Disclaimer: DBZ (DB/DBGT) no owned by me humble self.
Chapter Three: Twisting Revelations
The study hall proceeded smoothly enough. The three seniors, six juniors, and five sophomores, not mentioning the lone freshman, Dwight, had brought stuff to keep all of them busy. The atmosphere was quiet with minimal background talking, mostly from Mandy's group of three. But this was not meant to be.
The bell rang, signifying the beginning of the lunch period. The room 117 became noisy again as papers and books shuffled closed and were crammed into already full bookbags. Feet squeaked in new shoes as they stampeded out of the tiny door into the wide hallways.
Pan slowly gathered up her things. She didn't really feel like eating, which was not quite a surprise as when a Saiyan didn't feel like eating. She was a human, after all. The Son female swung her backpack over her shoulder and started out of the door with Bra. Behind her came Trunks and Logan. Marron had gone on ahead with someone named Natalie.
The girls weren't exactly walking slowly, so imagine what a surprise it was to them when a senior passed them. Pan recognized him as the one she had passed with the suppressed ki. He looked back as he passed them, giving the two girls a perfect view into his unwavering ebony stare. Then he looked away, dizzying Bra into an "Oh-my-god-he-is-so-hot" swoon and leaving Pan as uncomfortable as before.
Bra babbled away at how she was going to get a date with that boy before the end of the school year. Pan rolled her eyes. Bra, for all of her IQ points, could such be a dumb bluenette sometimes. Pan shared a look with Trunks that clearly expressed that thought.
The trio split up to find their lockers. Trunks found his locker and fished out his combination. Following the directions, Trunks turned the lock left and right accordingly. The Saiyan tried to open the locker, but it refused to budge. Applying a bit of his Saiyan strength, the younger Prince of all Saiyans tried again. Nope, not budging. Trunks blew a strand of his hair out of his face in frustration and glared at the offending piece of metal. The door still didn't open.
Trunks was saved from having to work on the locker some more by a blond girl. She said her name was Leslie. Trunks introduced himself also.
"Nice to meet you Trunks. Now this is how you really work the combination."
Trunks watched in amazement as Leslie quickly defeated the obstinate piece of yellowish metal. Leslie told him, "I wouldn't lock my locker if I were you. Too much trouble."
Trunks nodded dumbly and stared at the inside of his innocent-looking locker. Leslie marched away to a girl waiting for her.
Trunks put his pack down and stuffed roughly into the locker the things he didn't need to carry around all day. Chief among them were extra papers, binders, and a few mechanical pencils. Trunks knew he definitely was going to have some trouble getting everything he needed for his classes tomorrow, but he didn't care. Trunks shrugged and zipped his pack shut. He carefully shut his locker and reopened it, just to make sure it would work.
Trunks shut his locker again, careful to avoid the locker combo so his locker wouldn't lock again.
A voice said behind him, "Your locker lock you out?"
Trunks whirled around to see that senior walking his way. Black eyes glittered amusedly at him as a thin mouth lifted up in a mocking smirk. Trunks took in the boy's spikes and strong build and decided that he didn't really want to tick this human off. Though Trunks could no doubt take him, the senior looked too much like a Saiyan to Trunks. Besides, who knew how much damage the human could wreak? Probably as much as Krillin on a good day, maybe more.
The senior smirked wider as he got no answer. Stepping to the left of Trunks' locker, he opened that door. Trunks saw with surprise that it was very decorated, over-decorated really with pictures, posters, and even a few slogans. And what locker door is complete without the schedule?
Trunks in his astonishment asked, "Is that your locker?"
"Yep." The senior stood and looked at the contents of his locker for a while. "Oh, and by the way, I'm Jeff Harrison."
Trunks stuck out a hand. "Trunks Briefs."
Jeff smiled for real this time. "Briefs? As in Bulma Briefs?"
"Yeah," grimaced Trunks.
"That's cool, man. Listen, I'm not going to pretend to be your friend because you're the son of Briefs Bulma. I'm way too busy for that." Jeff said.
