A/N: This is the first songfic I've ever written. It goes to the song Superman (It's Not Easy) by Five For Fighting. I would suggest you listen to the song while you read the story.
Thanks to TheNextPoliticalDynasty for reviewing One Night Stand, you're so wonderful.
Summary: As the gang rehearses for their 6th Grade Graduation, Principle Prickly watches from his office and reflects on watching them grow up and how he regrets never being the "good guy" in their eyes. Rated "G".
Here it is, ENJOY.
It's Not Easy
Principle Prickly stared out from his office at the kids on the playground. His eyes found easily those 6th graders, preparing for their graduation from Elementary school. He had stood in that window many times in his thirty-something years as principle of Third Street. But there was something different about this time. Something...heart wrenching...as he watched a certain red-capped young boy...man now... walk across the stage set up in the middle of the playground. The boy did a dance, sticking his tongue out at the now infuriated Miss Finster who began yelling.
I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naïve
I'm just out to find
The better part of me.
"This is supposed to be a solemn occasion, Dettwieler, get off that stage," Finster screeched. He obliged, throwing his hands up in triumph at his classmates who encouraged him, cheering him on. Prickly let a smile slip across his lips. It seemed like yesterday that boy was no more than five years old, walking up the path to Third Street nervously on his first day of school. Prickly had watched from the window of his office as the little boy turned back, like so many his age did, to meet his parents eyes, always seeming to find them in the mob of other adults there to see their children off to school. Tears spilling down his freckle-filled cheeks silently asking why. Prickly had had no way of knowing that that shy young man with the strange red cap and unkempt brown hair would soon become the biggest trouble-maker in school. Yes, those were the days of innocence for TJ Dettwieler.
Prickly recalled first grade, when Dettwieler was first sent to Prickly's office, though he already had heard a great deal about the boy from his teacher. The boy was uncertain, afraid when he entered the Principle's office, back when Prickly still struck fear in his students' hearts. Back before Dettwieler had mocked him and his authority. Back before Dettwieler had softened him and began reminding him that he'd been a child once as well. Dettwieler was more like Prickly had been in grade school than any other student that had passed through his halls. And yet, Dettwieler was so much more promising.
Prickly had yelled, of course, many times at the young TJ. And TJ reacted the only way he could think of, by standing up for himself. And admirable quality, Prickly had to admit. That boy had changed the hardened man.
TJ's first prank had been deployed in kindergarten, when he'd loosened up and became quickly the young man he was that day, standing proudly watching the others rehearse walking down the aisle of graduation. Since that first prank, Prickly had not been able to so much as sit down without the paranoia of "accidentally" finding a whoopi cushion on his chair, or some other foul device that was to be his undoing. "You had to be stopped," was TJ's usual excuse.
Prickly touched the window gently. He was boxed in. This was his prison from what he was. He could watch, but never be a part of that world out there. He could never be a friend to the charming boy, or any of the other students.
Prickly smiled, watching the young man take his seat. He remembered watching the boy grow up. His voice crack as maturity overcame him, his height shoot up (though not as tall as he'd have like to have become), and his body lose the excess baby fat. He was a handsome boy now, still as cheeky as ever. Prickly recalled TJ's years vividly in his mind. First grade, when TJ fell of the jungle gym and Prickly had told him that he wasn't hurt, to get up and keep playing. Harsh as the words had been, TJ did just that, sniffling. In second grade, when he'd figured out a way to steal the semester finals (although Prickly still can't prove that it was him) and get the test cancelled for all the kids of Third Street that year. In third grade, when TJ put together a plan to re-confiscate all the confiscated items in Prickly's desk. In fourth grade, when TJ became the most incorrigible of pranksters, finishing everyday with a well-planned trick on one person or another. In fifth grade, when TJ began to notice that some of his friends were girls, and that that wasn't such a bad thing. In sixth grade, where TJ sat before Prickly practicing for graduation, which was only a day away.
Prickly had watched him grow with a keen eye, encouraging where he could, and scolding more often than he should have. Prickly had still let them down. He had let TJ down.
I'm more than a bird...I'm more than a plane
More than some pretty face beside a train
And it's not easy to be me.
Spinelli took the stage next, her name called. She strode out with confidence, as she always had in all her years at Third Street. Prickly watched her with the pride that a father would posses. She had grown, reached her teen years with bumpy uneasiness. She'd had her first crush, Johnny, if Prickly remembered correctly, before any of her friends. She'd grown awkwardly, like all her peers, but splendidly as well. She was beautiful and smart. She'd won a Beauty Contest, Prickly recalled, beating the four Ashleys at their own game. And she was strong as well. No one would dare take advantage of her.
