How to Survive Immaculate Conceptional Academy: The Tales of a Misfit Teen

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the awesometastic cast of UB, they sadly belong to Horta and the rest of his gang. However those crazy Ocs featured in this story are all mine.

A /N: I want to thank my lovely reviewers for their awesome feedback and because I was so touched by this particular reviewer's suggestions, I feel like calling her out: Thank you LunaSolTierra for those lovely point-outs. I'm going to clear up some nasty little left-overs about wine serving in the school ('cause we can't have tipsy First Years trudging up the stairs and passing out), the way acceptance costs are handled, and how Betty really got accepted. Did I mention that this chapter actually takes place before the prelude and then segues into the present time? I didn't—right, well it does so I just want to clear that out of the air before I get some confused reviewers.

So without further ado . . . let's get this party started!

Episode One: In Which Betty Gets A Uniform and the Meades Try NOT to Kill Each Other (Oh Joy . . .)

Betty was a light sleeper, the smallest sounds could wake her up so the fact that her sister and Christina were hollering right into her precious eardrums, had her bolting up in fright and irritation. Clutching her sheets to her body (that night gown she was wearing didn't cover her arms at all, it was spaghetti-strapped), Betty glared at the intruders currently seated at the foot of her bed.

"'Mornin' to you too Betty, love! Ya know my dad agreed to take us on an exclusive shoppin' spree for our uniforms today." Christina informed her, beaming at her happily.

"Oh right, I completely forgot about that." Betty groaned. She hadn't set her alarm clock so it had been up to Hilda and a newly arrived Christina to rouse her from the bed. Thankfully it was Betty needing to get uniforms and not Hilda, the elder sister could sleep through a hurricane if she wanted to.

"Alright, well hurry up. Papi's downstairs and I think he's like negotiating or something with Uncle McKinney. We don't have all day you know." Hilda reminded Betty which earned the elder Suarez sister a playful smack on the arm and a defiant glare. Christina chuckled, pushed a still weary 5'1" Latina girl into her small bathroom across the hall, and leaned against the door in mock exhaustion.

The sound of gushing water filled their ears moments later.

"So . . . I bet you're totally excited. I mean, Betty's got in on a full scholarship and she's goin' off to the same school with me." Hilda could see right through the Scottish native's friendly tones. That statement was code for, 'Don't you sort of wish that you could go with her too?' and Hilda had the perfect response for it because it wasn't as if she'd tossed and turned at night, feeling spurts of jealousy due to her having to attend a public school.

"What? Me Christina?" Hilda chuckled, moving into her own bedroom, waiting for their blond-haired friend to follow before she closed the door, to shut the sounds out. Betty was backtracking to her room now; Hilda could hear the footfalls.

"Yeah, I mean I just assumed that—ah, Hilda me mind's a mess," Christina started.

"No, no, no, it's fine. It's okay that you asked. I mean I'm proud of my sister but that whole private school thing, ha, that's not my kinda style. 'Sides, no offense, but some of the kids there are . . . stuck up pissy little brats."

Hilda quickly added for good measure, "Not you though, you're an angel."

"Oooh none taken dearie, a lot of them ARE intolerable. Now shall we check up on your wee sister?"

"Yup, let's just make sure that she doesn't get into a fight with the hairdryer and that the hairdryer doesn't win," they both chortled at that before walking off to Betty's bedroom.

Meanwhile, downstairs . . .

Ignacio had invited Mr. McKinney over to discuss the financial terms of his daughter's schooling supplies and uniform. He figured that since the stout man seated across from him had a greater wealth of knowledge about the operations of the school, then he would be the ideal man to come to. It pained him to admit it readily in front of his daughters since it would break Betty's little heart, but he wouldn't be able to cover ALL of the school's costs. It was a $45,000 tuition fee which the scholarship Betty had received months ago had thankfully covered fully. The books however which were a whopping $150 and the school uniform which was another crazy payment of $250 (including the $45 skirts and the duplicates of white ruffled shirts AND the ties), was something that would financially cripple him.

