your guys' stories?"

"Same. Injustice, a pretty dumb teacher, and Casey's big mouth," Sammy says, pushing Casey on the shoulder. He laughs and pushes her back.

"How are you guys in the same class?" I ask.

"Art," Casey answers. "So obviously the teacher hates me." He laughs again.

"Hey that sliding thing was really fun. I'm gonna do it again. Who wants to go with me?" I say, because it was fun. Much funner than class. This was punishment?

Sammy shrugs. "Why not? We've already been classified as juvenile delinquents anyway."

We come to a stop, but I'm not ready for the fun to end. I turn my body down the corner of the hall, and slide.

I feel a grin come onto my face. "Okay, on the count of three, one, two, three!" I yell and we slide down the slippery hall.

It would've been a pretty epic ending, except there was someone in the way. Or something. Depending on how you liked to classify whatever I just ran in to.

It was Heather.

I guess it would've been okay, except she falls on the ground, and I hear a sickening rip. She didn't get hurt, but I'm pretty sure her clothes got ripped, and for her, that's just as bad.

"Billy Pratt, you suck!" she cries in anger.

"So I've been told," I murmur, thinking about Mercedes and this morning.

She looks down at her dress, which now has a big gaping tear in the front of it. Oh, crap. Just my luck. It's not just any dress, it's the dress. The one she wouldn't shut her piehole about all last week. The one that apparently costed her "a fortune".

I'm dead meat.

"Look what you did, Billy! I'm gonna kill you!" she shouts so harshly I was surprised steam didn't come out of her ears and her nose.

But there was no time to look. I ran away before she could get her fingernails on me. I've seen those weapons in action before. At the Farewell Dance two years ago, she practically dug holes in Sammy just because she didn't win some popularity contest.

"If I die, tell my mom I love her!" I shout to Sammy and Casey as I run through the doors and out onto the quad.

Okay, don't panic, I told myself. This has happened to you before. Before I can think, I run through the doors of the office. The only person I see is Marissa McKenze.

"Billy?" she asks, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"Heather... I ripped her dress... fingernails..." I manage to get out. Between running away and picturing the possible ways Heather could torture me with her fingernails, I'm completely out of breath.

Marissa nods. She knows well enough how psycho Heather is. "Get under the desk," she commands, pushing out from the desk a little to make room for me.

I don't hesitate. I squeeze under the desk, next to Marissa's white Vans. The door opens. Heather's here. I could smell her anger from a mile away.

"McKenze!" she says sharply. "Have you seen that stupid kid, Billy?"

"I'm not stupid!" I say. Marissa kicks me in the arm.

"No, why?"

Heather groans. "Look what he did to my dress! He was sliding around the halls because that's just how much of an idiot he is, and he ripped my dress. Do you know how much it's gonna cost me to replace it? I bet he doesn't even have half of the money this dress cost."

It was amazing how much she could insult you, even when she didn't know you were listening.

"Oh, I know," Marissa says sarcastically. "That dress is just too unique."

"Whatever, McKenze. So do you know where he is?" Heather asks impatiently.

"Where who is?"

"Billy! Were you even listening at all?"

"Oops, sorry. I was distracted at how beautiful your dress is."

"McKenze, you're such a loser."

"It takes one to know one."

"You little freak... you're just jealous because Danny likes me, not you." Whoa. That was so not true. Danny doesn't like anyone, he's probably only ever loved his own reflection.

"Is that supposed to make me cry?"

"Shut up, McKenze."

"Only if you do it first."

"Why am I even talking to you, loser? You need to get a life." I hear Heather's footsteps as she starts walking away.

But Marissa isn't done yet. "If you had a life you wouldn't be so concerned about mine!"

The moment the door is closed, I pop out from under the desk. "Thanks."

Marissa smirks. "It was nothing. Why am I not surprised that you're in trouble again?"

"The only way to explain that is that I'm Billy Pratt. C'mon. Is this really anything new?" I say as I'm walking out the door.

She laughs. "I know. But still. Try to be a good boy. I won't always be around to save your sorry butt."

I smile to myself as I walk back to class. That's Marissa. She's always got something to say back to Heather.

I manage to get through second, third, fourth and fifth period without getting into trouble. But then at sixth period, I zoned out, just thinking about random stuff. Then Mr. Bernard calls on me and says, "Billy? Are you listening? Oh, of course you're not listening. How daft of me to actually think that you were."

Okay, first, who actually says "daft"? And second, where was all of this coming from? Mr. Bernard was a mean teacher, and that was why I wasn't usually bad in this class. I know, shocking. But seriously. This guy is like a millitary dictator. He took pride in making his students cry, and his tests were always really hard. People complained about it, but I think he actually made them harder.

"I was too listening!" I lied.

"No, you're not Billy. You're never listening. You're too stupid to listen. Do any of you listen?" he says to the rest of the class.

Now I'm offended. "Hey! I may get distracted easily, but I'm... not... STUPID!"

"Whatever you say," he says sarcastically. "And for screaming at me, I want you to scrape all the gum off under the desks. Then I want you to clean the whiteboard and the windows. And in the future, pay attention." He laughs. It's the evil laugh.

"Billy doesn't deserve to do that! He didn't do anything wrong this time! Everyone zones out. Even I zone out! That doesn't mean you have to scrape gum!" someone retorts. I look over. It's Marissa.

"Ahh, a confession. Why don't you help Mr. Pratt scrape gum, Ms. McKenze. You can work together." he says.

"Hey, Marty!" Marissa shouts his real name. "You know what you are? You're a-"

Marty, er, Mr. Bernard, is fuming now. "Just for that, Ms. McKenze, I want you and Mr. Pratt to also clean up this mess over here." His upper lip curls.

"What mess?" I ask.

"This one," he says, and he spills his coffee all over the floor.

"Okay, done," I say, pretending it doesn't bother me. "What do you want us to use to scrape the gum?"

"You have two hands."

"What are you doing?" Marissa whispers sharply to me. "It's not right, and you know it!"

A smile creeps onto my face. "I hope you've been cooking, because we're serving Marty over here-" I jerk my thumb in his direction. "A side order of revenge."

Well, that was unexpected. The whole Mr. Bernard thing came out of nowhere. But it's good stuff, right? I sort of expected this to be a oneshot, but I guess this works to. I'll be updating soon, so stay tuned!