Winning the Love of the Handsome Skater
Chapter Six: Detention
Vegeta sat himself in a cushion chair, glaring right into the young woman behind the desk that was actually their principle. She looked as if she had just graduated of University. Not to mention that with her outward immaturity she did not appear quite authoritative to anyone.
She looked up from what she was writing, as principles give you the impression they're always writing something while in the same time you're sure they do absolutely nothing before you come in, and she gave the two teenagers a coy glance as she put her small glasses down and sighed. Getting up from her seat and she stood in front of them against the desk, looking down at each of them before beginning a certain lecture on how they should and should not act among their school mates and whatnot; all in all, everything boring in the whole wide world would pour on them, they were sure. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she had that motherly look on her face as if they were her offspring and had done something irreparably wrong.
"Well? Care to explain what happened?" she asked, her penetrating emerald eyes serving only to Bulma's further discomfort and fidgeting. Vegeta sneered at the question and whipped his head away.
"No," he said sternly. Bulma threw an intense glare at him and nudged him in the ribs rather roughly. He didn't budge; neither did he look back to the elder woman. She just smiled at both of them. That was exactly why she loved her job. She felt like a teenager herself all over again, with their petty worries and problems with school authority, defiance of rules enforced on them and their communications and relationships between each other. Even though it wasn't too long ago that the principle had been a teenager herself, she was still melancholic over those wonderful, wonderful days…
"Actually you do not need to tell me. I thought I should just be polite with you – have no idea how fast news travel around here. Teachers are grown up teenagers who have always secretly wanted to gossip in their school years but have always held back for god knows what reasoning." She gave a light-hearted laugh, and pulled a strand of light auburn hair behind her ear. "I must say I'm not quite charmed at how brutally you have acted against a schoolmate of yours, Vegeta. What do you have to say for yourself?" she asked casually.
"Where did all the courtesy go? Where's the 'mister Ouji'?" he hissed venomously and glanced with annoyance at the young woman. She laughed lightly again and took her seat behind the desk yet again.
"Dear pupil," he grimaced at the way she addressed him, "all this courtesy is for the whacked teachers that have spent their whole life lecturing students that are now your uncles, aunts, parents and grandparents, probably; courtesy, as you called it, is for all of them who speak about themselves in third person and have nothing better to do or can't take control of a situation and that's why people get sent here, to me, as if I have no better work than thinking of punishments for naughty boy and girls." Both youngsters quirked their eyebrows at her. Was she new there? Neither of them had ever heard a principle talk like that about their colleagues. It was… so odd! "Don't stare at me as if I just grew a third hand from the head. I am not that much older than you are and school passion is still quite akin to me." Her warm smile made Bulma a little surer about all of this.
"You're trying to tell me you are going to punish me for breaking someone's arm? I twisted it out of the freaking joint."
"By the way you made that sound I get the feeling you want to be punished, Vegeta." Her coy grin was already dancing on his nerves, Bulma realized at the pissed twitch of a muscle on his face.
"If you don't teach us in school crime pays, how can you possibly be certain that I won't turn into a mad psycho the moment I leave this building in the future? You'll be the one to blame that a mad psychopath is on the loose; you are aware, right?" he asked haughtily and crossed his arms over his muscular chest. Bulma blinked and looked away from him, as if she had thought something punishable… though it should be a crime she could so easily picture the flame-haired boy as a serial killer.
"Dear boy, I already told you that I am aware of the situation the two of you found yourselves in," she reasoned and checked some papers in front of her. "I can call it self-defense if I like. But, as you said, you need to be taught that you can't twist someone's elbow out of the joint and get away with it. That's why the two of you will paint the reconditioned classrooms on the third floor. We have paint provided and everything that you may need. All you have to do is apply it. Today, after your classes are over, make sure the work's done and you'll be free for the rest of the day. That's all I have to say. Have a nice day, darlings." She smiled warmly at the two of them and waved them off. Vegeta stared disbelievingly back at her.
"That's all?" he exclaimed dubiously. "All we have to do is just repaint some shitty rooms? Are you pulling my leg?"
"I meant what I said and I said what I meant. I am not swindling you, nor do I plan to. Now, shoo, off you go! I need some paperwork done here, so, be so kind as to leave. You have a class to attend, now don't you?" The principle pushed both of them out of the big wooden door and slammed it shut behind their stiffened with shock backs. Both looked unfocused at a point somewhere in the space in front of them, dazed, for a minute or two before they came to themselves.
