-1Yay! Writing two days in a row! I think I'm finally getting back into things! And guess what! School starts in like a week! Can I scream, please? (inhale)… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

"See ya later, kiddo!" Violet called out the window to Jack-Jack as she and Dash left their younger brother at preschool.

"Bye bye, Vi! Grrr!" he growled at Dash, pretending to flex.

"Grrr!" Dash growled back, mimicking him. They both waved as they got back into the car, and Vi drove off towards the school.

"Unh… it's too early for school," Dash complained.

"Didn't you used to be a morning person?"

"Everyone under eleven is a morning person."

Violet nodded her head to the side, agreeing. "Cross country practice starts today, right?"

Dash groaned from underneath his backpack. In other words, yes.

"You know which late bus to take to get home?"

"Yeah yeah, Route 6, blah blah."

"Hey, at least marching season is over, right?"

"Marching band was invented by sadistic morons."

"At least it's not like the Parkway schools. They go all year round."

"Heh heh heh hehe!" Dash chuckled mischievously. Violet turned the car into student parking and they both got out. As soon as they entered the building, the siblings split up; Violet went to the commons where most upperclassmen hung out, including her best friends Kari and Sarah (and Tony, with his pals), while Dash head towards the cafeteria, where freshman were required to go before school started. Sophomores and any commons-haters were allowed to wander.

Dash dumped his bag and trumpet case at the table that had, by unwritten law, been designated for himself and his friends, then bought some Pop-tarts (A/N Pop-tarts!) from the breakfast line. He waited sleepily by the half-broken toaster and, after his Pop-tarts had been toasting for five minutes and finally qualified as warm, went back to his table.

By now, some of his crew had shown up. Alice and Jim, both of which had also made the cross-country team, were sitting on the floor by the table, talking about this, that, and the other. Alice's brown eyes sparked with an energy Dash he could possess so early in the morning, and she showed off her braces with her typically huge smile. Jimmy, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. He wasn't really sitting on the floor, more laying down, his backpack acting as a pillow, with an arm draped over his eyes. Based on the look on the rest of his face, Dash assumed he was wishing Alice would shut up. He could easily sympathize; he hated conversing early in the morning, himself.

"Hey guys."

"Dash, tell her to shut up!"

"What did I do! All I said was-"

"How was the trip, Jim?" Dash asked, referring to a weekend car trip his family had taken to Montana to see relatives.

"-that can be very dangerous for roosters-" Alice continued.

"Long."

"-and we should do a demonstration to-"

"Alice."

"-a lil- hm?"

"I think Jim is tired. Let's be quiet."

"Humph, fine."

"Thank you," Jim mouthed, pushing his brown hair back.

Just then, there was a crashing noise at the cafeteria doors.

"Eungh!" Jim half-screamed, holding out claw-like hands in front of himself. All three students got off the floor to see what had happened. "Unh," Jim groaned, "I'm going back to sleep."

Dash just shook his head. The crash had been caused by two of his other friends. Well, sort of. One of them hadn't been trying to cause trouble.

Mickey was trying to wheel Dodger into the room, and Dodger did not want any help. So what was the result? Mickey was trying to run Dodger all over the place in order to get past the brakes that Dodger kept using, causing them to go careening into stationary objects. And other people.

Mickey Rio was tall, dark, and well, handsome. His dark skin, darker hair, and runner's form (yes, also made cross-country), all dressed up in designer jeans and a graphic tee, made him a very popular freshman. Dodger was quite different. He had silver-blond, unruly hair, fair skin, and wore tattered jeans inherited from a cousin most likely with a plain black tee. Well, gray tee, it was rather worn out. His ice-blue eyes were the only indication that he wasn't an albino.

Furthermore, Dodger wasn't nearly as tall as Mickey. Not only because he was just naturally shorter, but the kid also sat in a black wheelchair. During the summer after seventh grade, Dodger had fallen while rock-climbing with his dad, and was now paralyzed from the hips down. At first, everyone thought it would devastate the shy young runner (A/N are we yet picking up the connecting link between these characters?), but after the initial shock wore off, he quickly came to terms with it, devoting as much free time as possible to exercising his entire body. Dodger didn't explain it to many people, but the way Dash understood it, his friend refused to let his legs atrophy, and his hard work was beginning to pay off in little bits.

As Mickey and Dodger slammed into the table, Dash noticed a boy standing with a crowd at a nearby table, shaking his strawberry-blonde head disdainfully. Luke still despised Mickey, and the feeling was mutual. Dash was still friends with them both, although Mickey had been trying his patience during these first few months of high school.

"There," Mickey said to a wide-eyed Dodger. "You got a ride from the parking lot, completely free of the need to spin those wheels of yours yourself!"

"Maybe I'd like to push myself," Dodger mumbled inaudibly, wheeling over to Jim.

