My first SoR fanfic! cheers Well, here it is. I hope you like it. Just for background information: basically picks up where the movie left off. I'm assuming, for the sake of my story, that the Battle of the Bands thing happened around October. This isn't ALL about Zack, either, there's lots of the other characters.

And yes…I did create a character. winces Don't hurt me! I promise she's not a Mary Sue! If she ever becomes one (in the eyes of myself and my Beta), I'll drop her or give her a massive makeover.

Much thanks to Lyn for her help with this! :)

Please review, so I can know what to work on. Let me know if I ought to continue.

-Sienna

"Fix your tie," said Mr. Mooneyham.

Zack tugged the fabric around his neck. "Why do I have to wear a tie?"

"Because," said his father. He gripped the steering wheel a little harder every time he spoke. "You must make a good impression."

"Dr. Whitford is a highly acclaimed psychiatrist, Zachary," Mrs. Mooneyham said. "A very influential man."

Not saying anything, Zack loosened his tie. He was still in his uniform from school (like a loser, he thought) having been picked up from Horace Green. His father had even gotten off work early to make this appointment.

State's Bay Psychiatry, read the sign outside. Dr. Michael Whitford, Psychiatrist. Dr. Jennifer Malone, Psychologist. Therapy, Marriage and Family Counseling.

Family counseling…like this is going to help.

The lobby was empty, save for the three Mooneyhams. Almost instantly Dr. Whitford ushered them into his office.

Actually, what passed for his office looked more like a well-decorated living room. Zack's parents seated themselves on the black couch and Zack flopped into the easy chair, ignoring his mother's hints to sit up straight, he slouched as low as he could without sliding off the cushion. There was an office chair, every bit as nice as the rest of the furniture, in which Dr. Whitford sat himself. He glanced down at a notebook in his lap before smiling and beginning.

"Mr. and Mrs. Mooneyham, Zack, I'm pleased to meet you. How's your day been? Is this the highlight so far?" The adults chuckled nervously at his little joke.

Dr. Whitford had an old face, but thick brown hair. Toupee? Zack wondered, then realized the doctor was looking at him.

"How was your day, Zack?"

Zack shrugged as best he could from his reclining position. "S'okay."

"Good, that's good. Well, before we get too deep into our discussion, I'll give you an idea of how this is going to work, all right?" He referred to the notebook again. "You're here of your own accord, that's good. The first step to making things better is recognizing they're not decent as they are. I'm going to do my best to help you understand and respect each other, and in here, there are few rules. You may cry, you may shout—in fact those are encouraged, if you feel so inclined—but unless we're doing a stress-relieving exercise, violence is never accepted."

"No one is violent in my family," said Mr. Mooneyham.

"Please forgive me, Mr. Mooneyham, I wasn't implying that they were…. So for our first session, I'm just going to try to get to know you all. Zachary?"

Zack looked up from his fascinating shoes.

"I hear you play guitar?"

"Yeah."

"And you're in a band?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah."

"What kind of music do you play in your band?"

"Rock."

"Classic, Alternative, Heavy-Metal…?"

"Mostly classic. Ramones, Zeppelin, Who, that kind of stuff."

"Aha. And how did your father feel when you started playing this kind of music?"

Mr. Mooneyham almost started from his seat, but his wife and a look from Dr. Whitford held him back.

"He got pissed," Zack said.

"Zachary, honey, don't say pissed."

"Well he was." Zack looked from his mother, who had spoken, to the doctor. "He told me I could only play classical, and the stuff my guitar teacher gave me."

"And did you stop playing rock?"

"No."

"So you deliberately disobeyed your father—"

"Wait, no. I mean, yeah I didn't do what he told me, but it was a stupid rule. I'm the one playing, I should get to play whatever the he...whatever the heck I want."

"Sounds reasonable," said Dr. Whitford, and the look of annoyance on Mr. Mooneyham's face grew.

"Are you calling me unreasonable, sir?" Zack's father said through his teeth.

"Not at all, Mr. Mooneyham."

"Zachary is my son. The only thing I'm doing is looking out for his best interests. There is a future in classical guitar playing, orchestras, symphonies—"

"As if I would want to play there—"

"—not to mention it looks good on a college application. Any kid off the street can play rock—"

"That's not true!" said Zack.

"Please be quiet Zachary, this is your father's turn," Dr. Whitford said.