"We slipped out easier than I thought," Vegeta commented with a slight smirk. Bulma huffed and made her way towards the math cabinet, having a scowling Vegeta on her tail soon after. What was so goddamn wrong with her? Did she need some sense beaten into her as well? He wondered as he followed back to the room where the grinning old hag thought she had triumphed over them. Poor her. How wrong she actually was she would probably never find out…
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Why the pissed expression, B?" ChiChi asked interested. The girl didn't answer her. She just huffed again and made her way towards the lunch line. A nice cold apple juice was what she could use right about now to cool off a bit. ChiChi raised her eyebrow as she looked at her boyfriend, who arrived at the table just in the same time.
"What's with her?" she asked him. Goku shrugged.
"Don't know. Vegeta's with the same expression on his face ever since math as well," he explained. "Hey, I know!" He sounded purely enthusiastic. "Maybe it's something they both got into!"
"You don't say," ChiChi muttered dejected, appalled by the speed with which Goku's mind functioned when he wasn't really thinking. Well, at least he was sincere in everything, no matter what he did. He was purely surprised, stressed or happy. She smiled at the thought. He was such a darling…
"Did you hear?" Maron exclaimed almost happily that she knew some news before ChiChi did. They had some sort of unvoiced race in which one of them was a better gossiper… but, of course, ChiChi would never refer to herself as a gossiper. The term she used was "being well-informed"… which was quite the same thing.
"What was I supposed to hear?"
"Vegeta broke Yamcha's arm," Krillin dropped off as he slipped in his seat on the big bench next to his girlfriend. She glared hard at him with a childish pout and hit his arm. "Ow! What was that for?" Krillin rubbed his arm offended. Maron huffed and brushed past Vegeta as he was making an entrance at the table. He just looked after her with a glare in his onyx eyes and sat himself next to Goku.
"What the fuck is everyone's problem today?"
"She's making faces because Krillin beat her at breaking the news of your fight today with Yamcha," Juuhachi clarified impassively.
"Stupid wench…" Vegeta murmured.
"Ditto that." Juuhachi nodded curtly. Vegeta smirked.
"Hey, don't bad mouth her! She's still my girlfriend, you know!" Krillin tried to defend his ditz of a cheating whorish girlfriend, but he didn't sound convincing even to himself; what was left for the others? The newest member of their little group even laughed at his attempt - a cruel, mirthless laugh.
"Nice try, chrome dome," Juuhachi commented as she dug into her food. "Next time try to actually believe what you say, huh? So? What happened? Spill," she turned back to Vegeta, an impish amused glint in her usually cold azure eyes. He shrugged.
"The idiot pissed me off. That's it."
"He tried to challenge you?" Krillin butted in.
"How hard is that to guess?"
"He always does that. Every time he's caught cheating he accuses Bulma in cheating on him with one of us. He always gets his ass kicked. And hard," Krillin explained to the newcomer. Vegeta rolled his eyes. A pathetic action by a pathetic idiot, he concluded, already figuring Yamcha out. It wasn't all that hard to understand someone who lacked any kind of brain activity…
"Did you get suspended?" Goku asked. The flame-haired teen glared at him.
"No, I got a candy bar. Of course I got suspended! What are you, brain-dead?"
"That's quite a rhetorical question," Juuhachi mused at her tray.
"Will the two of you stop insulting everyone that gets in your line of sight?" ChiChi shrieked, insulted at the way her friends (and non-friends, she thought of Vegeta) discussed her boyfriend's mental capacities as if he wasn't even present… although he wasn't even paying attention to the conversation any longer, probably thinking about that candy bar Vegeta mentioned…
"I hate you!" Bulma exclaimed when she sat opposite of Vegeta with an apple juice in hand, slamming the poor thing on the table. The gang jumped a foot in the air from the volume of her voice, as did a few people on neighbouring tables. Vegeta quirked an eye brow at her, oblivious to what she was so mad about.
"You hate me for saving your precious behind? And then she waltzes in and accuses me of being arrogant, self-conceited or," he mocked a gasp, "even ungrateful." He snorted loudly afterwards.
"You got us both in trouble! I didn't need to get involved!"
"It was your fault to begin with! You can't solve your own problems; that is why I had to come in and act like the first idiot that ever walked this world and save a creature as unthankful as you are!" he yelled back at her, getting up from his seat.
"I haven't asked you for your 'help'!" she threw back at him.
"Excuse me for saving your weakling ass then! Next time you can get all the shit beaten out of you for all I care! Stupid self-centered bitch! The world doesn't revolve around you, are you even aware of that fact?" Bulma stared vacuously at him, rage and fury still burning in her eyes. He had a hard time reading her emotions. What could be going through that idiotic mind of hers, he wondered. She just nodded curtly at him, hurt now taking control of her tempestuous feelings. She turned on her heel and marched for the door, exiting fast in direction of her next class. Needless to say, she was going to be there ten minutes in advance.
