Good News, Bad News

Disclaimer: The muse of writing came to me while reading the two books listed in the first chapter. I did not write these books, nor did I write/create Naruto. If you sue me, I shall sue back. My uncle's a lawyer.

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Hard days made me
Hard nights shaped me
I don't know they somehow saved me
And I know I'm making something out of this life they call nothing
I Take what I want
take what I need
you say it's wrong, but it's right for me
I won't look down
Won't say I'm sorry
I know that only God can judge me

Chorus
And if I make it through today
Will tomorrow be the same
Am I just running in place
And if I stumble and I fall
Should I get up and carry on
Will it all just be the same
Cause I'm young and I'm hopeless
I'm lost and I know this
I'm going nowhere fast that's what they say
I'm troublesome I've fallen
I'm angry at my father
its me against this world and I don't care
I don't care.

- "Young and the Hopeless" by Good Charlotte, part 1

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Naruto dragged himself through the front door of his flat. "So…tired…" he groaned, tossing his backpack onto his kitchen counter. After locking the door behind him he turned around and surveyed his small, one-roomed apartment. Although his windows were dirty, they weren't broken. Beside his bookcase (on which was haphazardly stacked books, the titles ranging from Ripley's Believe it or Not! to a worn copy of Rudyard Kipling's Just So Stories) was a cheap futon with bright orange sheets folded neatly on top, a green stuffed frog perched and grinning at him from its resting place on the sheets. His small kitchen was sparce, but relatively clean, and his trash was about to overflow. The blonde smiled in satisfaction. "Good. No break-ins today. Seems those idiots finally realized I have nothing worth stealing."

Opening his cabinet, he grabbed a metal pot and a bag of Oriental flavored Top Ramen, filled the pot with water, and put it on the stove. As the water began to boil, Naruto pulled a notebook and pen out of his backpack. What should he write? After thinking for a moment, he bent over and began.

To An Academy Student, From a Public Student:

I don't want to do this, but I have to, so whatever. I'll go first! (Haha, get it? I'm the first one writing the letters? You can't be first even if you wanted to!) You can call me Kabuki. I go to Public, and I'm the most kick-ass dude there, not to mention the sexiest! And the one thing I want to do the most in my life is to become what my mom was- one of the best performers in the world.

I love ramen! I could eat it all day long. Do you love ramen? Ha, of course you do! I especially like it when someone takes me out to eat at the Ichiraku Noodle Stand- it's my favorite place to eat because it's small and isn't really well know, which makes it a great place to buy or sell my drugs. They make GREAT miso ramen! My favorite past time is lighting small children on fire, and I like to lurk around the park at midnight. I really like acting, and I'm in the community center's production of West Side Story. They even let me use my own switchblade for the fighting scenes!

And those are My Favorite Things. My. Umino put it on the board as an idea for us. I suggested "My Favorite Ways to Commit Suidice/Homicide", but for some reason he turned it down. I could talk for PAGES with a subject like that! See, all these wanna-be gangsters and emos these days prefer guns, mostly because they're flashy and get a lot of attention. I, however, would take my switchblade over any Uzi, any day! I mean, they don't get tons of attention (imagine it- you see your target in a crowd, you just walk up, stick 'em, then walk away. Pretty easy, despite popular opinion.), they're easy to conceal, you don't get in half as much trouble if the cops get their hands on you (ANYONE might by carrying a jackknife or Swiss Army knife, but if you have a gun they totally go anal), and chicks think they're WAY sleeker and cooler than guns. Plus, one of my buddies told me that all the respectable dons carry switchblades. Haha, a respectable don!

…since you're a good, polite, sheltered student, I'll explain. A don is a godfather. You know what a godfather is, right? The head of the Mafia. You know, Mafia? The Mob? Yakuza?

Anyway, you probably won't even have the chance to read my letter, since after you finish going to EVERY SINGLE class period (I mean, what would they think of you ditching class?) you probably have to go take equestrian lessons and then spend all night doing your homework and practicing the violin or cello or piano. Of course, I can't leave out you telling precious Mummy and Daddums about your wonderful day at the Academy.

Have a nice life!

