Hello fellow Prep haters. Thank you if you reviewed me, and if you haven't, get to it.

'Bout the cheer, the cheerleaders at my school really do look like they're pointing out directions.

Thanks for putting up with my insanity!

All the cheerleaders in my school are preps; I'm using them, not anyone else. I have no desire to rise in social status, otherwise I wouldn't be writing this fic. I must be on every popular's death list. Is that good or bad?

Disclaimer: Good Lord above us, if anyone believes I own DBZ, please save what's left of their brain.

*() _ ()*

With Vegeta almost around the corner, Bulma really didn't think she could get very far before he turned.

'Not good, very not good, very very very not good. Why did I have to bang my head against the locker? Why? Why must I have the worst luck in the world? Why?' Bulma thought, running to her locker, which was still open, and moving her books around enough to where she could squeeze into it.

 The locker being full length, floor to the about 7 feet up, helped a great deal.

Bending her neck to get underneath the locker shelf she had installed, now regretting it, Bulma managed to get in, rig the lock so that she could open it from the inside, and close the door.

'Please walk fast please walk fast" Bulma prayed, hearing Vegeta's footsteps approach.

Then a pause. Soon the hall was silent, even more so since Bulma was holding her breath.

"Yes!" Bulma exhaled. She opened the door and stood to step out.

Her head collided with the shelf, adding another bump to the other few some prep sympathizers had given her earlier.

"Ouch. That hurt." Bulma rubbed her head, trying to ease the pain.

Snap.

Bulma turned around just in time to see the latch supporting the locker shelf break.

And to see all the books on top of it give way.

Bulma tried to catch her books, but when she got hit more times then she caught any, logic says to give up.

She backed away from her locker, helpless to do any more.

As soon as the tidal wave of books, folders, and other miscellaneous junk subsided, snickering could be heard.

Bulma turned to see Vegeta sneering at the pile of educational materials before her.

"Is this funny to you?" Bulma asked, hands on her hips and glaring.

"No, just the fact that you would hide in your locker instead of facing me."

Bulma's face slowly turned red with rage.

"YOU MEAN YOU KNEW THE WHOLE FREAKING TIME? I OUTTA CLOBER YOU!"

"No, don't. You'll break a nail." Came the monotone reply, Bulma's rage increasing with every second.

"LIKE I CARE ABOUT A NAIL! I HAVE TO CLEAN ALL THIS UP NOW!" Bulma screamed, wondering if he was worth throwing a $50 textbook at.

"Then I suggest you hurry." He said, footsteps coming near.

He walked up the staircase to safety, leaving Bulma with her mess.

"I hate this, I hate my life, I hate Vegeta more, I hate…" Bulma continued muttering, all whilst trying to get all her stuff picked up before she could get into even more trouble.

With a figure visible down the hall, Bulma crammed all the books into the locker, kicking it close, and ran.

*- . -* *- . -* *- . -* *- . -* *- . -* *- . -*

Her hand balled up into a fist, Bulma slammed it into various areas of her bedside table before the hateful irritating noise making device, otherwise known as the alarm clock, shut up.

Lazily checking to see how many more minutes she could sleep, her eyes opened wide with terror.

"WHY DO YOU HATE ME SO?" Bulma screamed towards the ceiling.

The red numbers showed she had exactly 5 hours to sleep, not that that was a bad thing.

"Stupid insomnia, stupid malfunctioning alarm clock, stupid messed up world."

Turning to face the wall, she tried to get some more sleep. She had been up all night, insomnia's fault, she couldn't sleep, she couldn't go and get a snack from the kitchen without waking everyone up, she couldn't do anything, except to maybe let her mind drift, but when nothing was in there, Bulma gave up all hope.

"This is all Mrs. Loce's fault, if it weren't for her, I would never had been sent to the office, never had met  Vegeta, never had to put up with this insomnia. My life would be a lot better. Wait, no it's the blob's fault, if he weren't such a jerk, NO! It's those preps fault, if it weren't for them, I would never had written that paper, and, NO! It's the previous generation's fault, if it weren't for them, I would never had been born to suffer…"

Playing the blame game for a while Bulma got to "WAIT, ITS COLUMBUS'S FAULT!" before she realized how stupid she was being.

"Sleep, sleep, sleep. I dare me to go to sleep."

"Not working, okay if you don't go to sleep, you'll die."

"Fine, threatening myself won't work. Okay, if you don't go back to sleep, Vegeta will die, wait, no that's what I want to happen. Counting sheep. That'll have to work."

"1,993, 1,994, that's not doing to well. 40 winks."

40 winks later.

"RRRRRR! Nothings working. THIS IS NOT FAIR! I DIDN'T CHOOSE TO BE BORN!"

Having a headache from not sleeping, wanting to sleep, and not being able to sleep is torture. Especially if you waste hours at a time trying to fall to sleep.

Deciding that there was no way in the name of everything good and righteous that she was going back to sleep, she trudged out of bed and walked to her computer.

Logging on to the web, Bulma noticed something odd about the mailbox icon.

It had mail.

Bulma clicked on it.

The thing was full to the brim with letters, most of them having been sent by preps with names such as

Angel_Brat, Cutie_Princess_Angel, and other things with variations of those two.

'Delete, delete, delete,' Bulma chanted, destroying all evidence of the letter's existences.

Though she did stop to read a few of them, all of them said something along the lines of, "U mean Bitch. I hope u r sorry for what u did. If I knew how, I'd send u a virus."

And that's only after Bulma corrected most of the spelling.

"Well, now that that's over and done with, 'How do you kill or at least get rid of a Captain of a football team?"

* . * * . * * . * * . * * . * * . * * . * * . * * . *

Walking down the halls, Bulma received many glares from the many prep sympathizers in the school.

'I'm too tired to kick their butts right now, maybe tomorrow…'  Bulma thought, spinning the combination on her lock.

Opening it, Bulma realized too late to do anything about it.

Bang, bang, bang, bang.

Hitting her head on her locker yet again, leaving the mess to be trampled over, Bulma chanted the now familiar phrase, "Why does God hate me? Why?"

Teachers from throughout the hall tried to get her to clean up the pile, but by banging her head even harder against the lockers, Bulma found she could drown them out.

"Bulma! Please calm down."

"If you don't I'll call the principal."

"I order you to clean it."

" BULMA! Please?"

None of it was heard by Bulma, she just damaged her brain even more.

*X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X*

I know it's short, but it's better then nothing. Right?

Note: Death to the preppies.