Finally done. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: All of the characters in this AU story are owned by Akira Toriyama.


Pan

"He said it wasn't a biggie." Bulla walks pretty fast for a 15-and-a-half-year-old on high-heels. I try to catch up with my, um, cheap old and humble moccasins down the hall. Lucky me, she has this amazing power of moving everyone out of her way. "Not spilling the smallest detail."

"…"

"Well?" She expects me to talk; stopping right in the middle of the hallway where anyfreakingone could hear the unwitting whisper I call voice. And for a reason I start to panic because I'll actually have to make a confession in front of a quarter of Orange Star High School, until she grabs my wrist and pulls me into some random classroom. Advanced Algebra.

"…"

"Son Pan. I got your"—poor—"reputation in my hands. I got your biggest secret and you sure as hell know I'm not afraid to leak it out around this kingdom we call school." That's deep, you know, for being Bulla.

I suck my lips in so tight that I'm nearly hurting. She looks into my eyes, like if she tried to dig in them with her own. Like if by staring she'd found out what I was hiding. And she finally did, well, thought so.

Her sleepy eyes start growing awake, as she breathes in a slow, very slow gasp.

"V-card?" she manages to motion her lips with no sound coming out of them.

"Ew, no."

She rolls her eyes, a 20% relieved, an 80% annoyed. "Then what?"

"A kiss."

She lets herself drop on a hard wooden desk and all I can think is ouch.

"That is so not fair." She says.

"This was your idea, Bulla. It worked out, Marron lost—"

"No she didn't."

"What do you mean?"

She's pointing at me, or more like past me. I turn around. Trunks is there, walking down the corridors like if he owned them—which is true—, laughing and joking and being gorgeous with an arm around Marron's tiny shoulders.

They're coming this way, the whole gang. We're standing in the most intimidating and coolest gang's Algebra classroom. And I turn to Bulla with big panicked murderer eyes.

And I thought: He'll see me and he'll sure tell her about the date.

And I thought: Probably not.

"Weshouldgo." So I let her pull of my wrist and lead my all the way to the entrance.

"Bulla?" That voice. I am so dead.

She stops short, letting my numb wrist free.

"What are you doing here?"

She turns around from behind me, as I stand still, paralyzed in the step I was supposed to take. I see her walking past me, but I pull of her arm as hard as I can, making me spin in one foot.

She'll say something stupid that'll make me look like a complete dork. I can't even think about it without the thrills. I have to stop her before—wow, wait. He's staring at me. And his stare is awkwardly numbing, and the whole situation gets me dizzy. To the point that I'm not sure what's really going on, the pounding in my ears getting stronger per beat. Making everything more confusing.

I'm not nervous, but dumbfounded. I'm glancing at everything, letting it all sink in.

His lavender mushroom, his confused eyes staring at me—plus other dozen—probably wondering what am I doing with his sister after having our so-called date, Marron's goofy grin, his brawny arm tightly around her wasp waist, Bulla struggling against my grip, and the Funeral March by Chopin playing in the background, giving this whole adventure a dramatic touch. Very Funny.

And I show this smile, the heaviest I've ever had to pull up.

"Hey, Pan." He says, not bothered the slightest bit. Not showing any sign of discomfort. Not moving a finger away from his, um, girlfriend.

I thought: Well, say something.

I thought: A chicken bone is, like, stuck in my throat.

And then I saw everything gray and returning back to normal, like if I'd taken LSD or something (not that I've done drugs before). Like if I'd stood up too fast.

"Hi." I manage to say. But then I feel my eyes puffy and they're not even—oh wait, here comes the rain. And I feel how the salty tears burn my eyes like fire and I wonder how I'm not blind yet. I turn around and at that, I walk away, as fast as brisk walking in the hallways is allowed to.

Just imagine a sophomore, crying to a bunch of seniors. I cringe at the simple thought.

I look into my locker for a portable mirror, if I happen own one. I'm almost sure I do, maybe it's somewhere in between my books. Yup, here it is, cracked and small and dusty.

There's not enough ti-ime. My inner-self singsongs. The symphony is almost o-ver.

As I give a small glance at myself I can see how swollen and wet I'm looking. When did the first teardrop fell? I thought I had it all under control. So I try my best to clean the mess and cover it up. I look at myself one last time. Yes, ready to—wait, lavender and tan and turquoise behind me.

"What's going on?" I hear him say. More like 'what in the world isn't going on?'

But I can't dare myself to say that. I can't even dare to turn around. Inhale… Exhale—don't hyperventilate. There you go… easy. My shoulders rise and fall softly at the rhythm of my breathing. So I turn around, fighting the needs to sniff so that he doesn't know about, well, that.

"What do you mean?"

But yeah, he's not blind, or stupid.

"Why did you run off crying?"

"I wasn't." So I grab a random book out of my locker, and squeeze in through the crowd, not really having some specific place to go (Of course I do, it's class change).

I feel this huge weight off my back and shoulders and basically from all over my body. And this only means one thing, and I don't really want to know. But I did. I knew Trunks was following behind me.

"C'mon." He sighs, grabbing me by the arm. A lot of people are staring, so I just suggest going somewhere else, more private.

"Pan, I thought you'd understand."

We're in the dark, and for a reason my eyes can't adapt to it. The janitor's closet turned out to be a stifling windowless box. It smells like chlorine and dust and Trunks.

"Can we get out of here?"

"It was just a game, Pan."

"I'm claustrophobic."—Lie. I just don't feel like listening the rest of 'it was just a game'.

"Listen," but he proceeds anyway. "I have a girlfriend, and I like her. I'm not going to act like nothing happened between us. You're the only girl that has ever, like, confessed to me, and I don't know. I guess I didn't want to leave you hanging just, like, there. You know what I mean?" So I just nod, but then I realize we're blind. "I know what it's like to be humiliated.

"Really?" I ask, rather disbelieving.

"Well, no. But I can imagine."

And I wanted to tell him. Tell him that sooner or later he was going to leave me hanging anyway. Tell him that while it meant nothing to him, it meant the world to me. But that'd make me look weak and small and pathetic and pitiful.

"Oh."

"And it's not that I don't like you, but Marron is Marron." And I'm just Pan. "You're too young."

"…"

"Pan, the least I want to do is hurting you." But now that he mentions it, that's exactly what he's making me feel. Not nervousness, or butterflies, or anger, not even disappointment. Pain.

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"Where did you—oh. Hi abs, hi chest."

I hear his low-tuned chuckle, his chest vibrating under my fingertips. "So, all cool?"

"Sure."—Lie, again. I feel like a homeless bum being rescued from poverty and drug addiction. And the worst part is that I didn't want that help, I didn't need that charity. I would've rather being shot straight on the head than 5 times on the chest.

2:40 p.m.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Bulla cares a little too much about this whole Anti-Marron thing, and not because I'm hurting or whatnot. She has certain hate for her, I don't know. I hear her heels clacking against the concrete sidewalk, rapid short strides from one corner to another.

"What was I supposed to tell him?"

"I don't know, something. Anything!"

And I stay quiet, not feeling like adding fuel to the fire. Not that we're arguing, Bulla is the fire. She stops, looks at me, and just now I realize she was making a plan up.

"Feel like getting popular?" and she's smirking evilly at me. Not like a foe but like an ally. And I'm not sure whether to be scared or excited, but either way I just nod.


Pan sounded a little desperate in this chap, and Trunks is such a blind jerk why did I even make him up like that? Tell me what you think guys, mahalo :)