"Trunks Briefs, you are going to be grounded until you're a little old man, do you hear me?" shouted the more than upset heiress.

His hands shoved deep into his pockets, Trunks stared at the kitchen floor beneath his feet. "It wasn't that bad," he muttered.

Curiously, Vegeta poked his head into the room. He had just gotten out of the gravity chamber when he had heard the yelling, and he was more than curious to see what exactly his son had done to get himself in trouble that day.

Whatever it was, it must have been impressive, he thought with a smirk. The woman doesn't get that huffy over the small stuff anymore.

"Trunks, you've been in school for a week. A week!" screamed Bulma. With each word, she shook her left hand as it clutched onto a stack of papers. "One week!" she again yelled, putting what Trunks thought to be too much emphasis on the time frame during whence he had committed his punishable deeds.

Giving in to his curiosity, Vegeta fully entered the room. "What did the brat do this time?" he asked, not entirely certain he wanted to know the answer. After all, anything that the boy did wrong was often blamed on him, whether or not it was actually his fault.

Angrily, Bulma shoved the stack of papers into her husband's face. "This is what he did wrong!" she screamed. "This is the forced confessional that the teacher made him write!"

Vegeta snatched the papers from his wife's flailing hand, reading aloud the offenses listed.

"I will not skateboard in the halls…"

"I still can't believe that you got into this much trouble in one week, Trunks!" Bulma yelled again.

"I will not burp in class…"

Trunks simply shrugged his shoulders. "I still don't see what the big deal is," he muttered.

"I will not instigate revolution…"

Angrily, Bulma spun around so that she was once again facing the twelve year old boy. "Not that big a deal?" she shouted.

"I will not draw naked ladies in class…"

"Yeah," Trunks said, shrugging his shoulders again. "I mean, it's not like I did anything that bad."

"I will not call the teacher 'hot cakes'…"

Bulma was having a hell of a time controlling her temper. "How do you not understand that you can't just do whatever the hell you want to?" she demanded.

"Garlic gum is not funny…"

"Oh, come on, Mom," the soon to be teenager whined. "It's not like you were flawless when you were my age!"

"I will not encourage others to fly…"

"Yes, but I managed to go to school for a few years without getting in major trouble," the mother countered. "You apparently couldn't last a few minutes!"

"Tar is not a plaything…"

Again, the boy shrugged. "Maybe they've got stricter rules now than they did when you were a kid," he suggested.

"I will not Xerox my butt…"

The heiress shot a deadly glare down at her firstborn. "They do not have stricter rules now, Trunks."

"I will not trade pants with others…"

Sitting down backwards in one of the kitchen chairs and giving a half shrug, Trunks returned his mother's glare. "Well, I don't know what else to tell you."

"I will not do that thing with my tongue…"

"Do not take that tone with my, young man!" scolded the mother.

"I will not drive the principal's car…"

Trunks just rolled his eyes, no longer caring what his mother seemed to think of his attitude. "I still think you're blowing this way out of proportion here," he responded.

"I will not pledge allegiance to myself…"

Bulma stalked over to her son's chair, placing her foot on the bottom rung and tilting it in her direction. "Blowing this out of proportion?" she repeated.

"I will not sell school property…"

"Yes," the twelve year old said.

"I will not get very far with this attitude…"

"Trunks, your principal had to call me personally!" the scientist shouted, her anger getting the better of her.

"I will not grease the monkey bars…"

Forcing his chair back the way it had been, Trunks shifted his gaze over to the kitchen sink. "Oh, he'd call if I got a splinter in my pinky," he mumbled.

"I will not hide behind the fifth amendment…"

"But you didn't get a splinter in your pinky, now did you, young man?" the irate heiress demanded.

"I will not sleep through my education…"

With another roll of his eyes, the preteen got to his feet. "Oh, and because I'm not a goody-goody like Gohan was, I must be the spawn of Satan, right?"

"Spit wads are not free speech…"

"Don't you talk to me like that, young man!" Bulma yelled in a threatening tone.

"Nobody likes sunburn slappers…"

"Well that is what you think, isn't it?" the boy demanded.

"High explosives and school don't mix…"

Bulma took a step back, an almost surprised look on her face. "What makes you think that?" she asked.

"Underwear should be worn on the inside…"

Glaring hard, Trunks sneered at his mother. "I heard you talking to Chi-Chi!" he accused.

"I will not torment the emotionally frail…"

Bulma paled at her son's words. "What…what are you talking about?" she hesitantly asked.

"I will not spank others…"

The twelve year old turned away from his mother, suddenly disgusted by their conversation. "Like you don't already know what I'm talking about," he quietly said.

"I will not aim for the head…"

Slowly, the heiress approached her son. "Trunks, what's bothering you?"

"I will not barf unless I'm sick…"

With his back still turned, Trunks angrily replied, "You and Chi-Chi talk all the time about how Goten and I aren't as good as Gohan is."

"I saw nothing unusual in the teacher's lounge…"

"Well, maybe you're not as calm as he was at your age," Bulma said, "but it doesn't mean that you aren't as good as he is."

