Disclaimer - - I own nothing but this plot..
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Heyy! Well I'll start by thanking my lovely reviewers: Fire Kitten2, Shades Of Crimson, Getasprincessandy, Calise, Heiress2thethrone, BerryFeary, Kore-Reborn, Ryou-La-Lune, and Ginny! Any ways, I hope you all enjoy chapter two of, 'Welcome To Satan Academy'. Thanks again to everyone who reads, and please review!
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Click. Click. Click. Click. It's getting louder. More rapid. I'm going to kill him. Strangle. No. His neck is too thick. I look down at my ball point pen. No. Murderous thought. Calm. Silence. The ocean. Click. Click. Click. Damnit. Damnit. God fucking damnit. "Hey, Bulma?"
"Yes." I say through gritted teeth as the incessant Clicking stops. Click. No. "Die!"
"What's our area code?"
He should know this, he's seventeen. We don't live in the same area code. "48081," I say this quickly and I know what's coming next.
"Um, Bulma? Could you say that again? You spoke too quickly."
"48081." Slower this time. Click. Click. Click. He wrote it, but now what? Click. Gender?
"Bulma?"
"What's wrong Goku."
"Can we choose more than one for ethnicity?"
"No. Cross off Caucasian."
"But Raditz said we were Eskimo, so wouldn't that be Native American too?"
Click. "You aren't. Raditz lied." Click. Goku's look of confusion contorted into a twisted sideways smile. Why are people like him allowed to breathe? Click.
"I bet you're right. Raditz lies to me all the time, the basterd. Thanks Bulma."
I nod my head. I am an awful person. I stare at the head in front of me. It's blonde. It's tall. It's Juu. She missed a strip of hair while straightening her hair this morning. I can see the waviness that is her natural hair. She has a shitty straightener. I sigh and make eye contact with Mr. Zanotti. He stares for a moment before diverting his gaze to above my head. The clock. Times up.
- - -
My fingers are tented infront of my face, and my thumbs are squeezing the bridge of my nose. The whore behind me took a Jewish bath in some sort of off brand 'perfume,' it's sickening and is giving me a migraine. Urgh. I hate this. Demirep behind me, and Zanotti in front of me. He's pulling his thin podium closer to his parted legs. Disgusting. No one is sitting next to me. This may be the best entity of my exile. Banished for being late. There's an empty seat next to Tien. I was suppose to sit there. Dick. There's a small bump. Zit? Damnit.
"Alright, did everyone turn in all of those handouts?" His face wrinkled as his focus turns from the room as a whole, to the back of the room, singling one out. Prey. The woman? No. Kakkorot. "It's been twenty minutes. You had two sheets. They had information that shouldn't have to be thought about twice. Turn in your handouts Mr. Kakkorot." Ha.
Metal against tile was heard as Kakkorot walked to the front of the room. The floor shook as he walked up next to my desk. Kakkorot isn't over weight, he's just tall and heavy. As he handed the wrinkled turtle his handouts he drops a note folded into a diamond on my desk. Juu. Kakkorot throws paper balls with 'HI's' scribbled on them. I hate when females fold notes like this. I always end up ripping them, because I can't unfold them. Folded in different directions and some how ends up in a square slash diamond type thing. My name is written in cursive on the front. My eyes roll and I begin to tug at the taught folds. My fingers are too thick and I end up ripping the side of it. Fucking hate notes. Text me you dumb whore. 'Geta. Harlot. Sucks that you're moved to the front. Really? I haven't noticed this. You should come sit back here with me after Zanotti stops talking. No. I want to stay here, with the migraine inducing hussy, and the horny, wrinkled, well past his expiration date, shell of a man. Ha. Shell. Turtle. I smile dumbly to myself then continue to read the messy, boyish writing. After lunch you wanna skip? You aren't texting me so don't write Internet slang fucking moron. I hate her. Damnit. We can go to my house ;). How cute. A winking face, and a mention of her home. Her small, squalorish home within the boundaries of West City. She lives with her father and brother. Their home is a sty and I'd pass if I knew I wouldn't get laid. I ignore the write back and shove the torn piece of loose-leaf into the pocket of my navy slacks.
