Disclaimer: The basic plot for this story is my idea, however The Fairly OddParents and all characters involved belong to Butch Hartman.

Chapter Seven-- "Angry Young Man"

"You're not leaving this room until you pick up that phone and call your poor mother," Waxelplax told Crocker as he sat beside her desk, eyeing the telephone apprehensively, "And if she beats you to getting on the line, you are going to pick it up, got it?"

Crocker didn't answer. He reached out a hand to take the phone, but paused, as if afraid it would morph into a snake and bite him. Waxelplax tapped her foot impatiently. If looks could kill, Crocker would probably be full of holes and pronounced dead on the scene. Naturally, he made it a point to avoid eye contact. Meanwhile, back in his classroom...

"I wonder what's keeping Crocker," AJ mused.

"Maybe the principal wiped the floor with him," Chester chuckled at the mental picture.

"Yeah, I wish," Timmy growled angrily, "At least the rest of you only have to put up with him until school lets out. I have to live with him!"

"Ooh! I sense some juicy gossip here!" Veronica squealed, seeming to have appeared out of nowhere, "What's the scoop? Crocker is living in your house, Timmy Turner?"

"Yes," Timmy muttered.

"Whoa! You'd better watch out, Timmy," Chester cautioned, "Or Crocker's insanity and meanness will rub off on you!"

"Chester, this is serious," AJ replied, pitying their friend.

"Well, so am I!" Chester hissed, "Crocker could brainwash Timmy and make him one of his evil, crazy cronies!"

"You watch too much TV, man," AJ sighed, shaking his head at Chester's ridiculous ideas.

"Ugh! That is so totally unpopular," Trixie said, joining Veronica, "It could completely destroy your cool reputation--if you had one, that is."

Timmy frowned as the two girls returned to their seats, giggling smugly. Now the whole class was aware of his awful predicament--a fact that made him want to get revenge on his teacher all the more...or at least get him out of his house.

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An hour later, Crocker was still staring apprehensively at the phone. Waxelplax was growing more impatient by the second and he could sense it. He had to stall.

"I'm going to do it," he assured her nervously, "Just give me a minute."

"You've had sixty-plus," Waxelplax informed him, glancing at her watch.

Crocker groaned as he realized Waxelplax was going to be as relentless in keeping him there as he was in refusing to touch that phone.

"Ugh! I have to visit the restroom," Waxelplax sighed at last, "You stay here and I expect you to have called your mother by the time I come back."

"You know, now that you mention it, I think I need to visit the restroom as well," Crocker replied, seizing the opportunity to weasel his way out as he got to his feet, "Why don't we just meet each other back here in ten minutes?"

"I don't think so, Mr. Crocker," Waxelplax answered, putting a hand to his chest and forcing him back down into the chair, "My translation of your 'meeting back here in ten minutes' says I won't be able to find you again if I permit you to leave this room. You're staying until you call her."

Of course, the instant the principal left the room, Crocker made his escape attempt. Unfortunately for him, he was so busy nervously looking over his shoulder on his way down the hall that he walked right into Waxelplax as she was exiting the girls' room.

"Going somewhere, Mr. Crocker?" she asked, eyeing him skeptically.

"I was...just on my way back to your office," Crocker chuckled nervously, turning on his heel and bolting back to the place from which he came.

After some coaxing--which sounded more like threats--Waxelplax finally convinced Crocker to pick up the phone and call his mother. She answered on the first ring...much to Crocker's dismay.

"Oh, Denzel!" she gushed, "Where are you? You've had mommy worried sick!"

"I'm at school, Mother," Crocker replied in a monotonous tone, sounding anything but happy, "No need to worry. Everything is fine."

"You're at the school? Perfect!" his mother babbled, "Mommy will be right over to pick you up and bring you home."

"No!" Crocker barked, then regained his composure, speaking calmly once again, "I mean--Mother, I'm fine. I have my van. You don't need to pick me up."

"Don't be silly, Denzel," she answered giddily, "I know you won't come home of your own accord, so that's why I'm coming to get you."

"You can't force me to come home!" Crocker snapped, abandoning self-control and giving way to yelling, "I'm an adult, remember?"

"An adult incapable of living on his own," his mother reminded him, "The mental institution said so."

"I don't care if they say toe jam tastes good and the moon is made of cheese!" Crocker exploded, "Fairies are real and I'm not--I repeat--I am not coming home!"

With that said, he slammed the phone down and stomped out of the office, leaving a stunned and perplexed principal behind while on the other end of the line, his mother stared at the dead phone in her hand.

"Well, I never!"