One of the Boys

Disclaimer:I don't own any of the Dragon Ball Series or its continuations and spin-offs. This is loosely based off of Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night."

Summary: Bulma hatches a wild scheme to compete in the World Martial Arts Tournament.

Chapter Two: When Dreaming Gets Drastic

Bulma spent her entire walk home sulking. She had pensively taken out her phone more times than she'd like to admit with her finger hovering over the send button.

Can we talk? read the text she had saved as a draft.

"No, we can't," she said aloud, and promptly deleted the draft message for good, removing the temptation to send it. It would be exceedingly difficult to get over Yamcha, whom she missed already, but she would have to do it.

She drew the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and planted her headphones into her ears. She'd mourn the loss of Yamcha with heartbreak songs until she was strong enough to switch to more empowering breakup anthems. Reflexively, she reached to touch the dragon ball she kept in her sweatshirt pocket and was met with only lint.

'That's right,' she thought somberly. She had forgotten that she'd given it back to Yamcha, quite abrasively she might add. She would have to break the habit of bouncing it back and forth between her hands, a tendency she had developed which had often given her reassurance. But even if she did still have it with her, it wouldn't have brought her the same comfort as before. It could only serve as a reminder of the once shared wishes of her and Yamcha.

Forget the dragon ball. She didn't want it back.

She let out a frustrated breath as she entered through the wrought iron gate, granting her access to the front yard of her home.

She yelped when she felt an arm squeeze her shoulder, jerk her back, and spin her around. She came face to face with Maron Lovelace, the more-than-irritating girlfriend of her adoptive brother Goku. She never understood what he saw in the cleavage-revealing, low cut blouse-wearing nuisance. Pursing her lips, she believed she had just answered her own question.

"Yes, Maron?" Bulma plucked her headphones from her ears to give the young woman her full attention, whether she deserved it or not. 'Especially after that,' Bulma grimaced, thinking back to the interruptive manhandling.

"Oh," the girl said disappointedly. "I thought you were your brother Goku." Bulma wasn't amused with the mistake. Maron the Moron—as she often called her in private—wasn't too sharp, but she would have at least given her credit of the ability to distinguish between male and female. She thought that Maron's choice of boyfriend could serve as evidence of that, but Bulma supposed that wasn't the case after all. "You don't really have curves like I do so it's an easy mistake for me to have made."

Bulma nearly winced at the slight. Maron was not only dimwitted; she could also be astonishingly insulting. She and Bulma had never seen eye to eye and despite being a member of Goku's family, Maron never made any real attempt at friendship. All she cared about was Goku, not that Bulma deemed that as a bad quality, but the girl could have benefitted more from having some manners or at least being cordial with his loved ones.

"It's always a pleasure seeing you too," Bulma said, to which Maron rolled her eyes after catching the sarcasm.

"I'm looking for your brother Goku," Maron said snippily. "Where is he?"

She always found it somewhat amusing that Maron would always distinguish which brother she was in search of. The obvious answer was Goku since she was his girlfriend, and Raditz could hardly tolerate her as much as Bulma could.

Bulma shrugged. "I haven't a clue." She gave a small gasp, causing Maron's eyes to widen with worry. "Oh, my God! Do you think—no, that can't be it." Theatrics were Bulma's specialty when necessary.

"Think what?" Maron leaned forward, waiting impatiently for an answer. "What can't be it?" The second question was strained, more desperate.

"Do you think he could be hiding from his psychotic girlfriend?" Bulma smirked at her own wit, earning another eye roll from Maron.

"You think you're so clever," she spat. "You let your brother Goku know how lucky he is to be my boyfriend and that if he wants to keep it that way then he needs to give me a call."

"Are you sure he has your number? You'd think if he did, he would actually call instead of choosing to avoid you." Bulma smiled brilliantly to irritate the girl further. "I mean, that's why you stalked your way here, right?"

Maron didn't let the joke defeat her. To Bulma's surprise, she smiled back. "I heard the bad news about your team getting cut from Orange Star. Must suck for you, but you're not that talented of a fighter to begin with. They did you a favor." With that, she spun on her heel and left Bulma, mouth slightly agape, to glare after her.

Bulma let out an unexpected growl. She not only had no hopes of competing in the World Martial Arts Tournament or patching things up with Yamcha, but she had lost a battle of wits to Maron the Moron. Today just was not her day.

"What's this world coming to?" she moaned, and then continued up the walkway to the front door. The moment she crossed the threshold into the house, her mother cried out in glee of her arrival.

Mrs. Brief, hands together as her whole body quivered with excitement, said, "Oh, there you are, Bulma-darling!"

"The apocalypse is here," Bulma surmised out loud, but her mother ignored the remark.

"I have a surprise for you!" Every time Mrs. Brief spoke, or did anything really, her eyes always seemed to be closed. It was as if everything was too thrilling for her to open them any further. Bulma often wondered how she could see anything at all like that, but never openly questioned it. She figured that she probably didn't need or want to know the answer.

"Mom, can we do this later," Bulma groaned, slinging her duffel bag on the floor near the foot of the stairs. "I'm having like the worst day of my life."

Mrs. Brief was undeterred. She pressed her hands clumsily to Bulma's eyes as if to shield them. 'Great,' Bulma thought gingerly, 'She wants me to be blind too.'