"Oh, thanks a lot." Trunks said sarcastically.
Jeff smirked again. Oddly, Jeff's smirk reminded Trunks of his dad. Trunks shuddered inwardly at the prospect of another Vegeta out there. Finishing his quivering, Trunks' eyes roved over the pictures on Jeff's locker. They stopped on one of a boy with similar features to Jeff's, but different hairstyle. He pointed the picture out, commenting on the goofy situation the boy was in. Specifically, sleeping on the couch with a Doberman licking at his face. Jeff glanced at the picture and rolled his eyes, nodded, and smirked again, all at once.
"Yeah. That'd be my little brother Marc. That Doberman is Catty. She's the dog of a friend of ours who came over the day that pic was taken. Marc's been griping about that event ever since."
Trunks smiled involuntarily. His smiled faded as he thought, So that's Marc from the study hall. Wish I could figure out why he and Jeff look so much like Goten and Gohan. It's really creepy. But, for all we know, they could be them. I don't think so. Knowing Gohan, he'd get Goten and him as far way from Japan as he could.
Trunks sighed deeply. Jeff by now had messenger bag in his hands and was shoveling the books in them out of the way, plainly looking for something. Trunks saw this as an opportunity to question Jeff about not yet going to lunch.
"Did you have lunch already, Jeff?"
Jeff shrugged. "Nah. I'm actually looking for my lunch capsule. The cafeteria food is so bad it could kill. Ah, here it is." Jeff shut the locker and stuck a capsule into one of his many cargo pants pockets. Trunks followed Jeff as he walked away.
"Good thing I brought my own lunch then. Thankfully not my mom's cooking."
Jeff raised his eyebrows, a fake interested look plastered on his face. He asked what he hoped was incredulously, "What? Your mom can't cook?" Jeff, being who he had been, knew all about the terrible gut-twisting deficiencies that occurred from Bulma's cooking. But he wasn't supposed to, being who he was now in this time.
He was apparently a good enough actor to deceive Trunks. The young demi- prince snorted at Jeff's question.
"Cook? Mom doesn't even know what that word means, she's that bad." Trunks blinked rapidly in annoyance while Jeff winced.
"So whose cooking do you carry then? Yours?"
Trunks shook his head. "I wish. No, it's my friend Pan's mother's cooking. It's really good. I can't wait to eat it."
Jeff said with a listening expression on his face, "Sounds like a compliment to me."
Trunks nodded. "Oh yeah."
Jeff knew, also, about his mother's cooking. He remembered it with a pang, something not good for a half-Saiyan. But he contented himself with the knowledge that his adoptive father's food was almost as good. Almost.
After lunch, in which Bra and Marron had watched not only Trunks and Pan, but Ren, Jeff and Marc, scarf down their food, Bra scuttled to her Spanish class. She rushed in twenty seconds before the bell rang. The teacher smiled at her and beckoned for her to take a seat. Bra blushed a little at the exotic Spaniard standing at the head of the class. She turned to meet the hostile gazes of about ten other girls, no question staking a claim on the Spanish teacher. She countered with her own well-bred glare and sauntered up ton an empty seat with her nose in the air. She heard whispers of, "What an attitude," and "Well, excuse me." she even heard one along the crude lines of "female dog" in swear word form, but we're not going there.
Bra ignored the comments and plopped into her seat. The Spanish teacher was giving a warning glance to the girl who had sworn. He pointedly muttered in clear precise English, "I will not tolerate swearing in my class, ¿ Senorita...?"
The target of his lecture sniffed and said, "Bryan. Laura Bryan."
"Well, Senorita Bryan, this class is for speaking Spanish, not swear words. Is this understood?" This was directed at all of the class, but was clear that Laura Bryan was still being lectured especially. The students nodded mutely. The teacher glared again at Bryan, who then nodded sullenly.