"I will not conduct my own fire drills…"

Slowly, Trunks began to turn around. "Does that mean that I'm not in trouble?" he hopefully asked.

"I will not spin the turtle…"

"Not a chance in hell, boy," Bulma stated, sounding suspiciously like her husband.

"I will not snap bras…"

Trunks threw his arms over his head in anger. "Oh, come on!"

"I will not fake seizures…"

"Sorry, mister, but I can't let you get away with this unpunished," Bulma said, a slight chuckle in her voice.

"This punishment is not boring and redundant…"

Pouting, Trunks leaned himself up against the kitchen counter. "I still say that you're overreacting to all of this."

"I will not bring sheep to class…"

"Overreacting?" Bulma repeated, what little humor she had held long gone.

"I will not bury the new kid…"

Giving yet another eye roll, Trunks stuck his tongue out slightly. "Yeah, that's a great way to get info from me, Mom. Repeat what I just said."

"Coffee is not a drink for kids…"

Bulma did not appreciate that response at all. "You just upped the sentence, Trunks."

"I will not eat things for money…"

"Well, if I'm going to be grounded until I'm an old man anyway, then extending it by a week shouldn't mean anything," he countered.

"I will not yell 'she's dead' during roll call…"

"Do you ever want to see Goten again?" the heiress threatened.

"The principal's toupee is not a Frisbee…"

Trunks just snorted at that threat. "Yeah, because we all know that Chi-Chi isn't screaming at Goten for the same stuff right now."

"Goldfish don't bounce…"

"Somehow," Bulma responded, "I doubt that Goten managed to get into quite as much trouble as you did."

"I do not have diplomatic immunity…"

Defensively, Trunks shifted his weight to the front of his feet. "What, so now you think Goten is better than I am?"

"I will not charge admission to the bathroom…"

"I didn't say that," Bulma stated.

"The cafeteria deep fryer is not a toy…"

Still glaring, Trunks asked his mother what she was talking about.

"I am not authorized to fire substitute teachers…"

Bulma slowly approached her little boy. "What I'm saying is that Chi-Chi was not pulled out of an international meeting for a multi-billion dollar contract when the principal called her!"

"My homework was not stolen by a one-armed man…"

"So you're an overachiever," Trunks said, trying to make the best out of a bad situation.

"Organ transplants are best left to the professionals…"

That answer hardly appeased the irritated mother. "Trunks, if you could have just once behaved yourself, we wouldn't be here right now!"

"The pledge of allegiance does not end with Hail Satan…"

Again, Trunks pushed himself up against the counter. "I still don't see why you couldn't just keep home schooling me!"

"Beans are neither fruit nor musical…"

"Because I wanted you to have a normal life!" Bulma cried.

"I am not the reincarnation of Sammy Davis, Jr. …"

Trunks threw his arms over his head in frustration. "Give it up already, Mom! I'm not going to be normal!"

"I will not dissect things unless instructed…"

"But that doesn't mean that you need to stand out as much as you do," Bulma countered.

"I will not whittle hall passes out of soap…"

The preteen stalked over to the refrigerator, throwing the door open. "Right, Mom. Be gifted and perfect, but don't let anybody know you're alive."

"Goten won't morph if I squeeze him hard enough…"

"I didn't say that either!" the blue haired heiress shouted, stamping her foot.

"Adding 'just kidding' does not make it okay to insult the principal…"

Trunks snatched a bottle of chocolate milk off of the top shelf before slamming the door shut. "Then what are you saying, Mom?" he demanded.

" 'Bagman' is not a legitimate career choice…"

Bulma walked over to where her son was, grabbing her own drink from the cold appliance. "I'm saying that you could be respectful of the rules that are set for you, young man!"

"Cursive writing does not mean what I think it means…"

"But why?" Trunks demanded. "The rules don't stop the other kids from calling me a freak, so why should they protect anyone else?"

"Next time it could be me on the scaffolding…"

Hesitantly, Bulma put her diet soda down on the table. "The other children call you a freak?" she softly asked. This was new information to her.

"I will not strut around like I own the place…"

"Why wouldn't they?" the boy cried out, his voice cracking slightly.

"The good humor man can only be pushed so far…"

Slowly, Bulma closed the distance between herself and her firstborn child. "Is it because you're half Saiyan?"

"I do not have the power of attorney over first graders…"

Trunks just rolled his eyes at his mother's question. "Yeah, Mom, I thought I'd start the school year by announcing to everyone that I am heir to the throne of a near extinct alien race."

"Nerve gas is not a toy…"

Bulma shyly looked away for a moment. "I guess that was kind of a stupid question to ask," she relented.

"The boy's room is not a water park…"

"Hah!" was the only response the twelve year old would give.

"Extreme wedgies are unhealthy to children and other living things…"

Grabbing her drink, the heiress took a gulp. "So why did they call you a freak?" she asked again.

"I will stop talking about the twelve inch pianist…"

Scowling, the young prince crossed his arms. "Well, to start with, they say I look like a girl."

"I am not certified to remove asbestos…"

Nodding slightly, Bulma took another sip of her drink. "The purple hair, right?"

