A/N: This is my first Scooby-Doo fanfic, so if everything isn't completely canon I apologize.

Warning! This story will be multi-chapter, but I cannot promise that I will update frequently. It mostly depends on how much feedback I get or how much time I have.

Enjoy!

Velma

There were no two things Velma Dinkley hated more than being short and beehive hairstyles. Especially when, on her first day of school, she was stuck sitting behind a girl who liked to pile her hair higher than any normal person. The other people around her weren't any better, she thought, as she glanced warily at her peers. The boy to her right had a particular fondness for eating the goop that hung precariously from his acne-speckled nose; that was enough for Velma to shiver and look away. She couldn't even tell what the gender of the person sitting to her left was. They had long, blonde hair, pink-tinted oval glasses, a flower-printed shirt, a frilled leather vest, and red flannel bell-bottoms. A guitar sat beside them, as if they might break out into a Jimi Hendrix song at any given time.

Velma didn't even need to see the girl behind her to know what she looked like. She was discussing her favorite accessory for her everyday outfit, which was apparently the green scarf she was currently wearing, with the girl sitting beside her. "It matches with everything. Especially purple. Oh, how I love purple!" she squealed. Velma looked down at her own outfit. Orange. And then more orange. And then even more orange. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and sighed. At least she liked orange, right?

The bell echoed through the school. The teacher approached the blackboard with barely contained annoyance. She picked up a piece of chalk and scratched her name on the board. "Ms. Bernard is my name. Not 'miss,' not 'missus.' 'Mizz' is the correct pronunciation." She turned to face the class. She looked like one of those cats whose face got smashed in from some past life. Always brooding. "If you say it wrong, you will receive a failing grade. Welcome to English class."

As Ms. Bernard said this, two boys ran into the classroom, panting. One was tall and lanky. He wore a plain green shirt and brown bell-bottoms. He grinned wearily at Ms. Bernard, as if he hoped a smile may calm her upcoming storm. "Sorry Ms. Bernard," his voice was wheezy and high-pitched, like a worn-out squeaker toy. Thankfully for his grade, he pronounced 'Ms.' correctly. "We were, like, hungry and wanted to know if the cafeteria was serving food yet." The other boy nodded. He was the most gorgeous boy Velma had ever seen, with perfect blond hair and perfect blue eyes and a perfect bright smile and perfect white teeth and perfect...everything. Butterflies awakened in Velma's stomach and flurried up a tornado.

"It'll never happen again," Mr. Perfect said.

"Like, yeah," said Tall-and-Hungry.

Ms. Bernard glowered at them. "I hope so, for your sake. Take a seat."

They both took the seats closest to the front, so to not make Ms. Bernard wait.

The rest of the class went as slow as a snail in molasses. Velma liked school, she truly did, but she didn't particularly like the first day of it. It was like getting slapped in the face; during summer she forgot how to act around people. She didn't socialize much. The only thing she could call a real friend was her cat, Violet. She didn't talk, of course, but she always kept Velma company. But Velma hadn't had human interaction with people her age since before summer.

When the bell rang, Velma tried to take her time packing her bag, which was unsurprisingly the color orange. Even though she knew no one was looking at her, it felt as though people were still paying attention to her. Like if she left the classroom too early or too late she'd get a bad mark. Like everything she did added up to a letter grade on the "social scale." Popular kids got A's, nose-picking kids got D's, and Velma? Velma had no idea what grade she would get. With a shudder, she hoped it wasn't an F-.

With a sigh of relief, she left the room with everyone, not at the front or straggling at the end. Then she got quite annoyed with herself for even caring what other people thought of her. The first day of school was so confusing.

At lunch, she sat by herself on the steps. A PB&J sandwich sat in her left hand, a book in the other. Being alone wasn't so bad, really.

With all the noise around her, Velma couldn't help but be distracted from her book. So much activity surrounded her, and she was always fascinated observing people. A group of hippies sat cross-legged in the grass by the parking lot, strumming guitars, laughing, singing, and making out. Velma wrinkled her nose as she caught a sniff of the sweet odor coming from their cigarettes. She was positive they were definitely not puffing on nicotine. Passing by them were the two boys who had arrived late to English class. Curious, her eyes lingered on them as they walked towards a big blue van. It was so odd to her; they didn't seem to be in the same friend group at all. Tall-and-Hungry seemed more likely to sit down with the crooning hippies. But instead he was hanging out with Mr. Perfect, who fit more with the popular tide, judging by how fashionably he dressed.

But there they were, and Velma didn't want to question it any farther. She liked the idea that people from different groups could learn to be friends. She buried herself in her book again as a series of small barks filled the parking lot. The plot had become too interesting now to bother finding the source of the noise.

"Why, it is nice to find someone reading," said someone behind her. Velma turned to see who was talking to her. A tall man stood before her, wearing a clean-cut suit and a gigantic smile. She recognized him, but she couldn't think from where. Her cheeks burned at his comment. "Better than the hooligans over there," he nodded towards the hippies. He sniffed the air. "Do I smell what I think I smell?" Velma was about to answer, but he saved her the embarrassment of answering a rhetorical question. Striding towards the group, the man had already began to lecture the group on the use of drugs on school property. It finally occurred to Velma, as she nestled her nose back into her book, that he was the school principal, Mr. Greene. She remembered seeing a glimpse of his picture in the hall, hanging alongside the portraits of previous principals.

The rest of the day limped along as slowly as the morning, and Velma tried to deal with it the best that she could: with a book. She hoped that the rest of the year, or, more horrifically, the rest of her high school career, would not be this painfully boring.

Whoever thought of putting 50 kids inside a metal contraption for half an hour must have hoped that it would explode, for that is exactly what happened on the bus-ride home. Not that the bus itself combusted, but Velma knew that if she had stayed in it a minute longer, her ear-drums would have burst. The air smelled of rotten tomatoes, moldy feet, and that same scent that had perturbed Mr. Greene. The electrifying taste of freedom wired everyone except Velma into unbridled excitement. She sat in the first row of seats, almost like an island of silence broken from the continent of cacophony.

At home, Velma tended to her plants. She had all sorts: cacti, bamboo, multiple types of flowers and ferns, and even a fly trap she ordered in the mail. After this chore, she laid down on her bed, a bowl of warm vegetable soup by her bedside, and read the rest of her book until her eyes drooped closed.

She had no ideas of adventure, no yearnings for a mystery to solve. Her dreams consisted of nothing fantastical as she snored on her pillow. High school was going to just one long, mundane schedule.

She was in for a surprise.

A/N: This story will eventually be Shaggy/Velma and Fred/Daphne, but I imagined that Velma's first impressions of Shaggy v. Fred would rule in favour of Fred. So do not fret Shelma shippers, your ship will be here with time!

Critiques are welcome! Please tell me what you think about my writing, my story, or both!