Aaaand I'm back with another new story! :D Woo! So, a few weeks ago I read a book called "The Wave" by Todd Strasser. One of the creepiest/most amazing books I've ever read. So what did I do? Convert it to fanfiction, of course! This story is based off that book, which in turn is based off the events of a Palo Alto high school in 1969.

I had to decide whether to make this at the Bionic Academy or Mission Creek High, and whether to make it AU or not. There was a poll on my profile, and non-AU at MCHS won. Now, some things might be a little different, but it's not AU. Morphing the characters to match the format of the story was hard, but hopefully I pulled it off okay.

Just to warn you, as I said, The Wave was very disturbing. Still, it has to be one of the most amazing messages. Even if it's creepy, I think it's something important for everyone to know. The Tide will have creepy parts, undoubtedly. I hope you'll still read it and learn something. I don't own Lab Rats or The Wave. Enjoy.

* * * Chapter 1 * * *

Bree Davenport sat in the back of the newspaper office, feet propped up on the table in front of her, pencil placed firmly between her front teeth. She could feel the wood cracking in her mouth. Her stepmom could lecture her all she wanted on the dangers of chewing pencils, but Bree honestly didn't care. She'd done it for as long as she knew what pencils were, and she wasn't about to stop now. Besides, it helped her think. Although, at the moment, there wasn't much to think about.

"So," Blake Linley, editor-in-chief of The Daily Dingo, said, "any ideas?"

Bree took the pencil out of her mouth and cleared her throat. "Oh, I have plenty of ideas. For example, a short segment on plaid."

Blake looked down at his plaid shirt and grinned. "Totally hot, right?"

"Sure . . ." Bree said, rolling her eyes. She looked down at her notebook page, which was full of adjectives she could use to describe the pattern. Hot was not one. Out-of-style, hideous, laughable, yes, but not hot, she thought.

"Okay, so the fashion article will be ready. That's great. We need more female readers."

"No kidding," Bree mumbled over her shoulder. Turning back to the boy, she said, "But we still need our sports section, the comic strip, the music corner, the advice column, and a front page story!"

"I'm taking care of the story. Maybe something about the meat in the cafeteria. Flo Baker promised me an interview, and I'm going to get it." He pause for a moment and squinted. "Maybe I could get Denise to do the comic strip."

"Your five-year-old sister?"

"She draws some great dinosaurs! Don't give me that look. If Mack can't be bothered to do it, he'll be replaced by a kindergartener."

Bree chuckled to herself and looked out the window. The sun cast its beautiful warm glow over the world and the grass fluttered gently in the breeze. Bree began to wonder why she still sat in this cramped room with the smell of dry erase markers filling her nostrils instead of out there chatting with friends.

"I've been meaning to ask you," Blake said, snapping her out of her thoughts, "could you do the advice column for a bit? Just a few weeks. Kate Richardson's in Maryland visiting her aunt and uncle for the rest of the month. She said she'd write some articles in advance, but she never got around to it." He held out a few letters with questions written on them.

Bree sighed and took the papers. "Fine. I'll be sure to advise the readers never to wear plaid."

Blake scowled. "Oh, come on, you love it."

"About as much as I love you."

"So you're saying you'll go on a date with me?"

"Not if you were the last man alive."

Blake leaned back in his seat and his scowl deepened. He held up a sheet of paper and pretended to write. "'Why Teenage Girl Won't Fall in Love with the Cutest Boy in School,'" he read aloud.

"In your dreams, Blake." Bree studied his long red hair, coke bottle glasses, and bright red-and-green plaid shirt. Maybe he would be cute to some girls, but he was far from Bree's type.

Bree again turned her attention to the window. She contemplated her current situation. To most—even her brothers—Bree didn't seem like the type to spend her free period inside a stuffy newsroom with some of the strangest boys in school, but, to be honest, she loved journalism. The idea of writing out a story that people would pay attention to and learn from thrilled her. Plus, she got to write about fashion. She had even seen some girls around school start using her tricks. It might be a tad bit nerdy, but Bree had discovered that some boys liked nerdy. Anyway, it was better than sitting in the cafeteria and watching Adam make his belly button talk. Much, much better.