With all the Disrespect in my Heart (and I have PLENTY),

Kabuki

Chuckling to himself in a maniacal manner, Naruto ripped the page out of his notebook and folded it neatly. "Heh heh, the stupid sap won't know what hit him. Now, back to my ramen…"

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"Hon, it's time for dinner"

Tenten yanked a soft gray sweatshirt over her head, glad that their kitchen window was right underneath hers. She didn't even have to open her door! "I'm not hungry, Mom!" she hollered down.

Her mother hesitated before shouting back, "But George made his special barbeque chicken you like so much!"

"Well then tell him I said thanks, put it in a container, and I'll eat it later!" She yelled back, pulling her still-wet hair into a messy ponytail.

"Tenten, if I find out that you're on a diet-"

"I'm fine, Mom!" Tenten looked around for her backpack . "I have homework I need to do! There it is," she muttered to herself, and grabbed it.

"…all right, but if I find that chicken still in the fridge or in the trash when I get up tomorrow, you're in big trouble!"

The teenage girl just rolled her eyes. "Gotcha, Mom!" She plopped onto her poofy comforter-covered bed on her stomach; her backpack lay next to her. Tapping a pen (which proudly declared 'Hyuuga Incorporated') on her pad of paper, she thought about the assignment that Mr. Umino had given them.

"It's easy, really," she said out loud. "Just write a couple letters and get an A. No big deal." She went from tapping her pen to chewing on it lightly, deep in thought. "But if I do write it, who's going to get it? Some stuck-up rich chick who thinks she's the center of the universe, or some lame boy that assumes I'm a loose bimbo with no brains?" And while pondering this thought, she realized exactly what she wanted to tell her new "friend".

Biting the inside of her cheek softly in concentration, she began to write, then ballpoint flying across the paper.

To an Academy Student, From a Public Student:

My teacher, Mr. Umino, gave our class a whole list of things I could tell you or talk to you about, ranging from completely juvenile to completely out-of-the-question. But is it really necessary to know what I like, dislike, or want to do with my life if you're just going to write to me for a project, and you don't really care at all?. And why, above all things, would it be necessary for you to know what I look like? Would you write to me more if I wasn't your ideal beauty?

And, in all honesty, it's not like you can ever really know what I look like unless we meet in person (which is highly improbable). I mean, I could tell you that I have pasty white skin and spiky blonde hair, or I'm African with long, curly black hair, and you wouldn't know not to believe me. I could fabricate my entire life while talking to you and you would never guess. Does that bother you at all?

Of course, I don't care what you look like. It's the insides that count, you know, and unless I'm proved wrong all Academy students seem uncaring and selfish on the inside.

Sorry. Let me rephrase that. All Academy students ARE uncaring and selfish.

Now here comes my second point. Now that you know how I feel about Academy, will you still write to me? Even if I totally hate you and would rather die than take one measly step onto your campus?

Aha! You thought I hated Academy, didn't you?

You already thought that you knew how I felt about Academy, BECAUSE of what I WROTE! See how easy it is to lead someone astray? You already had my personality pinned on a chart of cliques.

And by the way, I don't hate Academy. I hate snobs. But I'm glad that the second example to my point is over, because I'm hoping that you're literate enough to understand what I said. (For the record, I also hate stupid people. Not people that have learning disabilities, but people that are illiterate because they choose to be stupid and close-minded.)

Don't get me wrong, we have tons of stupid kids at Public; but we have smart ones, too. I'm pretty sure it's the same way over at Academy.

Glad We Had This Chat,

Numero Uno

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To An Academy Student, From a Public Student:

I don't know what you think about Public students, but Mr. Umino told us to be polite and open-minded, so I'm going to pretend you don't go to Academy.

Hi! My name's Sakura. Mr. Umino told us we could use pseudonyms, but I chose to use my real name, since it's so pretty. 3 He also reassured me that he would make sure that my letters went to a girl, and I hope he didn't screw up! My best features are my eyes, and my worst is my stupid big forehead. I'm the smartest girl in my grade, but I still love to shop (both for clothes and boys!) We don't have very cute boys at Public, so I go to the mall a lot to check them out. Do you like to shop at Forever 21? It's my favorite store. When I'm older I would like to become a filthy rich lawyer and travel the world. I would spend days in Paris, London, Tokyo, New York, and Quebec, going to fashion and art shows. I don't really know why I want to go to Quebec, though, other than I've heard they have really hot boys there.