"What's up her ass, damn her? Am I supposed to actually feel guilty for being that shit to a bloody pulp?" He growled with indignation at her illogical actions and inadequate reactions.
"Don't know, don't care," Juuhachi said curtly, playing the dish in front of her. ChiChi sent her an accusing glare over the table. The other girl just shrugged her shoulders.
The rest of lunch time the group spent in talking about senseless topics just to fill the time. The atmosphere around the table was tense… except for the area over the flirting Vegeta and Juuhachi. They seemed really uncaring of what was actually wrong with their strange-coloured friend. ChiChi exhaled a exasperated breath. She was certain Bulma wasn't going to tell her any time soon what was wrong. When she behaved like that without any obvious reason, it was just a matter of time for her to get back to her normal self, in a few days time probably.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"I'll be there on your next practice!" Juuhachi winked at him.
"Do whatever you want to," Vegeta yelled after her as she made her way towards her car, content that she was actually having some success into getting to know the silent temperamental teen.
She had found out he had moved into a new house and that he lived in with Goku. Also, that both of them lived alone in that house and had agreed to have rooms in opposite ends of the huge mansion so they wouldn't get in each other's ways… and would eventually both feel at home. She wondered where his parents were but decided not to bring up the topic if he did not want to tell her himself. She already pushed a little too hard with the Hailie girl, whoever she might be – she didn't want to lose him permanently.
Vegeta strolled up the wide stairs, headed off towards the third floor to finish his work as fast as he could. He did not plan on spending the rest of his precious time in that atrocious building he had always despised for all the activities that were performed in it. When he entered the first room, the door to which was widely open, he noticed the lavender-haired girl in one corner of the premise, dipping a painting brush into the light green paint tin can. He sighed and took one himself and started working.
Neither of them said anything besides 'pass this', or 'pass that'. The casual conversation without which it would take much more time to finish the task at hand. When they finally got to the last room, the sun was already low, near the horizon. Bulma was up on a ladder, painting the small space with worn out grey paint under it. There was a nail sticking suspiciously out of the wall, probably meant for holding a clock or something like it. Whatever it was, she did not like the fact that certain nail was there. She had a bad feeling about her clumsiness and the nail put together.
"Watch your step," Vegeta called to her tauntingly. She glared at the wall as her hand gently brushed the tool against the hard surface.
"I needn't your help to take care of myself, thank you very much," she retorted coldly. Vegeta sighed in exhaustion, muttering something that sounded very much like a 'here we go again…' Bulma lessened her tension and let her hand fall by her side, still gripping at the paint brush. "I can hear your thoughts even now… 'That ungrateful bitch! Hope she burns in Hell!'…" Her voice sounded solemn and depressed. He looked away from the brightly coloured sky to glance at her.
"Isn't that what you are?" he sounded mockingly surprised. She growled and took a rough swing, forgetting about the nail and tearing open a wound in her lower palm. She winced but otherwise did not give any signs she had been damaged. She continued to paint. She had to finish this. She wanted to go home, desperately. "No?"
"You have no idea what kind of problems I even have and you judge me?" she hissed with her back still turned to him. She put the finishing touches to it. Finally… Now she was finally free to go. But Vegeta was not going to let her slip so easily. Once she had opened her mouth, the start to it was put.
"And just what kind of problems could Miss Perfect actually have? A broken nail? A swollen pinkie?" he scoffed. She jumped off the ladder and glared heatedly at him.
"Stop mocking me, you arrogant bastard. I told you this has nothing to do with you or with anyone from the gang. They are my problems and my problems only."
"Yeah, like your little attitude and image problem. You need to stay Miss Perfect till you graduate, now don't you? Otherwise what would people at Yale, Harvard and Oxford think of you if your record isn't spotless?"
"It's not a fucking image!" Bulma yelled at him, her frustration and agitation getting the better of her.
"That's how it looks like and how everyone else understands it," he reasoned with a sly smirk, knowing that he was stirring up the water well.
"Because of you the next time I see my parents I'm going to be lectured for something I haven't even done! They'll give me the 'Stop getting involved in fights!' bullshit and belittle me so to even make me believe I did something terribly wrong!"
"What do you mean 'next time you see them'? Don't you live with them?" He looked suspiciously at her. She mentally mused how he managed to hear what she hadn't actually said in a straight word. Her eyes averted to the floor.