The only annoying thing was that the others often failed to show up. If Bree could make it, surely they could! Mack Brady, their resident art geek, only went places when he "felt like it." Blake often had to chew him out when he neared deadlines. Still, he always got it in on time. He was in charge of comic strips and the music corner, where he reviewed the latest albums and singles from all the popular artists—and even some of the unpopular ones. His insight into the worlds of music and art was undeniably superior.

The Daily Dingo's sports author and all-around newsman was Quentin Ballesteros. His research was exemplary and he could make even the toughest boy in school break down and cry during a hard-hitting interview. Of course, that was when he could curb his procrastination—a self proclaimed bad habit of his.

Kate Richardson, one of the smartest girls in school, wrote the advice column. She occasionally went to Maryland to visit family there. It could leave The Daily Dingo in the lurch, but at least she had an excuse for not showing up, whereas Bree was ready to go find Quentin and Mack and drag them down to the office by their ears.

"No one forces us to come during our free time," Blake said as if he had read Bree's mind. "We can't make Mack and Quentin come either. Besides, at this point people expect The Daily Dingo to be late. It'll be a miracle if we get a paper out on time before the end of my senior year."

Bree glanced at the clock, hoping it was almost time to leave. One could only stand so much Blake. In five minutes the bell would ring, but that was close enough for Bree.

She slipped the half-chewed pencil back into its case and hopped up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "I should probably get to history; Mr. Reed hates it when we're late." It was only a half-lie; Bree was sure Mr. Reed hated that everyone was late, but that didn't change the fact that no one showed up on time.

Blake nodded, and Bree figured he understood why she really wanted to leave. Still, he didn't protest.

The hallway was empty except for a few kids sitting against their lockers and chatting with friends, dreading the end of their free period. As she walked down the hall, Bree studied the letters in her hands. There were only five, and four were about relationship problems. Piece of cake, Bree thought with a grin. In her mind she already had plenty of advice for the teenage girls and boys in the throes of a failing romance.

She stopped outside the door to room 231 and looked in at the students. Among them towards the front sat her best friend, Caitlin Wright. She doodled on her page, and when she caught a glance of Bree through her eyelashes, she grinned. Conspicuously, she moved her hands to her throat and pretended to choke.

This class is killing me!

Caitlin couldn't be blamed. Mr. Philippe, the French teacher of the same class Bree stood outside of, had to be one of the most boring teachers in school. Even the brightest students could be put to sleep by his endless drawl. Bree had to suffer through his class the year before, and so she knew exactly what her friend was going through in that room.

Caitlin could use some cheering up, Bree decided. So she scrunched up her face and put her fingers in her ears. Caitlin covered her mouth and discreetly pointed the end of a pencil towards the front of the classroom. It looks just like Mr. Philippe!

Bree could do better. She made the most ridiculous face she could imagine, and that left Caitlin in near-hysterics. But Bree wasn't about to stop there. She turned around, getting ready to make a face so utterly shocking that Caitlin would be amused for the rest of the day. Bree scrunched up her face again and spun around . . . coming face to face with Mr. Philippe and a class of laughing students behind him.

The bell rang, and Caitlin rushed out and grabbed Bree's hand, pulling her away as Mr. Philippe called after them in angry French. At this point both girls laughed until their sides hurt, stopping near their lockers to take a breath. Caitlin imitated Mr. Philippe's stern face once more, and that sent them reeling. Finally Bree stood up, a hand pressed to her side.

"We should get to Mr. Reed's class," she said between giggles. "He really does hate it when we're late.

Sam Reed studied the projector, wondering for the life of him how some people could make it work. He had pushed every button and jiggled every switch, but nothing ever seemed to make it start. At last he gave up, heaving a large sigh. He could ask one of the smart kids to help him once they came in.