"Sup?"

"Nothin' much. How was the trip."

"Long," Dash and Jim said together. Meanwhile, Alice stood up and went to stand with Mickey in the breakfast line.

"You gonna be all right for practice?"

"I'll be fine."

"How 'bout you Dash? What's up?"

"What's today?"

"Monday."

"My Pop-tarts were cold."

"They're good like that."

"You like everything cold, you're like a freak of nature," Jim said. The bell rang, and the floor-sitters slowly stood up, grabbing their things to head towards class. Mickey and Alice came back from the line.

"Whatever," Dodger said. "See ya's at lunch."

"Right," Dash agreed, trying not to watch Alice and Mickey as they walked off together, arms around each other's torsos. It was just… an unnatural sight, and all three of the boys made grossed-out faces.

"So they just turned into make-out buddies when high school started?" Sarah asked Violet as they, Tony, and Tony's best friend Jason, made their way through the halls. The conversation in the commons had turned to the troubles of siblings, and Violet had not hesitated to explain Dash's early freshman troubles. The silent agreement was that the words shared would not be passed along to anyone, especially lower classmen.

"That's gross," Tony said when Vi nodded.

"All freshmen are gross," Sarah said with a smile.

"It's so good to be able to say that."

"Definitely."

"So how about you, Rydinger?" Violet asked.

"Yeah," Jason said, "how is Big Brother Jason."

"You mean Father Jason."

"I think he means Saint Jason," Sarah added.

"He's coming over for Halloween; his new school has a fall break."

"Aw, poor thing."

"Now don't you two start getting all gross on us."

"How can a married couple be gross?"

"Don't make us make out right here, 'cause we will if we have to."

"Not if you're not careful," Violet said with a slight glare at her boyfriend.

"Whatever, see ya Tony," Sarah said as she and Vi split off from the guys, walking into their classroom. "I do not want to do 'Personal Finance' today. I just don't."

"You're right, it's too early for math stuff. Wanna go to the Bahamas?"

"How about Hawaii? Oo! Or Fiji?"

"Fiji it is. Where is that?"

Meanwhile…

"The FIJI Project has been a complete disaster," a young fellow was saying at a group meeting over at Gecko Insurances. Bob was sitting two seats to the left of the kid, and was currently deciding whether to pity the obviously nervous, sleep-deprived, just-outta-school-overworked guy, or to wish daggers into the kid's chest for being the messenger of the all-too-well known truth. For now, he just watched as the colleague flipped through a mess of papers and tried to make sense of it in a language Bob knew as "gibberish."

"Honestly, I don't think any clients responded positively to it. I dunno what to make of it. Mr. Gloeco?"

Another guy across the table just shook his head and turned to look at Bob. The rest of the team turned to look at their leader. "What do you think, Mr. Parr?" the young man asked.

"Well," Robert said, slowly standing, "I don't think we need to worry about Mark down the hall brown-nosing our collective genius for a while." Everyone grinned a little, especially the young guy. The current intern was indeed quite the brown-noser, and it was always good to be reminded you weren't that pathetic.

"Now, I think we should change our audience. Think about it. How many people over fifty are really interested in this sort of stuff anymore? Jen, you and Gloeco run down to… ah… Rick, downstairs, room 351, and get Macro Advertising on the phone, set up an appointment with Ginger again. Then-"

"For when?"

"Uahm…" Bob said, looking at his planner. "Ah…er… try…mmhph… Thhhhhhhursday… around ten, I don't feel like eating lunch with her ever again. Then look up the RICKET Project, 2003 I think, and give it a good hard look. I think if we give that a good revamping it could work."

The two nodded and left.

"Shequira, special assignment: I want you talk to every living thing in this building, take the FIJI poll, but leave out that stuff about renewing and switching companies and retirement stuff, see what we get as an early response, you know?"

"We'll have to get an actual-"

"Yeah I know, go, girl, go. Charlie, you and I are taking a walk up to Mr. Moscowitz's office."

The remaining guy, the young, stressed guy, looked like Bob had asked him to dive into a pool full of piranhas. "W-w-what-why?"

"He's going to be asking for his money back, let's beat him to it."

"Heh," Charlie whimpered. "Right."

Bob rubbed his forehead. It had been a bad last few weeks at work. And what's more, he hadn't been able to get out very often to help the family out when criminals came to town. His favorite stress relief was super work, and this drag was killing him.

It wasn't just this one project. Ever since Mack retired, Bob's nine-to-five job had become a nightmare of responsibility that he didn't want to deal with anymore, as his all but empty Tylenol bottle showed. Along with his antacid bottle.

But if Robert thought the upper management of a national insurance company was stressful, he had another think coming. A fate far crueler existed, and was being exercised on a family member at that very moment.

"Uh… the first?"

