Beware the Truancy Officer.

Im not good writing summaries so please read it.

Caution: Number 1 is the Truancy officer; don't expect any romance or couplings… well not in this fan-fic anyways.

Disclaimer: Obviously by now I think you know I don't own Kids Next Door…

p.s - A truancy officer is a officer who checks school records and calls the parents of children who missed school. If they are absent 3 times they are kicked out of school.

(((((((Nigel's POV)))))))

I slipped on finger cots before pulling the attendance sheet from the printer. I hated ink stains even with the finger cots it was a struggle not to visit the washroom. I used an alcohol pledget from my desk to clean the telephone, giving myself till it evaporated to get in my character before the first call of the day. I Dialed 9, followed by the number. A woman answered.

"Hello," I said, "Nigel Uno from Dante high. According to our records, your son was absent yesterday during periods four and five." The woman apologized. Her boy had forgotten to bring the dentist's note. I felt sorry for the kid after all dentist's are freaks…right?

"No problem," I said. "I'll change the record." I wrote D for Doctor/Dentist under Reason on the sheet, and entered that into the file.

I tried the second number. A woman who sounded like her teeth got knocked out on the fourteenth ring. I did my rap. "Why do you people keep calling?" She asked. "Every day you call to say 'Mandy did this, Mandy did that.' It's your fucking job to keep fucking track of the kid. Not mine."

"Thank you for you cooperation." I said through clenched teeth, but circled the phone number and added a note in hypertext to keep an eye on this one. Mandy had been truant at least twice a week since school started. Her mother didn't know or, worse, didn't care. Lots of things could happen to teenagers whose parents didn't watch out for them. Terrible things. Made me shudder thinking about it.

The next name on my list was probably a drug dealer who often didn't bother to show up. The man on the other end spoke terrible English. "Nicholas aren't here," He said "Gotta be at school where else wouldee bee?"

"Makes you wonder," I said.

"He aint here," said the man

On a hunch I asked, "How's the boy doing in school?"

"I dunno. He's doing okay or you guys'd throw'm out." He laughed, "Me, I didn't get past ninth grade."

"Thanks for sharing," I said then hung up.

I looked at a picture on my desk. It was a picture of the team. The T.N.D anyways, but all of that is over we've grown up now…I never had the chance to tell number 4 I loved him…I never had the chance to break up with lizzie.

Instead I had the chance to marry Lizzie. Sometimes I think it was death's will…

The fourth call was an E for Excused. "She still's got head lice," explained the mother. "She's trying out a new shampoo. They told me not to send her back until they were gone. Isn't that right?"

"Yes," I said. "That's right."

The fifth call was an R for Religious Observance. The parents didn't answer the phone, but I recognized the name: Goldman. Always took off the first days of Rosh Hashanah. I made a note not to call them on Yom Kippur.

Number 6 was my extra special case; the one I've been working one since his first year at Dante. The father hung up when he recognized my British accent. He didn't even want to know what was wrong. Negligence, pure and simple. The father wouldn't even care if his son was kidnapped and sold into slavery.

I wrote E for Excused. A small lie.

A couple more E's, another R, some D's, and a P for Planned Vacation. The rest unaccounted for, throwaway kids whose parents didn't even give a damn. So many kids. So little time

At lunch I snuck out to pay a visit to 6th phone call. He lived 2 blocks away on Providence Street. I knocked, no answer, I crept around back.

A rusty nail scratched my gloves. I kept my anger in check so as not to make any mistakes.

The kid's room looked like any normal teenage boy's room, posters of models so tall the photographer had to choose between getting all of the head or the entire crotch in the picture. Guess which one they chose.

Dirty clothes on the floor- Candy rappers- soda cans. For some reason this reminded me slightly of Number 4's room besides the porn poster on the wall. There I go again thinking of Number 4… Mabey I could visit him.

But somebody needed to teach this kid housekeeping.

Not me. Too suspicious.

The water was running in the bathroom. Probably not the boy- kids never bathed,

The father's room was messier than his son's: an unmade bed, smelly sheets, ashtray's need emptying, a bad influence. Very bad. I waited in the dark corner, knife in hand, ready to teach that faget a lesson about being a good parent.

Do you want to know why i didnt have the chance to tell Number 4 i loved him?

Because he is dead....

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Mad Mary - That was supposed to be the whole story... I know it sucks..it's my first one though so be proud! and please dont flame me about the 1/4...i have read other people's reviews on stories they worked on really hard but jerks flamed them saying "What the hell were you thinking!?" so please dont flame me on that matter.

DEATH TO YAOI HATERS!

AND RAIDER FANS TO!

GO BUCCANERS!

YAAAAA!

Bye!