"Alright. When I call your name come collect your schedules and agendas. After, I don't want to here a word from any of you." He then began to rattle names off. Briefs. I listened to the sounds of the woman walking towards the turtle. As she was taking the schedule from his wrinkled hand, I gave her a short pat on her ass. Ha. Her face has a hardened glare and I feel the smack of the plastic agenda against my perfectly structured face as she walks back to her assigned seat. It was worth it. Why the hell isn't she sitting by herself? She came in even later than me. This is discrimination. Gero. She's probably expecting me to hand her my answer. As she turns away from Mr. Zanotti I smirk and wink at her. She smiles and trapezes back to her seat. I lean back in my seat, place my hands behind my head. I am loved by all. They might not realize this now, but deep down they're in love with me. I smirk to myself and Mr. Zanotti calls my name. Ouiji. I reach my hand out to take the paper and he lets go and I watch it drift down to my desk, like a feather in the wind, slowly falling, feels like minutes until my white schedule finally settles on my desk. I don't know why I didn't catch it. I was mesmerized by the drift. It had almost felt as if everything had silenced, stopped. My name is typed in Times New Roman, along with my classes. This is the beginning of the end.
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I sit down in my seat, my face contorted into anger. Goku gets a look of concern as he asks what happened. "Vegeta." I mutter and Juu's head moves to the side at the mention of the name. I can see a third of her profile, and I can see a hint of a glare. Did she see? Is she going to be angry with me? I didn't do anything. He's the perve that can't keep his hands to himself. Gero. As Juu gets up I nudge Goku.
"What's up?"
"Does it seem like Juu's sort of," I pause for a moment and watch her smile at Vegeta. "Pissed off?"
"Not to be mean, but doesn't she always seem that way?"
"I guess," I mutter as Juu sits back in her seat, turning with her schedule in her hands.
"What are your classes?"
"Here," I say passing her my schedule. I haven't even really looked at it. It doesn't matter. I know I have honor classes. I know none of my 'close friends' will be in all of my classes. Maybe my blow offs? Art? Keyboarding? Those are the only two I remember writing down last year. Only two credits I haven't earned. Saving it for my final year.
"We only have art together." Juu says. Not sounding disappointed. Sounds.. happy? No. Just stating an obvious fact. Known by all that I'll be in all the same classes with the specially selected fifteen. Only fifteen children are in the honor classes in Satan Academy's graduating year of 2007. We were twenty.. five? This only lasted through Junior High, then about ten were eliminated. We have been fifteen since the beginning of High School. We are the minority. Only 1/4th of our 'population.' 'Honor kids' are very competitive. Cut throat. What college are you going to? We will not share notes, nor will we share answers. I'm going to Oxford. Our wealth status is made up of two of us living in West Shores, six in West Pointe, and seven in West City. We compete for the prized Valedictorian. At the moment it's a tie. I, of course, am part of this tie. I am stalemate with Vegeta. 3.9899. This is our grade point average. We are not friends.
My phone is vibrating in my purse. Vegeta is walking towards the back of the room. I open my purse and flip open my cell phone. He is trying to intimidate Tien. "Hey." Tien is sitting next to Juu, infront of Goku, and diagonally infront of me.
"Hey, what's your schedule?"
I turn my head towards the back of the room, as Mr. Zanotti stirs from his desk to check on our level of noise. "Um," I start before Goku asks whose on the phone. "Chi Chi." I answer as Vegeta snorts, and Juu giggles at his 'funny' snort. I roll my eyes, Vegeta made Tien move. He is such an asshole. He is straddling the chair with his arms rested on the top of the back of the chair. I begin to rattle off my classes.
"Damnit, we only have art." Her 'damnit' sounded fake. She wasn't surprised.
"Oh."
"Is Goku around?"
"Yeah, here," I say as I hold the phone to Goku's ear until he takes hold. I look over at Vegeta and Juu. Juu is holding onto both of their schedules, comparing them. They probably only have art together. Ha. Or maybe keyboarding? Vegeta hasn't had those classes either. We always have the same schedule. There is no need to compare. He makes eye contact with me for a moment then diverts his gaze to Juu. He is frowning, like always, but his onyx orbs look angry. What's on his schedule that's upsetting him? Ha. Maybe he didn't get in Advance Placement Calculus. Only ten are being accepted. I am. Is he? I can see it now. Me, standing on that oak stage in the auditorium. I have a golden sash across my white gown. The principal is shaking my hand and I am approaching the podium. A thin, snake like microphone is smiling up at me. Vegeta is behind me. Salutatorian. Second rate. I take a deep breathe as I take in my surroundings. Parents, teacher, peers, relatives. They are all smiling at me and cheering me on with their anticipated silence. I part my lips and stare down at the paper in front of me. The light is aluminizing the stage. I can almost feel the heat. The paper says Valedictorian: Bulma Briefs' Speech. It's in large calligraphy lettering and.. there is nothing written below. I hadn't written anything. I am unprepared. They are still waiting and I am at a lost for words, Vegeta is cackling behind me. Mocking me. The light is now blinding me. I am unprepared and Vegeta is laughing at me.