"No Jack-Jack, Lincoln was our sixteenth president."

"I, I know a sixteen!"

"Do you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, she's sixteen and tall and… and has a bike, too!"

"Well, be sure to tell her hello for us. Now, who can tell me who George Washington was?"

Jack-Jack frowned. His teacher didn't believe he knew a sixteen! Why not? He had told the truth! What was wrong with adults anyways? She wasn't even impressed that Megan had a big motorbike. No one had been, even though none of them had ever been on any bike but a tricycle. He had fought crime realler than Power Rangers!

Suddenly, Jack-Jack was distracted by a ten year old video being played. He sat engrossed, without a clue as to what the narration was about, nor the reasoning to the men in the film wearing white wigs with ponytails. The teacher and her assistant started passing around the kids' lunches, and as Timmy Tompkins sat munching on some over peppered corn nearby, Jack-Jack sneezed violently.

Speaking of ponytails…

"AAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

"What? What! WHAT HAPPENED! DORAH, JUST HOLD STILL!"

"MAH HAIR! FIRE IN MY HAIR!"

"Lucy, get me that bucket!"

"AAAAAAAAAA!"

"FIRE DRILL!"

"SIMON, NO, GET BACK HERE! MARTIN, GET OFF THE TABLE! GEORGIA! LUCY, THE BUCKET!"

"I got it- wup!"

Kersplash went the bucket, all over the teacher and Dorah. But not before the smoke alarm caught a whiff of burning hair… setting off the sprinklers.

And thus the class erupted in screams as Paul Revere went a'screaming, "The British are coming!"

Poor Jack-Jack, looked down at his sandwich, most of which had been burned away into nothing but ash on his lap, with the intact pieces now soaked. "Oops."

By now, first hour at the high school had just finished, and Dash was walking down the hall with Dodger and Luke. And Luke's tag-along, Ernie. Who was sort of a violent jerk, but at least he tried hard.

"Oughta just join the swimming team instead," Dodger was saying to Dash as he made serpentines across the hallway with his chair, making the other three snicker at the other kids trying to get out of his way.

"Yeah, there's an idea," Dash replied. "I'll just tell the coach I'd rather go wear a thong-Speedo than run cross-country or track."

"Those shorts you guys wear aren't much better."

"Thank you, Ernie."

"I don't wear a thong-Speedo thing-"

"Don't make me think about it."

"-I wear one of those bodysuit type Speedos."

"Dodger, maybe next year. But running is just what I do. I don't belong in water."

"At least I'm not asking you to join the water polo team. Look, you were complaining about your stupid running team, I'm just offering you alternatives. Don't get on my case."

"Yeah yeah," Dash said.

"Why did so many frosh make it onto the team anyways?"

"Lotta seniors graduated from the team last year. They've got, like… two juniors and five sophomores this year. And one senior. But she's a girl, so you know, doesn't help the guys' team."

"Sure."

"Dash!"

The group stopped, looking around confusedly as the voice continued to call to Dash. Finally, Dash saw Megan with a couple friends headed in their direction.

What the heck does she want? Dash thought, mildly afraid that Meg might embarrass him. Not like if it were Violet. If it were Vi, he was positive she'd embarrass him, on purpose.

"What?"

Megan glared at him for a second, waving as her junior-friends walked on.

"Yes? Geez, you're as bad as Mom."

"Just for you, Flash. Can you tell Vi at lunch that I need you guys to come with me in the car to the shop so I can drop off my bike? After school, I mean?"

"Why don't you tell her at lunch?"

"Hello? Field trip?"

"Oh yeah. Yeah, sure, I'll tell her."

"Thanks," she said smiling. She ruffled his hair and moved around the group, calling, "See ya after school."

"Later," Dash said, walking towards his next class's door.

"What the heck was that?" Ernie asked.

"Hm?"

"A junior. She talked to you," Luke explained, looking relaxed, although his face couldn't hide his interest.

"And touched you!" Ernie feigned shock. "The scandal! How'd you do it? You're even a grade-mover-upper. Upperclassmen should be dumping their backpack trash on your head."

"We know each other from, uh, band."

"But she wasn't carrying an instrument."

"Jazz band. Only meets once a week."

"Oh. Okay."

Not bad, Dash thought to himself. Now I just have to tell Megan that she plays the drums in jazz band.

"But what was she talking about a bike?" Dodger asked as they filed into their world history class.

"Motorcycle."

"You're friends with a junior chick with a motorcycle?" Ernie said. "She let you drive it?"

"Drop it already."

Okay, Dash. Wheeeeeeeeeee! I want some pie. Geez, long chapter. Not sure I did teenage-boy-talk that well, but dat's okay. MY LEG IS KILLING ME, AND SCHOOL STARTS IN A FREACKING WEEK! I dunno which one of those hurts worse.

Review…?