". . . and so, that's why . . . I'm asking you for your help, Arthur." Ignacio sighed, running a hand over his slightly weathered face.

Arthur McKinney coughed dryly into his white handkerchief before laughing like a jolly balding version of St. Nick. His thick Scottish brogue cut the tension hanging in the air with an invisible knife. That man could put anyone at ease with a smile that crinkled his bright eyes and a heartwarming display of generosity.

"Oh for Saint Michael's sake, this is why we're friends; don't get your boxers in a twist, eh!" McKinney slapped Ignacio a little too hard on the shoulder, causing his glass of water to slosh a bit out of it. Ignacio recovered and nursed his drink, taking a sip from it. He let the strong liquor burn in the back of his throat. Man, that felt great.

"Arthur if there's anything I can do . . .," he was so grateful for this man's help. He owed so much to him, for he had been the one to call Ignacio up whenever he would slink back into those disparaging moods, and feel as if he truly couldn't play the role of "mommy" and "daddy dearest" to his kids. Now Arthur McKinney the III was telling him that he would cover the costs for Betty's uniforms and her other school accessories? That was reason enough for Ignacio to reach over and refill both of their glasses with a generous amount of water.

McKinney raised an eyebrow and smiled, Ignacio's unwavering loyalty and his strong spirit were payment enough for his ability to dole out cash to anyone in need. How could Arthur possibly convey that to his dearest friend?

"Me friend, let me cut this short because we've got to take our girls shoppin' in a few and I don't want the driver pissin' his pants waitin' out there for me." Ignacio chuckled at this before sipping his drink gingerly.

". . . you're my friend and I promised you years ago that if you ever needed any sort a' help, that you could come to me. Now I'm good friends with the headmaster and I've told him abo'ot you and 'yer situation. He agreed that I could help you cover the costs for the rest a' Betty's schoolin' accessories. So please, don't feel as if you're indebted to me or some crud because you aren't. Your loyalty and your amazin' cookin' is payment enough for me, mate." Arthur finished before standing up and smoothing his black knee-length coat over his wide body. Ignacio practically looked like a little puppy next to Christina's father. The man was pure brawny muscle and his height alone was enough to intimidate a full grown man half his size, at 6'5" he was a force to be reckoned with. Yet at that moment Arthur was being as softhearted as anything, waiting by the banister and calling up to Betty to "please come down now."

Moments later Hilda, Christina, and a fully alert Betty clambered down the stairs excitedly. If Ignacio sucked in his breath any more than he already was, then he'd probably collapse from asphyxiation right then and there. Betty's hair had been swept over her shoulders and straightened, one side of it pulled back by a butterfly pin, and there was a light dusting of blush on her cheeks. Other than that she was still the same old Betty, garbed in a bright orange short sleeved T-shirt with a cartoon mushroom on the front and a long orange, green, and yellow striped skirt brushing against her calves.

"Mija, your hair—it looks wonderful." Ignacio finally managed to breathe out. Betty pulled him into a warm hug before letting go and rushing over to embrace Mr. McKinney who suppressed the urge to ruffle his surrogate niece's hair.

"Alrigh, I'm thinkin' that we should get to Buffalo by 10 guys. If you'll just follow me to the limo . . .," Mr. McKinney pulled away from Betty who went over to link arms with her giddy older sister and her even giddier friend, Christina. The five people grabbed their jackets and walked out to the waiting limo.

Elsewhere . . .

Daniel Meade, aspiring playboy, younger brother of Alex Meade, and "that ungrateful good-for-nothing of a son" to Bradford Meade, was currently in bed with some nameless blond girl he'd picked up a few days ago. The 16 year old teen in question was currently snoring away in his four poster cherry wood bed, donning only a pair of comfortable black sweatpants, with his arms dangling at his sides, ever so precariously off the edge of the bed.

It was only when one of the numerous maids walked in, meaning to change the sheets, and discovered the younger Meade brother sleeping in with some slut of an anorexic (poor thing really needed a good sandwich with some Gouda cheese or something) blond girl that she shrieked out to the heavens.