The history teacher walked up to his desk and picked up the sheets of homework. They looked the same as they always did. One A from Chase Davenport, of course. His sister received a B, his brother a D, and his stepbrother an A-. Those Davenport-Dooley kids were quite something. The variation between their grades alone was surprising—but not after one had met Adam Davenport.

In all four of his years as a teacher, Sam had never had four siblings together in the same class. He had been worried at the start of the year, but soon found that they spread out over the room and acted like they barely knew each other. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, Sam would let their parents decide. All he knew was that siblings squabbles popped up rarely, if ever, and they didn't cling onto each other and make the other students feel excluded.

Reed glanced through the other marks on the homework. Another D from Trent Darby, an A from Ethan Harper, and a few more B's and C's scattered throughout. Sam had never been one to be strict about homework. He was never one to be strict about anything, really. It made him popular with his students, but not so popular with some fellow teachers.

Sam was still new to the whole teaching business, and his ideas were often very radical. He would get so immersed in the topic they studied in class, and he would try to bring that enthusiasm to the students. They had to study the formation of a government? Let them form political parties and hold mock elections! Their next course was about a famous trial? Hold a court right in the classroom, and assign students to be the jury, prosecution, defendant, and defense attorneys. His strange methods had earned him some suspicion among his peers, but there was no denying the results: the students loved Mr. Reed.

The bell rang out in the hall, but it took several seconds for the students to start trickling in. As always, Chase was one of the first to walk in. Mr. Reed motioned him over. "Do you think you could help me set up the projector, Chase?"

Chase shrugged and walked over. "Sure."

While the smartest boy in school fiddled with the impossible piece of machinery, his older brother walked in. Adam wasn't the brightest on the academic side, but he was better with people than any of his siblings. He was generally liked, although he often got teased for his lack of intelligence.

As Adam walked into the room, he spotted Chase setting up the projector. "Are we gonna watch a movie?" he asked as he sauntered over to his seat.

Chase glanced up and scowled. "No, dummy, Mr. Reed just likes setting up projectors for fun."

"Okay, okay, that's enough," Mr. Reed said. That was usually all it took to keep the two boys from fighting. Whatever misgivings they had they could work out at home later, but not in his classroom. This was history, not family therapy.

By now most of the class had come in and settled into their seats. Mr. Reed picked up the stack of papers and walked around, handing the corrected sheets back to their owners. "Most of you did very well on these homework assignments," he said. "But they're getting sloppy. Do you really need to doodle on the edge of the paper?" He held up a page for example, being sure to cover the name with his thumb; no need to shame that student. "I'll start marking down points for messy homework."

Little good it would do. He had given the same speech the week before . . . and the week before that . . . and the week before that . . .

Yeah, there'll be quite a few OCs. The two main canon characters will be Bree and Leo. The main OC will be Mr. Reed, 'cause he's kinda important! If you're not getting the point of this story yet, you will. Very soon.

So, Bree and journalism . . . first of all, the main character of "The Wave" was editor-in-chief of her school paper, and that was pretty important. Also, for some reason, I could see Bree being really into journalism. Especially something with fashion. I dunno, I just can!

Just so you know, I won't be copying The Wave verbatim. (Of course not!) A few details will be the same (main character making faces at her best friend, newspaper is involved, teacher is awful at technology), but most of it will be pretty much my own. The LR characters are pretty different from the characters in the story, so pretty much I'm just taking the situation and dropping it in Mission Creek High. But not word-for-word. I'll change it up some. :3

By the way, guys, I'm on vacation this week. So expect a lot of new updates soon, hopefully! New DLLR chapter goes up tomorrow! (I hope!)

So, how do you like it so far? Excited? Bored? Curious? Let me know in a review! Hopefully I'll see you again soon for the second chapter. (Ready to learn some WWII history? ;) ) Bye!