Chapter 7

A week later, Moroshka found herself in the kitchen helping Bulma cook dinner. They'd been talking about the parent-teacher conference at Trunk's high school, and the various reviews that she'd received from his teachers.

"So anyways," Bulma continued as she dropped chopped broccoli in the steamer. "His Calculus teacher says he's been slacking off lately. The past month his grades have been B's instead of A's."

"Really?" Moroshka asked as she pulled the chicken out of the marinade and flopped it on the grill. "'B' grades are still pretty good from what I hear."

"Not in math. You're forgetting who his mother is," she said as she winked at Moroshka. "Math takes little effort for the Briefs. Which means he's putting in no effort at all."

"Hmm."

Bulma picked up a cutting knife and used it as a pointer. "You know what I think," she said, waving it around like a feather pen. "I think it's that Babbette chick he's been dating lately. SHE'S in his math class. No good, bird-brained bimbo…"

Moroshka laughed. No woman was good enough for Bulma's son. What Bulma didn't realize, however, was that Trunks was of the same opinion. The brat had been dating long before his voice even dropped. He'd been grounded more than Moroshka could even count for breaking curfew, and finally when he turned eighteen Bulma said 'to hell with it', and did away with the rules. They obviously hadn't been working anyhow. But the funny thing was that he was rarely without a girlfriend, yet he never had one for more than two months.

"Her turn is almost up, I'd imagine, Bulma," Moroshka consoled. "He'll get bored with her any day, just like the rest."

"Hmph," Bulma shook her head. "Have you met her?"

"Not yet, no."

"Well, I have. And there's something about her I just don't like."

Moroshka flipped the chicken on the grill and shrugged.

The phone rang. Trunks came bounding down the stairs three at a time.

"I got it!" With one swipe, he scooped the receiver off it's lodging. "Hello? Yeah. What's up, Tyus?" Brief pause. "She did? That sucks! You HAVE to come!"

Moroshka listened disinterestedly as she picked the chicken up off the grill and put them on the plate. Trunks had been friends with that Tyus kid ever since middle school. For some reason, the fool boy always had a crush on her-and he wasn't shy about it either. It was awkward at first, then flattering, and now it was just amusing.

Moroshka was surprised that anyone found her attractive at all, considering her anomalous features. Yet she'd been hit on plenty in public while out with Bulma. The blatant stares still unnerved her, but not as much as they used to.

Trunks hung up, and looked over at her purposely. Before the glint in his eye could materialize into some brilliant practical joke, she made for the stairs.

"Whatever it is that you're thinking, Trunks, you can forget about it," Moroshka tossed over her shoulder as she walked out of the room.

"You don't even know what I'm going to ask!" he cried out as he followed her.

"I know that look."

"What look?"

Moroshka rolled her eyes and opened the door to her bedroom. He came right in after her.

"Okay, listen," he grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. She sighed and looked up at him.

"Goten, Tyus and I are going to this concert tonight, and Tyus' girl dumped him at the last minute and he won't go without a date."

"How sad," she said sarcastically. "And…no."

"Oh come on! We already have tickets, and we can't leave him behind. Besides, it'll be fun." Trunks did a hideous impression of whiny puppy dog eyes.

"Oh, please," she said as she clicked her tongue. "That look is hideous on an adult." Then she laughed inwardly at herself. The nuances of this world's youth had really pegged her. The Supreme Kai would shake his head if he heard how she talked when the teenagers were around.

"You NEVER go out. What could it hurt?"

"There is no room in my heart for anyone besides you and your mother."

"I'm not asking you to marry him for crying out loud! I'm asking you to HANG OUT with him in a group setting. Like you hang out with Goten and I."

"You and Goten don't drool when I walk in the room." She went over to the vanity and started to take out her hair clips. "Besides, do you know how old I am?" She asked, quirking her eyebrow. Granted, in earth years she was technically 26-barely younger than Gohan, and then she had been born an adult with no change to her physical appearance in all these years, but still… "How would it look--"

"You look no older than me!" He grabbed her hair in his fists and propped it up in piggy tails. "Especially like this!"

"Hey!" She pried his hands from her mane. "So…undignified, Trunks…" But her reprimand did little from stopping the giggle that seeped out of her mouth. She sighed, forcing the scowl back into place. No respect, that boy…

Undaunted, he bent over and pressed his cheek up against hers and looked comparatively in the mirror.

"Agh," she complained. "You know it makes me feel like a misfit when you do this." She looked at the reflection, and as usual, cringed. Her face was itself the color of shadow, and her blue eyes seemed too big for it at times. People had thought her hair too fantastic to be real, and her irises some electric Halloween contacts. She stuck out wherever she went.

And then there was Trunks. Combining the best traits of both parents, his handsome, boy-man face oozed charisma. Inheriting Bulma's keen sense of style, he always seemed to look as though he had just walked out of a magazine. The kid had turned out to be quite a specimen.

"Ah, c'mon, Roshka. Tyus is my boy. We can't leave him behind," he said as he wrapped his arms affectionately around her shoulders.

"Oh, go with him," came Bulma's voice from the doorway. Trunks stood upright, and Moroshka looked to see her leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. Her mouth was serious, but her eyes were smiling.

Moroshka gaped at her, having a keen sensation of just being betrayed. "Bulma? At what point did you side with the enemy?"

Trunks was surprised as well, but no less delighted. "See? Even MOM thinks you should go."

"I don't do that," Moroshka protested, feeling outnumbered. "Go on…dates. Dating is for people who aren't…me." And what she didn't say, I'm a God of Vengeance for crying out loud!

Trunks snorted. "If all your arguments are as clever as that one, you might as well get dressed right now."

Moroshka raised her brow at him. You wanna get beat, boy?

Bulma pushed off the doorframe and walked up to her. The woman took a deep breath and leaned over, cupping her hand to Moroshka's ear so Trunks couldn't hear. "Listen. If you go, you can monitor his behavior. I want to know if this Babbette is the reason for his bad grades."

Moroshka moaned. Bulma winked at their reflection in the mirror. "It won't be that bad."

She huffed a little, and glanced at Trunks who had an ear-splitting grin on his face. "Oooh, FINE," and added grumpily under hushed tones, "But your altruism seems an awful lot like espionage, Bulma."