"Gah! Oh crap, Wendy er, I mean Lorelei or damn it whatever your name is!" Daniel sputtered, trying desperately to cover himself up, wrapping the heavy velvety comforter around his lean frame. His current "Sunday conquest" as his brother would so lovingly call her, was still curled up into a bony little ball, heavily snoring and snorting away with a bit of drool issuing out of her mouth. Daniel wondered if Alex hadn't sneaked in the middle of the night to record that on his high-tech camcorder yet.

"It's Helga sir and you," Helga (he totally forgot that she was from Norway sometimes), the young nondescript brunette girl wrinkled her button nose at the littered used condoms near her feet, ". . . forgot to clean up your mess."

Daniel glanced down and smiled sheepishly at her, muttering an apology in a voice heavy with sleepiness, as he grabbed the nearest silver metallic trash bin from his bathroom and dumped the remainder of the condoms in there. He'd never known that he could spread so much darn se--

"Oh Danny-bear!" Damn it, and here he was hoping he could somehow stealthily maneuver his way downstairs to make a quick getaway from the skinny fair-haired girl currently sitting up in his bed. He really needed to start tipping his maids or something to keep them quiet about this whole weekly boinking business; his father already thought lowly enough of him as it was, he didn't need him having reasons to back those claims up.

"Yes, what is it? Are you hungry?" What the—Daniel could've smacked himself as soon as those words left his mouth. It was great that he had the ability to turn almost anything into a sex-charged innuendo, just NOT when it was 7:50 am in the morning, and he was recovering from his fifth round of it. The boy needed carbs, fat, and oh yeah more carbs, not another calorie-burning screwing session. Helga took this as her cue to leave after giving the girl a nasty look that could only be translated as a, "get your bony little butt off of this bed so I can do my damn job, ho."

Thankfully the girl took the hint, using that opportunity to sidle up to Daniel. God needed to strike him down now, she was wearing way too much of that J. Lo perfume he detested so much, all he knew was that it was really girlish and super strong. He could sniff her out like a bloodhound from a mile away and that was one of his definite turn offs.

"Oh I'm absolutely starving," the girl purred trying to nip at his ear playfully before he ducked under her tiny arm and backed away from her. The nameless boinking conquest tapped her foot irately and pouted at him sourly. It was a shame she was only freaking ribcage and bones because she'd look really cute with just a bit more meat on her. Daniel couldn't help it if he didn't have a thing for girls that could only squeeze into pants that were a size 0 (and yeah, he couldn't believe that the size existed either).

"Oh so what, you're too good to screw me again? I'm not fun enough for you?" What the heck was this girl's problem? Daniel bedded her five times, cinq times, freaking uno, dos, tres, quatro, cinqo times! What more did she want from him, what did he look like he belonged to a special pampering service now? Geez.

"Uh no, that's not it, it's just that if you don't leave in five minutes, my dad's going to mount my ass on a plaque and place it above the mantel of his fireplace," Daniel spat out in a gruff warning tone. The girl huffed indignantly and then moved past him, being ushered out by the grateful maid.

Unfortunately after Daniel was done grooming himself, and had effectively killed off every bacteria known to man with his copious amounts of hair gel; he had failed to notice Alex leaning against the door frame.

"I see you're trying to catch up to me. I already bedded two girls last night," Daniel was too busy trying to shave with an unnecessary amount of force. Needless to say it earned him a few nasty nicks in the process. Suppressing a hiss of pain, he glowered at his golden-blond haired brother in the mirror.

"One of these days, you're going to catch something real nasty from those girls. Are you so desperate that you have to move onto drug addicts now? Like seriously, that girl looked like she'd just left rehab for the fifth time. She needed a freaking sandwich I actually felt--"

"Save it." Daniel interrupted him tersely. He really wasn't in the mood to hear Alex's flagrant trash talk, he was trying to have a peaceful and possibly boring morning for once. Unlike Alex, he could actually afford to take a break from vigorously screwing chicks all day.