"They're always on the run… They rarely stay home… I have grown up with their ghosts, voices over the phone and words through e-mails rather than with them in person…"
"You and your pathetic problems…" Vegeta rolled his eyes, disappointed at what he had just heard. And here he had thought that Miss Prissy could've actually had a taste of life's bitterness…
Bulma's jaw tightened and her face twisted into a vision rage. However, she did not say anything and just put the brush on the teacher's desk and made her exit. Vegeta snorted and looked at the left object. His brow twitched when he noticed the small crimson trace on the brush's shank. His expression fixed into a frown and he ran after her, snatching his board from his locker and exiting through the front entrance as he did so. He caught a glimpse of her storming off towards the parking lot and got onto the board, pushing violently as he raced her to her car, determined to get there before she managed to beat him to it. When he got close enough he stopped and swung her around by her shoulder.
"What the hell do you still want? Leave me alone!" she yelled and tried to get away from him, but he grabbed her right wrist before she could do so. She had it balled into a small white fist and he couldn't see what he wanted to - her bottom palm was turned to her. He growled and tightened his hold. The pressure made the muscles of her hand unclench and her palm to tremble open in front of his piercing gaze. As he thought, there was a wound on her wrist. She pulled her hand free of his grip as it lessened and glared at him. "I thought I should leave with my pathetic problems and leave you be, was that not what you wanted only second prior?"
"Stop rephrasing me," he said almost threateningly.
"Or what? You'll spit venom my way until you get green in the face? Sorry, Vegeta, you're too late. I've grown used to that for all the times I have been 'befriended' with scum like you!" Before she knew it he had already torn the bottom of his black baggy shirt and had her wrist back in his grip, tightening the cloth around her bleeding wound gently. She tore away from him and glared.
"Don't take it off, idiot! Go home and clean your wound."
"Stop trying to tell me what to do!"
"How do you suppose you're going to fix your problems at school with your boyfriend when you can't take care of those at home with your own parents?" he yelled back at her, exasperated from the resistance she was showing, silencing her instantly. "No matter how important their business is, how come it becomes more important than their own daughter?"
"Do you think I have not tried to tell them that I missed them all those years? Do you think I did not try to reason them more than on one occasion? When I was a freshman, when I needed their help or just their presence in my life – do you sincerely think I haven't tried?" she argued back, her eyes welling up at the mere mentioning of the situations.
"Then try harder!" he bellowed back. "If you let them know they can act like your parents when they're home three months of every year, it is quite clear you won't succeed. You said they belittle you? Then why do you let yourself get belittled? They're your parents? Then demand them acting like such on all occasions, not only when you do something wrong. And next time think more before you start whining and complaining for you know nothing what the word 'problem' means! You can fix everything in the flutter of an eye-lash. Have you ever heard of making someone see things from your point of view? Why do you act so mighty in front of all your friends and cower back at the sight of your angry parents? What makes you think they're perfect? Ever heard that no one is?"
Bulma stared dumbly at him. She had never shared a word about her problems at home with her friends for she knew they were going to start telling her she could go sleep with someone from the gang for the night or something. They wouldn't get to the bottom of what she was trying to tell them. And here he was; the guy she knew for a week long and he could already hear the words she didn't even speak, all her problems gone in the bat of the eyelash – a speed so great it was even depressing. She had the feeling everything about him was fighting - verbally or physically. But then again, that was what her case was, wasn't it?
She kept quiet for a bit, rethinking things over and over, and the wheels of her mind turning with inhumane speed. He snorted and turned around, ready to speed off on his waiting board towards home down the street. God knew he was so exhausted of this woman's exaggeration… and her terribly powerful voice that made his ear drums throb.
"Vegeta!" she called after him, catching up with him as he turned back around to face her with an indifferent expression plastered on his face. Didn't she know when to leave him alone already?
"What?" He sounded rather bored and tired of the whole exchange already. He stared blankly as her left hand extended towards him.
"Thanks," she muttered inaudibly, as if the word choked her.
"What for?"
"For everything you did and said today, for me… and sorry to get you in trouble because of stupid Yamcha. At least you showed him who the boss is." She smiled widely. He looked examiningly at her, as if she would hit him any second now. She fretted under his stern and disturbing dark gaze. "If only there's a way I can possibly repay you—"
"Oh, but there is…"
He grinned and grabbed her hand with his, pulling her to him with a wicked grin on his handsome face. She opened her mouth to demand what was wrong with him now when his neck bent closer to her and his lips connected with hers in a gentle light kiss…