Prickly had often wondered what would become of Spinelli as she grew. She'd been such a tomboy as a child. He still remembered when she'd gotten in her first schoolyard brawl. Kindergarten, third week. The boy had been a second grader, twice her size, and had stolen one of her dolls and called her a "weak girl", if Prickly's memory served correctly. Spinelli had brutalized the larger boy, sticking up for herself in the only manner that ever made sense to her. With her fists. She was one of the most respected children on the playground for her fighting prowess. But she was a caring individual as well, one that younger kids looked up to and idolized. They wanted to be like her, sticking up for the smaller and weaker. Never letting anyone tell her what she should be and how she should act.
Prickly watched her jump off the stage, slapping TJ a high-five. He could see a predictable blush creep across TJ's cheeks as Spinelli went back to her seat. Prickly had watched the love blossom between the two. From second grade, when Spinelli and him had their first fight and she'd given him a black-eye, and TJ had still refused to let Prickly punish her. There was third grade, when Spinelli finally taught TJ how to fight, much to Prickly's dismay, because TJ was constantly relying on her to defend him. In first grade, when they'd first exchanged a kiss, though more for the sake of the sake of the shaky unknown future of all the children than their own personal purposes. (Yes, Prickly was aware of that little experiment.) Prickly knew that that would be the kiss that Spinelli and TJ based all other kisses off of for the rest of their lives, simply because it was their first.
Prickly could never tell Spinelli how proud he was of her.
Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
'Bout a home I'll never see.
Prickly eyed Gretchen sitting on the stage, graduating with the highest of honors from Third Street. They had persuaded her to write a speech, to encourage the younger Third Streeters and her own fellow students to push for education. Gretchen was quite lovely herself now. She was still awkward, and would be for a while. But she was mature beyond her years. Smart, and yet had so much to still learn.
Gretchen had so much potential to achieve a great deal more in life. She could have gone on to a university to study anything she wanted. She could have gone to an academy to study amongst peers with an IQ at the same level as her own. But she'd given it all up to be with her friends. Prickly had encouraged her to do the opposite. He had tried to lead her away from what was in her heart. He felt a lump grow in his throat. He had done so many things like that in his years as a principle.
Gretchen always learned from her mistakes, which was something Prickly had noticed. She learned beyond her peers and always strove to excel. But at one time, she had been nothing more than an awkward little girl, afraid to let anyone know that she was special or different. That was before she'd met TJ and the rest of her friends. She would purposely fail, simply because she couldn't stand the idea of...well...standing out. TJ hadn't thought that it was right, that she would stifle her own intelligence so as not to be noticed. He swept in, befriended her, and in a time of need, asked for her help, to put in her thoughts on what should be done. Prickly had watched as Gretchen's friends boosted her self-esteem and encouraged her to use her brain. Shouldn't he have done that though? She was his student after all.
Prickly watched Gretchen stand up and walk across the stage, shaking hands with the appropriate substitutes for the people whom she would shake hands with on the day of graduation. She looked proud, glorious. She, like all of her friends, had a good heart and strong convictions as to what was right.
When she was younger, smaller, Gretchen never would have stuck up for her own rights or anyone else's. She was too afraid of the consequences. Then, when TJ was wrongly accused of stealing another boy's pencil, she stepped up against the injustice and proved, with her scientific know-how, that TJ was innocent. Prickly remembered that day with a tear in his eye. It had been almost beautiful how she took up center stage speaking out in defense of her friend, stepping up against Prickly himself.
Prickly, who was always the bad guy.
It may sound absurd...but don't be naïve
Even Heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed...but won't you concede
Even Heroes have the right to dream
And it's not easy to be me.
Mikey was next to cross the stage. The large young man with the heart of pure gold and the silvery voice to match. He had been soft-spoken, bullied and misunderstood. His peers had once refused to stand beside him out of fear for who he might be. He was larger by about twice the size of the other students. Yet he was as gentle as the smallest and kindest of beings.
Mikey was a poet, once afraid to share his lyrical prose. He was afraid to be himself. So he hid, gave in to the naïve perception of his peers and secluded himself. He would often be sent to the counselor's office because of his silence and isolation from the rest of the students. The teachers all described him as having anti-social tendencies and suggested that he stay back a grade because of his possible slow maturity and ability to comprehend. But Prickly saw something in the boy. He knew that that the youth had a hidden self. His eyes depicted to intelligent a mind, to kind a heart, for him to be everything the teachers described him as.
Prickly watched the large young man walk down the stage, all the kids cheering him on. He walked proudly, his chest puffed out. Once he would barely stand his full height, not wanting to tower over his peers and frighten them. Now, he was loved by all, and deeply admired for his kindness. He hadn't truly come out of his shell until he'd met his friends, until he'd been given a chance.
Up, up and away...away from me
Well, it's all right...you can all sleep sound tonight
I'm not crazy...or anything...