"Aww, is poor wittle Daniel offended?" Alex effectively ducked as Daniel chucked a bottle of toothpaste at his head. He missed horribly and barely blinked as a young girl with softly curled auburn hair moved to catch it in her deft little hands. Marcelle Van Buren was the daughter of William Van Buren and the younger sister of Giselle Van Buren. Giselle was the heir-apparent to STOMP! Publications and therefore she would succeed in presiding over the publication of En Vogue Magazine.

"You know, I'm aware that you're trying to kill me but you could at least learn to brush up on your horrendous aiming skills, Meade." The young girl in question sauntered over to Alex and crushed her lips to his in a showy display of possessiveness. Daniel took the time to swallow down his bile and count to ten. Counting was good, counting kept him from cracking his knuckles and pummeling his brother and his latest squeeze into a mushy pulp—or maybe it was just his brother.

"Alex could you please take Marcelle out of here? It hardly seems fair that I have to constantly shoo away my lovely girls while you get to keep that—that whorish thing over there all to yourself."

Marcelle smirked in a conniving way, raising her eyebrows in a questioning manner at Alex who just shrugged noncommittally.

"Well that's because the girls I bed are actually marriage material, ooh, burn! Anyway you owe me $100 because I totally saved your lame ass back there. Dad would've roasted you if he didn't believe that Ms Bones-A-Lot wasn't supposedly your algebra studying partner. Man oh man." With that Alex kissed the top of Marcelle's head and the two impossibly pretty people sauntered off to probably snog somewhere or something; not like Daniel gave a crap.

Grumbling irately to himself, Daniel fished a crinkled $100 dollar note out of his messenger bag and pressed it into Alex's hand after catching up to the pair.

"That's more like it," Alex ruffled his brother's hair, chuckling as the younger of the two growled to himself. One of these days, Daniel swore that he would best his brother. He swore it. He absolutely hated Marcelle, what with her pouting lips always glossed and her babyish face, and her impossibly large beautiful eyes. Freaking beautiful smile. God damn it. He needed a strong glass of Bourbon, yeah that would set his bowels right, because right now they were churning and stewing like soup or something. In short, he wasn't feeling too hot.

"Dearest," his mother, Claire swept in, her blond hair perfectly coiffed, and her eyes watching him in concern. He hadn't heard her come in, but then again his mother had this way of walking where it almost seemed like she was floating across the threshold. Anyway, there she was now watching him with her eyes almost as if she were reading his very soul or something. Daniel scoffed derisively which earned him the Claire-patented "look", the one where she held her head up high as if to say, "I'm far too proud to smack the crap out of you and I don't want to chip a nail, but if I didn't care about that I so would right now." He hated that look, absolutely despised it. The only way she'd give him that look was if . . .

"You saw that girl rush out of here a couple of minutes ago, didn't you," and it came out more like a statement then a question because Claire just made a small 'hmm' sound and crossed her arms over her chest, pursing her lips at him in a barely concealed rage.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just kick you out onto the curb and be done with you? You have one good chance to not fuck up, excuse my French, and you do it anyway."

And because Daniel could be truly daft or just oblivious, as his mother would say when she wasn't blindly angry he uttered, "Do what?" in a foolish sort of way. Claire sighed and started walking downstairs causing Daniel to fall into step beside her. He honestly didn't know what the hell was wrong with him, he always seemed to attract trouble, or really he would always end up saying the wrong thing, or doing the wrong thing. His mother would tell him to not sleep with some girl and he would end up doing it one way or another, his father would tell him to not "get piss poor drunk so that we have to hold you over the toilet to puke your crud out" and he would get piss poor drunk anyway AND for good measure he'd probably be high while doing it.

He just wasn't good at following directions.

"You just NEVER can hold back, it-it's like you have no self control, Daniel! None at all, I just—God I don't want to say that Bradford was right but maybe he was." Claire pinched the bridge of her nose and moved over to one of the bars (there were three different bars because the Meades weren't social drinkers, though they led the outsiders to believe that, they were more like habitual as-soon-as-we-wake-up drinkers). Pouring herself a glass of Scotch, she downed it in one gulp and dropped unceremoniously unto one of the chaises; another clear sign that she was at her breaking point—with him, Daniel Ashton Meade, the son she used to sing to sleep and wash in the bathtub when he was just 3 years old and oh so innocent.