Zack crossed his arms. "Well he's being stupid. We talked about this before, Doc, it doesn't matter cause he won't listen to me anyway. You're wasting your time."

"Oh, I hope not…this was one of your complaints as well, wasn't it, Mrs. Mooneyham? That your husband doesn't listen?"

Mr. Mooneyham's eyes opened wide. "What is this?"

Zack looked at his mom, who laced and re-laced her fingers nervously. He knew that she hated fighting in front of other people.

"What have you tried to say, Cheryl?"

Now Mrs. Mooneyham cast a look at her son. "Not in front of Zack, Arthur. He doesn't need to hear this."

"Mrs. Mooneyham," said Dr. Whitford gently, "we're striving for openness here. The more Zachary knows about your problems, the more he can understand."

She sighed. "I went to the gynecologist two weeks ago—"

If it was possible, Mr. Mooneyham's eyes opened even wider, and his eyebrows shot up. "Zachary, leave the room."

"Okay," said Zack. He was out the door before Dr. Whitford could protest.

Zack walked out into the lobby, at the last moment remembering not to slam the door. It had become almost habit to him.

The lobby was almost as deceptively cushy as Dr. Whitford's room. There were two tan sofas, potted plants, soft classical music playing, and a big black easy chair in the corner occupied by another girl. She looked up as Zack sat down on one of the sofas.

"Screw it," he muttered, putting his head in his hands. "Screw them. This is useless…"

"Are you okay?" the girl asked quietly.

Zack looked up—she hadn't moved, except to lower her book slightly. The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, by Stephen King.

"Would I be here if I was okay?" he said.

She shrugged. "You could be fine. One boy who comes here on Wednesdays—his parents think he has problems just 'cause he yells at them and doesn't go to school every day. He's really okay, though."

Nodding slowly, Zack stood up to grab a magazine and sat down on the couch again, nearer her big black chair.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Carolyn, but you could call me Cara and that would be nice," she said, not looking up from her pages. "You?"

"Just Zack."

"Nice to meet you, Zack."

"Same."

"Do you like Stephen King?"

"I dunno, I've heard he writes some scary stuff."

"Are you scared easily?"

"No…I guess I mostly just read magazines and stuff. And music, if that counts."

"Music counts. I used to read music, but not anymore."

"That's too bad."

Cara shrugged. "I read lots of books now." She pointed to the bag next to her chair, and Zack read the titles of the library-bound books. The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, The Fourth Hand by John Irving, The Dead Zone by Stephen King, and Dracula by Bram Stoker.

"You like scary books, huh?" he said after a moment.

Frowning, Cara leaned over to look. "The Fourth Hand isn't scary."

"But Dracula is, isn't it?"

She settled back into her chair. "I guess so. But you know it's not real, like when you were little. Just pretend."

"Yeah, that's true." He watched a woman with owlish glasses enter the room from the offices, smile at him, then focus on Cara.

"Carrie? All ready?"

Carefully and diligently, Cara placed a long strip of paper between her pages and tucked the book into her tote, which she swung over her shoulder.

"Will you be coming back?" she asked Zack.

Zack listened closely for a minute. He thought he could still hear his father's familiar shouting through the thin walls.

"Probably."

"Okay. I'll see you again, then."

"'Bye," said Zack.

In the car on the way home, Zack watched the streetlights streak by from the backseat of the Mercedes-Benz. The entire ride was silent, except for one time when his father looked at his mother and said, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Mrs. Mooneyham held her husband's hand. She didn't answer him.

He was actually kind of glad his parents were in such a bad mood from the counseling. For once, they didn't seem to have the energy to yell at each other or him, since they'd been doing it with gusto for the last hour. Maybe this is how counseling really works, Zack thought. It just makes people so sick of dealing with their problems that they don't want to think about them anymore.

"Freakin' rain," grumbled Freddy, sliding into the empty seat beside Zack at lunch. "I hate rain."

"At least we aren't wasting beautiful, sunny days by staying inside," said Katie optimistically.

Freddy waved his muffin. "Katie, if I feel like complaining about the weather, I'm going to do it, okay?"

"Oookay."

"It should be snow soon," Zack said, looking out the far window.

"If by 'soon' you mean a month, then yes," said Summer. She flicked her hair as she sat down beside Katie. "Zack, you weren't online last night. I couldn't send you the practice schedule for next week."

