Chapter 1
- Standard disclaimer applies -
--- First Naruto fic. Naruto may seem out of character. I am in adamant conviction that Naruto is a hell lot cleverer than he acts. If I had a life like Naruto, this is what I would have turned out to be. As it is, I'm a shy unassuming gentle quiet teenager. –Ignores furious gagging in the background- Saa…enjoy ---
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I have always been the hyper kid; the boisterous, insanely loud one in everything I did, wherever I went. Some put it down as a case of mental instability. Some said it was my lack of parental guidance, due to the lack of parents; save for a guardian. Still more claimed that it was a desperate plea, to the social crowd, for undivided attention.
I never figured it out myself.
But what I did figure out was that it took too much time and energy. I toned it down, effectively dropping the title of 'Class Clown'. Now, I am referred to as the weird dude with baggy clothes who chews gum and slinks around the background of the classroom, sticking my butt to the backseat of every class.
You can't please everyone.
My school is pretty typical. You've got the drop dead gorgeous dude whom majority of the school population were raving crazy over. That would be Uchiha Sasuke. You got the ultimate cheerleader kind of girl who had guys prostrating themselves at her feet and she ignores them, instead attaching herself fixedly to one arm of said gorgeous dude, in effect becoming a personified leech, proclaiming herself as unofficial girlfriend…Haruno Sakura.
You got the arch-nemesis of the unofficial girlfriend – Ino. The genius who broke the IQ scales, who spent his time snoozing in class and staring at clouds, and was an all round bum, a.k.a. Shikamaru. You got various shoddy characters that appeared sooner or later.
I was, if you had not noticed yet, some kind of social outcast who, supposedly, had no life whatsoever. I guess I drew unwanted glares and catty remarks like a flame draws moths; or like Sasuke drew rabid fangirls who literally frothed at the mouth.
Along with my social position came the other social outcasts. Shikarmaru. Gaara. Neji. Hinata. Shino.
Mostly though, it was just Gaara. I don't know how to do that guy justice. He sports flaming red hair, piercing green eyes, the Chinese character 'ai' above his non-existent eyebrows on the left, and he has an unnatural obsession with sand. You do the maths.
Eighty percent of the school population, including members of the teaching and non-teaching staff were terrified of him. Another nineteen percent wanted nothing more than to murder him. The remaining one percent considered him our friend, based on that fact alone, we were considered screwed.
I feel for the guy though. His parents have been trying to admit him into a mental institution, a drug rehab, or better still (for them), the prison - about as far back as the memory allows to be stretched
And just as I have completed bringing you up to date on my social status and of those affecting my life, I've managed to walk from home to school locker. Gaara walks up to me as I replace and retrieve books according to my timetable. Education is important.
His green eyes glint maliciously.
"Hello Gaara. What a blessed morning, don't ya think?"
He growls. I must say, Gaara has one of the best social skills I have come across. Note the underlying (okay, so not so underlying) sarcasm. I slam my locker shut and follow him round the side of the building, behind the cafeteria, but in full view of anyone using the field, which the back opens up to. It is separated by a wall.
The field was your typical grassy football kind, where sweaty jocks with IQs just under their belt sizes all chase after one ball, united in the single minded aim to achieve it, or at least hinder a member from the opposite team unconscious.
But now, it is five minutes till homeroom, till the first bell that signifies the commencing of torture, blasting our auditory nerves along the way, and there is no one here. No one, save for Shikamaru, Gaara and me.
"Why are you guys doing this again?" Shikamaru drawls from where he lies on his back, gazing into space.
"It's an anti-heaping device." I explain patiently.
"Ahh…"
Gaara hands me an orange spray can. He knows he so well.
The bell rings and is ignored. Ten minutes later, a disturbingly familiar voice travels over the requiring the presence of the troupe of lost sheep wandering amidst the colossal brick building. Gaara and I finish up and head for the principal's office.
The secretary takes one look at us, shakes her head tragically, and announces that we can go in. We are received immediately. This is first class treatment.
Inside, it is your typical principal office, with some piles of paper and books on the desk to project the illusion of having something to do. Besides the desk and filing cabinets I
am willing to bet are half empty.
There are three seats placed out for us. Do I sense a hint of accustom?
The principal, Tsunade, is a real fox for her age, with wide set eyes and smooth skin and a voluptuous body. I wonder about the cost of plastic surgery and how she can afford it on her measly pay. She observes us from the other side of the mahogany table with calculating eyes. Her head is rested comfortably on carefully folded hands; and apart from the swivel of her eyes, there was no other movement.
I give her a charming smile, while Gaara shoots her a glare. Shikamaru ignores all of us, sighing heavily in resignation as he slinks down comfortably into one of the chairs provided.
I am first to break the suffocating silence. Really, was this the way to treat guests?
"Tsunade-baba! Long time no see. What troubles you, to before you your three most beloved students?"
She straightens up and sends me an intimidating glare, but not before the ends of her mouth twitch upwards in appreciation.
"You brat. First day of school and you sought to give me trouble."
I am offended.
"Old hag, you break my heart. I place my sparkling clean reputation as a good and caring citizen at stake to gain a few minutes in your company and this is what I get? A cold shoulder?"
Besides me, Gaara lets out an undignified snort. I ignore him.
Tsunade barks out a laugh.
"Naruto what did you do this time." Always so brisk and businesslike.
"I was expressing my individuality through creativity, and unadulterated will power to defy the odds and ramifications."
She blanches. "You expect me to believe this crap?"
"The art teacher does."
"Gai-sensei?"
"I was finding myself. The inner me."
"Well, find it somewhere else."
"Pardon me, but isn't strengthening and moulding a student's character, another alternative for 'finding oneself' one of the cornerstones that assist in the concrete makeup of our present educational system?
"Strengthening moulding a student's character for the better is."
"Details, details."
"What are you trying to say Naruto?"
"Gee…a chance at free expression of what I perceive. I don't know how to thank you. "
"Naruto…" her voice has dropped to a warning note.
"2 hours. One day. Haku."
"3 hours a week. Iruka."
I let out a gasp.
"Be still, my heart. Tsunade-baba, how could you do this to me? You have increased my punishment since I last attended school!"
She gives a small shrug of the shoulders, nonchalant.
"You deserve me, if you want to know the truth."
"2 hours, 2 days, Kakashi."
"3 hours, four days, Gai-sensei."
On my left, Shikamaru releases an empathic sigh.
"2 hours, 3 days. Jiraiya."
"2 hors, four days, Genma."
"Deal."
"Thank goodness."
I take her hand and shake it, giving her a broad grin.
"It was a pleasure doing business with you. And now, I must take leave, for physical education beckons. As does biology, arithmetic and other little delights. You have made me see the error of my ways! God bless you."
She gives me a rueful grin.
"Get on with it."
I stand to leave, and Gaara and Shikamaru follow. I am the last to exit, and as I stand at the door, the temptation is too great. My efforts to resist to are futile. I turn back to face her.
"Just tell me one thing."
She motions for me to continue.
"Didn't last night mean anything to you?"
I slam the door as something heavy thuds against it. Probably my disciplinary record folder. Gaara stares at me dispassionately, and Shikamaru sighs once more, shaking his head slowly. I beam.
Sometimes, you wake up in the morning and stumble over laundry a month old, and then find out that there's no more ramen left and you wonder why the hell you even bother.
And sometimes, people like Tsunade baba provide that reason.
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- - - If next to no one's reading this, I'm going to take down the story. - - -
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