And yet her words seriously stung and left a stigma right on his heart. There was no way she could bandage that up, fuck, she'd already ripped off the band-aid off of his wound. She was right, obviously, he really didn't seem to care about what he did and how it affected people. The worst part was that he would just screw up all over again right after they had this repetitive talk (it wasn't the first time, Bradford or her or even some random socialite came in to talk to him).

"Man, I just, god I'm sorry Mom I really don't know what to say—I mean ugh, why can't you just have this conversation with Alex?! Alex sleeps with pretty much twice the amount of girls I do, I mean he's like a walking manwho--" He didn't really feel the sting, the actual burning white-hot pain of the slap until after it registered in his brain like five minutes later that his mother smacked him. She had never laid a hand on him until then. He watched her, his mouth agape, and it took him a good ten minutes to rework his jaw again, and even then he couldn't say much. Alex walked in, smoothing the soft golden curls that framed his angular face (he had such high well sculpted cheekbones), and he deliberately ignored them as he kissed Marcelle goodbye. It was a chaste sweep of the lips over her cheek and she was watching Daniel with this come-hither look in her chocolate brown eyes.

It was disgusting and humiliating to think that not only had she seen Claire smack him but she was still challenging him with that freaking gaze. He didn't fucking want her! Thankfully Marcelle was somewhat polite enough and sensible enough to keep her mouth shut while she walked out of the mansion.

"We're making you attend Immaculate Conceptional alongside Alex. I'm sick of having to deal with your excessive drug use, your drinking, and your blatant disregard for everyone and everything around you. I didn't raise you to screw up." Claire spat out, her eyes turning cold.

"Christ, that's not even—I mean a bunch of tight-wads go there!"

"Daniel Ashton Wesley Meade, so help me GOD if you don't shut up then I'll just send you off to your father."

"Good, because I'd much rather hear all of this from him, at least I'd be used to hearing those words come out of his mouth—you know, that I'm being such a screw-up." Daniel excused himself silently, brushing past a shocked Alex who for once didn't have anything to say like the smart ass he was. Sighing irately, Daniel tried to calm himself as soon as he entered the dining hall and he realized that Bradford Meade, his father was seated right at the dining table eating a carefully prepared meal. It was probably Belgian waffles or crepes, it smelled more like crepes though, whatever.

"Daniel . . .," his father didn't look up from his plate, focusing all of his attention on his crepes (Daniel could definitely tell from the smell) as if they were the most interesting things on the planet. Suddenly all of Daniel's earlier bravado abandoned him, his hands quivered, and his throat was dryer than usual. He was aching for a glass of liquor to calm his jittery nerves, feeling his face flush, he dropped ungracefully into the chair across from his father. A long expanse of wood distanced them a good thirteen feet or more across now and it didn't make him feel any better knowing that.

"Dad, look I—I know I screwed up . . ."

"Oh, you did more than screw up, you ruined your chances of me seeing anything even remotely positive in you. That's the what—fifth girl you've slept with now?"

"I-I wasn't thinking clearly, I mean I know I've really let the crap hit the gutter this time around," Bradford raised a silvery eyebrow at that. He would usually try to reprimand him for using such crass language. While Claire's tongue was looser, Bradford wasn't lenient with the boys at all; if he didn't like something then he would usually say it. Then again, Bradford was beyond disappointed in Daniel, it'd only make sense that he would be too angry to even scold him on that.

"Daniel, you know, hm, I'm sure your mother's informed you . . . we've already submitted the acceptance form for Immaculate Conceptional about two weeks ago. We've secured the payment and I've pulled a lot of strings in order to ensure that the headmaster accepted you." Daniel considered asking his father just how he managed to get him in on a whim but thought better of it when Bradford's indifferent tone sounded throughout the room.

". . . I think that you need to be in an environment where you don't really have a choice of 'yes' or 'no'. Think of this as a challenge," Daniel hated challenges, or more like he hated being challenged by his father because that usually only resulted in him being humiliated ". . . if you can prove to me that you can have a whole 360 degree turn around by attending this school and putting your mind to your work, then you can have my trust back—possibly."