"Oh, sorry," he said. "I was out till late last night."

"Busy life?" Freddy asked.

"Not really…parents and stuff."

"Oh," said his friend, becoming a little more serious. "How's that going, man?"

Zack shrugged. How was it going? "They're going to counseling. I guess that should help." He didn't mention that he was joining them for the sessions with Dr. Whitford, at least part of the time—it just seemed odd. Like he was going to the shrink, and there was nothing wrong with him.

"My mother goes to a psychiatrist," Summer said. "But she has a very high-stress job, you know. Her doctor recommended it, for her health…oh, no."

"God, here they come," said Katie, suddenly completely occupied by unwrapping Freddy's muffin.

Zack smiled, chuckling internally. The True Groupies—as Katie referred to Marta and Alicia, as well as Michelle and Eleni—were making a beeline for their table.

"Can't they go anywhere alone?" Katie sighed.

Summer wrinkled her nose. "Can you spell 'codependent'?"

"No," answered Freddy and Zack truthfully.

"Hey Summer!" the four girls chorused. Marta stood at the front of the others, frizzy pigtails a-flipping. "Hi Zack, Katie. Hey, Freddy."

They murmured his and heys.

"Look Freddy, it's Marta," Katie whispered devilishly.

"Shut up," Freddy hissed. He pulled his muffin out of her hands and started eating like he hadn't been fed in days.

Summer sipped her juice and turned to face them. "So, what can I do for you girls?" she inquired, all business.

"We were wondering if there was still practice today," said Marta, the temporary spokesperson.

"Why wouldn't there be?"

"Well, it's raining really hard."

"Neither rain, nor sleet, nor dark of night shall stop the School of Rock…" Zack said under his breath. Katie chuckled.

"Marta, unless the school's under six feet of water, you can safely assume the band will be having practice," said Summer.

They collectively sighed. "Okay, just checking. See ya tonight then…'bye, Freddy."

"Later," Freddy said.

"I'm sorry," Katie began once they had gone, "they really are nice. I mean, Alicia's really funny, and sarcastic and whatever, but her heart's in the right place, you know? And Marta's really nice, she's always…friendly…argh. Freddy, you want my muffin too?"

"You're not going to eat it?" Katie shook her head and dropped it on his tray.

"I know what you mean," said Summer. "I used to be close with Michelle and Eleni too. They're fine one-on-one, but together they get…silly."

"Giggly?"

"Exactly. The more people they're around, the fewer brain cells between them."

"Whatever. Marta annoys me."

Katie pretended to be shocked. "What, Freddy? I thought you liked Marta. She says you do."

Freddy rolled his eyes, his mouth full of food. "I 'id 'ike heh." He swallowed. "As a friend. She used to be cool to just goof off with."

"Now the band has gone to her head," Zack said.

"Yeah."

"We haven't changed, have we?"

They looked at each other. Before the band, Summer and Katie usually ate with the other four girls and Tomika. It was pretty much an even split—the girls ate with the girls, the boys with the boys. Only since School of Rock was formed did Katie and Summer realize they were more comfortable with their guy friends. As for Zack and Freddy, they were definitely more comfortable around these easygoing girls than they were, say, Billy.

"If we have changed, it's only for the better," Summer declared.

Katie pushed her food-filled tray at Freddy. "I just lost my appetite."

"Sweet, more for me."

Freddy bolted down what he could manage of Katie's lunch, trying to beat the bell. When it rang signaling the end of lunch, he and Zack walked back to class together, neither in a great hurry to sit down and be bored to tears by Mrs. Dunham again.

"So is counseling okay?" Freddy asked quietly.

"Yeah, it's okay," Zack said. Of course Freddy would realize that it was family counseling, not just marriage, and Zack would be there. He's not as stupid as he acts.

"Is your dad still on your case?"

"Not so much. He fights with my mom more now though."

"That sucks. But hey, at least your parents don't gang up on you."

"Yeah," Zack admitted. They entered the classroom and he took his seat in front of Freddy.

"Maybe my parents should try it," said Freddy.

"Things still the same?"

Mrs. Dunham stood up and began calling the class to attention. Freddy dropped his voice, leaning forward.

"As ever. They tell me to go to my room, I tell them to go to hell." He grinned.

Zack laughed and turned around, but not before he noticed the big dark circles under his friend's eyes. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who didn't sleep much last night.