He nodded and walked around his desk to the seat behind it. He passed the seat and picked up a piece of chalk. He wrote on the chalkboard beyond his chair at his desk, "I am Senor Verez." His handwriting was spidery and fit his image, giving Bra no information about his inner self other than that he seemed too beautiful. But right now Bra didn't care. She eagerly copied down his name on the first page of her spankin' brand new notebook for Spanish.
Senor Verez turned around. He said, "I am going to ask you all to tell me your names instead of I doing roll call. It is much easier for me, I've found." He pointed his chalk at a sandy-haired boy in the front row on Bra's right from her seat on the last spot on the far left of the huge grandstand (Basically Bra's in Gohan's spot in Orange Star).
Sand-hair said, "Robin Banks."
Senor Verez nodded and smiled. "Bienvenidos Senor Banks."
The next girl was "Katherine Geyta-Zones."
"Senorita Geyta-Zones."
There were twelve people in all, not including Verez, in the class. As Bra was in the second-last row, it was some time before they reached her. But Bra was ready.
"Bra Briefs."
The students, as well as Senor Verez, all paused to look at her. Bra added, as an afterthought, "THE Bra Briefs."
Whispers broke out amongst her other eleven classmates. Such as "Oh my God! We have Bra Briefs with us!" and "What is she doing here with us if she's got such a genius for a mom?" and "Whatever. She's still a (censored)."
Senor Verez chose to say, "Senorita Briefs," before he beckoned to the Bryan girl.
"Senorita Bryan, please come up here."
Warily, Bryan got up from her seat and approached the Spaniard. He motioned for her to come nearer. She did.
"Leave, Miss Bryan." The lack of the Spanish term for "miss" clearly defined what Senor Verez thought about swearing in his class, and, quite possibly, what he thought about the swearer.
Bryan's mouth curled up in a sullen frown. She turned back to her seat, but a clipped, "Now" deterred her from her job. Bryan turned on her heel and slunk by Senor Verez and out the door.
Bra sighed in relief. So did her now ten classmates. Senor Verez sighed deeply ad tiredly fingered his broadly arched nose. Remembering his class, he put on a half-smile and turned to Bra Briefs again.
Bra saw a brief spark in Verez' eye she definitely didn't like. Bra didn't see the glimmer again as Senor Verez moved on to the introductions of the last two people left, but it was certainly something to make Bra be on guard.
In Spanish, all that happened besides Laura Bryan getting herself kicked out, was that everyone got materials they would need for the following Spanish classes, like every class before, and a brief introduction. Senor Verez talked about what this class was going to cover and what the weight of every quiz, homework assignment, and test had on the grade, blah, blah, blah. But the class had enough time for each person to pick out a Spanish name for themselves. Bra settled with Rebecca as the closest thing to her name. So she was going to be addressed as Rebecca by her Spanish-mates when they talked to her in class. Senor Verez was just going to say "Senor" or "Senorita" and last name of whomever he was talking to.
The bell rang for the next class and Bra hurriedly stacked up her things. She wanted to get out of there before the now annoying voice of Senor Verez had a chance to call her back in the room. The aqua-haired girl did so successfully, but first having to pretend to not hear the teacher calling after her.
Bra was changing her schedule.
When Pan got to her bedroom that day, she dumped her pack on the floor and flopped onto her bedstead. She lay back her head and thought about her day. Specifically, that senior. Whenever she saw him, she was always uncomfortable and baffled, too. That in turn made Pan grumpy. She could take Vegeta's most evil Death Glare and her father's battle gaze. So why couldn't she take a weakling's glance?
Because he's no weakling. Pan flinched away from that thought. She came back with, Oh yeah? Maybe he's not a weakling, but neither are my father or Vegeta, and I can take them. Why do you think I can't take him on?
The voice said just as belligerently, Your father and Veggie-chan have affection for you in their gazes. He has none. Instead he hides pure hatred in his eyes. But the question is, is the hatred for you, or someone else?
Translations:
Senorita—Miss or Mrs.
Senor—Mr.
Bienvenidos—welcome
SP: Three down, two to go...
AASN; Writing is what we do for you at AASN. Enjoy.