"But . . ."

"And that's final Daniel! Now if you'll excuse me," the scraping of a dining room chair never sounded so intimidating or so dreadful to his younger son's ears until then, "I have a meeting to attend to. I'll be in Canada for two weeks, meeting with some clients. If you need to talk then please do it with your mother. I have nothing more to say to you."

Bradford's footfalls started to sound further and further away and Daniel sunk down into his chair morosely. He was going to have to attend a school with people snobbier than him, with teachers more strict than his parents, where he would have to actually read and write and work. He would have to do this, his father had said, to earn his trust back. No sleeping around, no drugs, no nothing, and yes his father didn't trust him. His father trusted Alex, Alex who had slept with Marcelle and five other girls, Alex who had done just as much drugs as him and then some. That Alex, supposed 'good, angelic, sweet, fucking perfect' Alex. Fifteen minutes later, Daniel was in Alex's room, startling the handsome curly-haired bastard, by hurling anything and everything he could think of at his smug golden haired head: vases, china, potted plants (hell if he could lift it . . . then why not?), pillows, books, just anything.

"I hate you, you're the freaking reason my ass is being sent to the equivalent of a boarding school! I mean what the fuck, mom doesn't even believe me when I tell her that you're just as fucked up as I am! How the fuck am I supposed to look up to someone who drinks, smokes, sniffs any fucking crystallized shit they can find, and beds the nearest thing with a pair of knockers and a crotch?! What the fuck!"

"Daniel, please just try to—whoa! Calm down!" Alex barely had time to move out of the way as Daniel's fists came flying at him, the force of his rage-fueled punch sending him straight to the parquet flooring. Alex meet floor, floor say hello to Alex, Daniel never felt better. Alex tackled him back, fighting to keep his younger sibling's wrists pinned and then Claire was rushing in moments later, all shrieks and a blur of beige and black. Bradford was shouting at the top of his lungs before he pried Alex off of his bloody brother because he'd spent a good ten minutes pummeling Daniel back blindly.

"Fucking hate you!" Daniel cried, wiping the streaming rivulets of blood from his nose before it splattered unto his crisp white button up shirt.

"You! What is your god damn problem Daniel?!" Bradford roared, holding Daniel up by the collar of his shirt, and looking him dead in the eye with a cold penetrating gaze.

"You, both of you, you think your eldest son is a fucking angel? Well wake up, he's not! Christ, I mean if you can't tell that he does everything that I do, that he practically begged me and coerced me to turn out like him—all f'ed up and sex-addicted, then you're both blind and fucking senile!"

Bradford's jaw flexed and he shook Daniel once before letting him go. His hands were curling and uncurling as a score of bodyguards rushed up their spiral staircase, filing all crazily into the room.

"Is there a problem here, sir?" one of the guards asked and it took a hell of a lot of willpower for Daniel to not sock Alex in the face, effectively wiping off his arrogant expression at that moment. Claire remained controlled like a good Meade and placed a hand on Bradford's shoulder, calming him down.

"No, we're all fine here," the eldest Meade's tone was clipped and forced but the bodyguards just shrugged and Claire walked off gracefully to call the maids in. Bradford turned swiftly on Daniel and Alex and just shook his head at them.

"Dad, I think Daniel's just angry and confused right now, you know teenage hormones and all," Alex smirked, rubbing at an already drying stain of blood at the front of his shirt.

"Tomorrow morning, you're going to the academy. Both of you. I don't want to hear a word! I think I'm truly done here," and then Bradford walked off, stepping over the shattered fragments of china, pottery, and clumps of dirt as he did so.

A/N: Oooh dramatic wasn't it? Well I felt that it was good to leave off at the Meades and stuff. I think there was a good balance between light-heartedness and seriousness, don't you think? Anyway please review, tell me what you think, and I'll work on the next installment. Hints to what may come? Betty actually gets her uniform and then the big day arrives for both the Meade brothers and Betty. Also Amanda appears, yay!

TBP-