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Juu is in my art and keyboarding class. She is angry over this. Why? It isn't my fault you're an idiot. I am not dropping classes for you. Fuck her. She nudges me and points to my British Literature class. "You don't even like literature," she whispers this to me then points to her weight training class. It's at the same hour. No. I lift weights in my own personal gym. I'm keeping all of my classes. I glare. I feel a set of eyes on me. I hate that. I look up and notice the woman staring at me. I make eye contact then look at what Juu is pointing at. Advance Placement Calculus. I watch her finger move to her health class. I snatch my schedule from her.
"Why not?"
"No."
"Don't you want to have fun? This is our last year here."
"No. I'm not switching any of my classes." I say sternly then fold the paper into fourths. I then shove it into my pocket. Next to her note. She scoffs and flips her hair. My eyes roll and I rest my chin on my wrists. I can feel the cool glass on my chin from the face of my watch. It's a Rolex. I bought it last month. There's a scratch. It doesn't bother me. Juu pointed it out to me. That wench is fucking annoying.
"So did you get into the AP Calculus?" I hear the woman ask.
"Yea, you?"
"Mhmm." She says this as if I should have already known. She tries to belittle me. Fuckin' bitch. I still didn't make eye contact with her. I'm staring at the floor tiles. There's an ant. Juu nudges me again. I ignore her as she begins to talk. None of her words registering with my brain. I close my eyes to block out the noise that is being omitted from her large gapping hole for a mouth. I hear nothing. Silence. I keep my eyes shut. Did I fall asleep? Better not to open my eyes. I hear something. Faintly. It's a buzzer. The bell. They're exchanging classes. I feel a smack on my forehead and my eyes open quickly. It was Juu. She is shaking her head.
"You never listen to me, do you?"
I grunt in response and stand. Kakkorot and the woman are gone. The only ones left in the room are me, Juu, Krillen, and, of course, Mr. Zanotti.
"Were you even listening?"
I don't answer. I walk out of the room. Leaving her behind with Krillen and Mr. Zanotti. She'll get over it. I have British Literature first. I walk into the class room to see the fourteen much too familiar faces of the 'honor kids.'
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I have my head propped up with right hand. My eyes are glazing over and I have entered the final ten minutes of the school day. Which always seem to last longest. It is now Friday. Vegeta is hosting a 'beginning of the year' party tonight. Orchestrated by Chi Chi of course. With the help of Goku, she was able to talk Vegeta into letting them use his house. I am in AP Calculus. I hate this class. I hate math. I'm forced 'good' at it. The teacher of this class is Mrs. Vanthournot. She is obese. We call her The Van. She has been our mathematics teacher since sophomore year. We have grown close to her. She has a very large mole on her nose, next to her yellow tinged nose pad of her glasses. It's quite disgusting.
"Move your inflated head woman, I can't see the board."
"They say geniuses have large heads. It's no wonder you can't see. I apologize."
I hear him grunt. Unfortunately he sits behind me, obviously. My chair is suddenly jerked to the side. This caused my elbow to get a 'desk burn.' It's like a rug burn. More like when you slid on a wood gym floor, only instead of your knee, it's your elbow. Bottom line: it stings. I turn my head and glare at him. He had put his ankles around the legs of my chair and moved it to the side. He is smirking as he finishes writing down the notes that were written on the chalk board. I loathe him so. After finishing the last sentence he smirks over at me, making eye contact.
"Sorry woman." He says trenchantly before frowning.
I roll my eyes then say, "It's all right Vegeta. I mean, I feel sorry for you. You should really have The Van move you up to the front. That way you won't have to worry about having to see over peoples heads."
"I'm five inches taller than you woman." He is frowning. Angry. Ha.
"With or with out your hair?" I ask. Vegeta's hair not only defies gravity, but it is also against the school uniform code. It's much too tall. Yet, Vegeta Ouiji, is allowed to keep his hair this length, or should I say height. Why? Because his father supplies the school with the funds they need for things that are not needed. I am also exempt from the school uniform code, only about the color of hair. Same reason as Vegeta. They still don't believe mine is natural.
"With out, wench." His glare hardens. We have glaring matches quite often. We glare into each others eyes until the bell rings; then, we simultaneously break eye contact, collect our things and leave. Racing home. He won this time.
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I hope you all enjoyed! By the way, Mrs. Vanthournot, and Mr. Zanotti are both real people. I am basing both looks and personalities off of my old teachers.. ahaha.. Well please take the time and review my fan fiction. I adore feedback! Thank you and have a wonderful day!
- - - Vegchan - - -