Public's a pretty good school, if you consider some of the idiots that they bring in here to force-feed education; and some of the girls could really use makeovers, too. But everyone here has known each other since they were little kids, so we don't get into nearly as many fights as people think we do. Sure, there's the every-day squabbles Naruto Uzumaki (he's the class clown. Kinda cute, in a mischievous, devilish little-kid way) gets into with the teachers, and the occasional fights between us and Kaze High (those can get a little violent, but did you HEAR what they did to our basketball team! They deserve every bit of hell we give 'em!), but that's it!

Anyway, I hope that you'll respond in a positive manner. I want to be friends with you, really, I do. But if you in any way, shape or form insinuate that I am a slut, prostitute, hooker, or stripper, I will hunt you down like a bitch and kick your pampered ass.

Love,

Sakura

Sakura smiled in satisfaction at her letter. There! "Intelligent and sweet, but straight forward and to-the-point," she said out loud to herself, pleased. Suddenly she raised her head sharply and sniffed the air. She heard a smoke alarm go off. "What the- " Sakura jumped to her feet and ran to the kitchen. "DAD!"

Her father stood in the middle of the kitchen wearing a pink apron, oven mitts on both hands, desperately trying to take something out of the oven, turn down the temperature on the stove so the pot on top would stop boiling over, and deal with the smoke alarm all at once. He looked over and smiled valiantly. "Oh, hi, honey! Just making dinner. Don't you worry one bit!"

Ignoring him, Sakura put a towel in his hands. "Wave that infront of the smoke alarm until it stops beeping," she instructed. Swirling around, she took the pot off the stove and put it in the sink; then she grabbed a towel and flung open the oven door. Smoke poured out of it, and in the corner of her eye she could see her dad beating the smoke detector valiantly with the towel.

Coughing, Sakura pulled the charred remains of…something…out of the over, slammed the door close, dropped the thing onto the stove, and blew at her now-burning hands. "Ow, ow, ow," she whimpered, shaking her hands in an attempt to stop them from stinging, and sat down on an open chair. When the incessant beeping finally ceased, her father, too, plopped down next to her, trying to catch his breath.

Brushing back her sweaty hair, Sakura noticed a discarded package on the table and picked up it. After scanning it quickly, she looked up at her dad with one eyebrow raised. "Lasagna, Dad?"

He grinned cheerfully. "I thought you and your mother would like something different!"

"And the pot?"

"Corn on the cob!"

She rolled her eyes, but smiled ruefully. "Daddy, you really are helpless."

Sitting up straighter, he frowned. "Hey! Who painted your bedroom, and fixed the sink in your bathroom, and gave one of those two chromosomes that make up your DNA, and is currently teaching you how to drive?" He grinned again and slung and arm around his daughter in a rough hug. "C'mon now, I think we make a great team! But what do you say about dinner?"

Surveying the kitchen, which looked more like a disaster area, Sakura stood up and grabbed a flyer off the fridge, which was also decorated with awards and pictures of her. "Like, what about Chinatown?"

Her father raised her eyebrows at her. "For the third time this week?"

"They say it's the charm."

"I'll get the phone."

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Coming up:

"What if we don't want to do this…assignment?" Neji questioned his teacher, inspecting his nails all-the-while.

"Yeah." Ino looked up from her compact and glared. "I can just tell Mum that they'll be horrible influences for us and she can have you fired."

Their silver-haired teacher simply smiled and held up two yellow folders. "Here I have Folders A and B. Folder A contains permission slips signed by all your parents that they agree to let you do this project and that they realize that if you do not, you are on grounds for suspension or expulation. Folder B contains the letters from Public High that have already arrived."

Sasuke Uchiha stood up, slamming his hands on his desk. "What do you mean, they've already arrived? We just found out about this idiotic thing you call a 'project'."

There was an evil twinkle in Mr. Hatake's eye. "I was supposed to tell you two days ago, but it slipped my mind."

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To Be Continued…