Vince was next to take the stage. The athlete who was once a klutz, small and frail. Prickly recalled Vince's first day, with shaky knees making his way up the steps to Third Street. He'd been ashamed of himself, thinking he lacked talent. Now he was the most popular kid at school. Girls swooned as he walked by and he still shot a smile to his five best friends, who weren't the most popular kids in school. They were, in fact, far from being the best.
Would Vince smile at Prickly like that? Shake Prickly's hand warmly and thank him for being such a wonderful principle? For guiding him? Probably not. Most definitely not.
Vince could have been stuck up, and when he'd kicked his first ball and it sailed to the moon, he was. He walked around the playground as though he owned it. But he matured too, learned from the mistakes he made in the past. Prickly recalled when Vince and TJ first became friends. TJ was having trouble with pitching the kickball and Vince, sick of having no friends, offered to give him pointers. They both realized soon after that they had so many similar interests. A love for comics and cartoons, charming out-going attitudes, and a lot of room for improvement and growth.
I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naïve
Men weren't meant to ride
With clouds between their knees.
Gus was the last one to take the stage, walking across with a military march. He was the newcomer. The odd man out, though never made to feel that way. He was brave for the size he'd been. He'd arrived at Third Street in the 4th Grade, the only one Prickly couldn't claim to have watched grow, having only known him for three years. But the boy Gus had grown before Prickly's eyes as well. He came to Third Street a cautious and frightened child. Afraid that he would never make any friends at the school, and worse yet, if he did he'd have to pick up and move again anyhow.
Gus was the underdog; the one no one thought was going to make it, the small fry, the little guy. He was the one everyone bet against, simply because of the way he looked and acted. He was unnoticeable as well, invisible. At first, he never did anything to stand out. But he slowly grew a backbone and aimed to make a place for himself, at the very least. He carved himself his own nook, making his way into TJ's gang of misfits. Becoming the yin to their yang. He was, most definitely, the heart of the group.
Gus had grown. Indeed he had. The last piece of the puzzle...the factor that completed the group.
I'm only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me.
Prickly eyed his reflection in the window. He was a disappointment where his students were successes. He guided them on the wrong path. Led them the wrong way. And it was always themselves that made it back. He smiled at that group of children outside that he knew like the back of his hand.
TJ, the true leader. Vince, the greatest athlete ever. Gretchen, the smartest little girl. Spinelli, the enforcer, the protector. Mikey, the good-hearted.
Prickly recalled looking at their names on the sheet of paper in front of him nearly seven years ago. Five troubled children not fitting in. He recalled coming up with a plan of his own. He recalled signing the sheet of paper to transfer them each to the same class. He recalled sending them to lunch detention at the same time, to seal the deal. He recalled sitting at that desk and watching out his window as five children ran across the playground together, laughing and talking and joking. He recalled smiling triumphantly at the scene playing before him. Tears formed in his eyes, trailing silently down his weathered cheeks. The bell rang and the students outside dismantled in chaos, Miss Finster chasing after them, yelling orders and commands that were ignored.
Gus, the soul of the group. Prickly recalled looking at the name of that new fourth grader, who'd been shifted from school to school. He recalled looking the young man up and down, seeing the awkward youth, the miserable eyes, the sadness of knowing that he was to be new and unwanted. That he couldn't be himself. Prickly recalled signing the sheet of paper and sending the young boy away to his assigned room. And Prickly recalled staring out that window and watching the five friends walk out of the school to recess, accompanied by the new student. And he recalled smiling.
Inside of me...inside of me...inside of me...Inside of me.
Prickly watched the students leaving for home, the 6th graders leaving, readying for their last day when they would graduate and leave behind the school of their childhood forever. Prickly turned away from the window, his viewing glass of the outside world.
Those 6th graders would leave, continue growing, and he would play no part in it. His time was over. They would leave, and he would forgotten, his influence in their lives never known or simply overlooked. He would just be another part of their past. He heard the door to his office open, turning to the window again to compose his flowing tears.
I'm only a man in a funny red sheet
I'm only a man looking for a dream
I'm only a man in a funny red sheet
And it's not easy...
"Principle Prickly? Sir?" the familiar cheeky voice. Prickly coughed, keeping his eyes steady on the world outside.
"I'm busy right now, Dettwieler," he told the boy, trying to hold his voice steady.
"I understand...I'll see you tomorrow then, sir." The door shut. Prickly turned, his eyes falling on the corner of his desk, an item that hadn't been there before.
It's not easy...to be...me.
Principle Prickly closed his eyes, but he couldn't stop the joyous tears streaming down his cheeks. He placed his hand over the red fruit, firm and crisp. He would be remembered.
END
END A/N: Alright, alright...it's a little weird, and not my favorite story. I just wanted to portray Prickly as a good guy, because everyone is always placing his character as the antagonist and I don't think that he was meant to be that way in the series.
Please Review, and thank you for reading. I didn't have time to proofread, so this note goes double on this story: Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. Thanks! Now go review!