"The truth is not out there…"

"Lavender," the boy corrected. "Purple is the color of royalty. Lavender is the color of getting picked on."

"I am not licensed to do anything…"

"Trunks, just because your purple hair got you called a girl does not mean that you can do this crap!" snipped out the heiress.

"I will not hide the teacher's Prozac…"

Finishing off his own drink, Trunks tossed the empty container across the room and into the trash can. "They also call me a Momma's Boy."

"A fire drill does not demand an actual fire…"

Bulma had to stifle a laugh at that one. "You? A Momma's Boy? I mean Goten, sure, but you?"

"Rudolph's red nose was not caused by alcohol…"

"See?" shouted Trunks. "When they do something to me, you just laugh, but when I do something, I get in trouble!"

"Pain is not the cleanser…"

"Trunks," Bulma said, a warning in her voice.

"My butt does not deserve a website…"

Trunks wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Well, it's true, isn't it?"

"I will not demand what I'm worth…"

Bulma finished off her own drink, crunching the can in her hand. "No, young man, it isn't."

"I will not file frivolous lawsuits…"

"How?" the boy demanded.

"'The President did it' is not a valid excuse…"

"What they did was stupid, Trunks, but this," she yelled, waving in the direction of the forced confessional, "is crossing the line!"

"It does not suck to be you…"

Once again, Trunks flopped backwards into one of the kitchen chairs. "Oh, you're just saying that because the principal called you on it."

"I cannot absolve sins…"

"No, Trunks, you'd be in trouble for this no matter how I found out," Bulma insisted.

"Loose teeth do not need my help…"

Trunks rested his chin on top of his hands as they rested on the back of the chair. "If that old coot had called about me calling someone a Momma's Boy, we'd be having this exact same talk."

"Friday's are not 'pants optional'…"

"But you'd only get in trouble of a weekend with that!" shouted the exasperated mother.

"Making Goten cry is not a science project…"

Trunks just rolled his eyes again, muttering the words, "Yeah, right."

"I am not my own long lost twin…"

Bulma assumed her earlier position with her foot on the bottom rung of the chair, but her son used his weight to keep her from being able to tilt it. "I don't know where you get these ideas, Trunks," she sighed, growing suddenly tired.

"I can't see dead people…"

The twelve year old slid off of the chair, causing his mother to stumble backwards as the chair finally tipped over. "You taught me most of it," he pointed out.

"I did not invent Irish dancing…"

"Trunks," Bulma sympathetically said, "I understand how hard it can be to fit in when you're a member of this family."

"There was no Roman god named Farticus…"

Trunks huffed and looked away. "Somehow, I doubt that."

"Shooting paintballs is not an art form…"

Bulma placed a hand on her son's shoulder. "I really, really do."

"Silly string is not a nasal spray…"

Trunks quietly looked up at his mother. "How would you know?"

"I was not forced to do this against my will…"

The heiress knelt down slightly and smiled at the boy. "The other kids made fun of me, too," she admitted. "I used to be the class freak."

"Hillbillies are people too…"

"I don't believe it," Trunks responded.

"I am not the new Dalai Lama…"

Bulma smiled a little brighter. "I really was. And you know what?"

"No one cares what my definition of 'is' is…"

"What?"

"I will not scream for ice cream…"

Bulma wrapped her arms around her son and pulled him in to a hug. "If you talk to me when this stuff happens, I can help you come up with other ways of dealing with it."

"The girls in my class do not 'got back'…"

Trunks hesitated for a moment before leaning in and returning the hug. "Thanks, Mom."

"I will not sell someone's kidney on eBay…" Vegeta turned that last piece of paper over, making sure that he had read the entire thing. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at the four pages of confessions in his hands as he slowly turned to face his son. "One week of public school and you've done this? You're better than that, boy!"

Trunks hopped back a bit, startled by his father's sudden outburst. While the elder prince had been reading the list, the younger one had somehow forgotten that his father was even in the room. Challenging his mother was one thing. The worst she could do was restrict privileges. Challenging his father was suicidal. That man controlled his training, after all.

"Dad, I can explain!" he began, earning an annoyed cry from his mother.

Vegeta tossed the papers back at the boy, a smirk on his face. "I was expecting at least ten pages," he said, turning to leave the kitchen.

As Trunks smiled, Bulma stomped her foot. "Hey, wait a minute!" she shouted. "Isn't he going to get in trouble for any of this? I mean, you're not seriously going to let him challenge authority like this, are you?"

Not even bothering to turn around, Vegeta simply called out, "Trunks, you're grounded for a week for getting your mother in a bad mood. Now haul ass to the gravity room"

Looking desperately from one parent to another, hoping to find a little more compassion that he knew he didn't deserve, the twelve year old was only met with his father's back and his mother sticking her tongue out at the man, saying the words, "You're missing the point!"

Trunks walked away with only one thought crossing his mind.

I wonder what I'm going to do on Monday…

/

Note: What can I say? I went on a Simpson's bender over the weekend and got inspired. You've got to admit, that list transitions fairly nicely!