"I have something that will turn that frown upside down," her mother promised. "I'm going to take my hands off you. Just keep your eyes closed."

"Okay, fine." Bulma sighed, giving in. True to her word, she kept her eyes sealed. She could hear her mother bouncing with delight upon the wooden floorboards as she scurried someplace nearby. When she returned, she instructed Bulma to open her eyes. Against her better judgment, Bulma allowed her eyes to flutter open.

In her arms, Mrs. Brief held the most gaudy looking kimono Bulma had ever seen. The sleeves were long and drooping and the fabric too bright. The design was tolerable but was cluttered and looked too busy. Then it took a more dramatic turn, fanning out into layers upon layers of floor length fabric. Either her mother had guessed the wrong size or had suspected Bulma would gain weight in the very near future. And the worst part was that there were more beside her, spread out on the couch, all in different colors.

Her mother couldn't be serious. "What in Kami's name?" Bulma demanded.

"Aren't they elegant?" Mrs. Brief cooed, embracing one of the kimonos like she'd embrace a small beloved child, too tightly and adoringly. "Like something royalty would wear."

"Mom, I've told you so many times that all that girly stuff just isn't for me." Bulma sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples and giving them a quick massage to prevent an oncoming migraine from seizing her. This day was getting worse with each moment. There had to be a way for her to just sleep it off if only she could make it to her bedroom without further interruption.

Mrs. Brief's lips trembled. "I don't know how I ended up with such a tomboy for a daughter. All you ever want to do is fight and conduct science experiments. This is your father's doing."

"Well either it's the end of the world, or I've been wrong this whole time and the stars are aligning—I don't know—but you don't have to worry about the fighting anymore. My team's been cut from Orange Star." Bulma turned away and gathered her duffel bag.

"That's awful," squeaked Mrs. Brief even though she was positively thrilled. Fighting wasn't for girls, at least not for her beautiful bell, Bulma. Her daughter belonged in an exquisite robe with her hair and makeup done delicately, like a porcelain doll, as she served tea and entertained guests with a variety of artistic skills like the recital of poetry or an elegant dance. That was something Mrs. Brief could be truly proud of. The news was almost too good to be true. "No Martial Arts Tournament?" Mrs. Brief asked just to be reassured her daughter would now be placed on the correct path of womanhood.

"Nope." Bulma had just made it up a few steps of the stairs when she turned again to face her mother who was still clutching the same gown from earlier to her chest. "I can see how disappointed you are," she stated flatly.

"Yamcha would probably get down on his knee for you in this kimono." Her mother's eyes sparkled dreamily.

"Firstly, I'd hate to see Yamcha in a kimono." Bulma was picking at her mother's sentence structure, but her mother didn't catch the jeer. "He and I broke up today—like not even an hour ago." Bulma proceeded back up the stairs.

"How could you two break up?" She could hear the shock in her mother's voice. Her mother, for whatever reason, had always been a huge fan of Yamcha, often taking his side in arguments and encouraging Bulma to humble herself and apologize first. "What happened?"

"I dumped him."

"Why would you do such a thing?" Mrs. Brief sounded distressed. "You two have been together since your first year in junior high school. You've been inseparable. Besides, he's so manly and charismatic." Two of her mother's favorite qualities in men which she often complained Mr. Brief lacked. "He has star quality, you know." She paused. "And he's just the perfect man for you. I thought you two were going to get married. I really wanted him in our family."

Bulma rolled her eyes. As if she needed reminding of Yamcha's finer qualities, no matter how over exaggerated they were. "How about you marry him then?"

For a moment, her mother almost seemed to consider it, and then burst into giggles as she shook her head. "Oh, no! I'm twice his age. That would be silly."

Dropping off her duffel bag in her room, Bulma changed direction suddenly. She needed to talk to someone who could comfort her. Raditz wasn't home yet, but at least Goku was.

Her family had adopted both biological brothers at a young age after their grandfather Gohan had died, leaving them orphaned. It was originally the idea of Mr. Brief, but Mrs. Brief was happy to have company other than her husband, who she considered dull, and her daughter, who was so exasperatingly different from her. No one outside of their immediate home was aware that they were adopted because it was something hardly mentioned and their strong connection as a family unit was unhampered—unless you count the divorce.

Disaster struck a couple years ago though when Mr. and Mrs. Brief separated. All three siblings took it with difficulty. Bulma's grades had dropped severely for two quarters in a row until she had forced herself out of the depression, with Yamcha's help she had to admit. Raditz became reclusive for nearly a year and had to be sent to counseling before he could come to terms with it, and Goku had resorted to bad behavior in school. He'd been expelled from three already, leaving Saiyan Academy to deal with him this school year. He was an exceptional fighter, taught Bulma everything he knew, but it didn't matter when he wasn't allowed to participate in the World Martial Arts Tournament due to his expulsions and poor behavioral record.

"Hey, Goku," Bulma greeted as she let herself in. His door had been ajar, not that she would have bothered knocking anyway. She plopped down comfortably on his bed, watching as he shoved clusters of clothes into a suitcase. "Maron the Moron was out front creeping hard." She made a face at her brother to show her disdain for his girlfriend.

Goku only grunted, too concentrated on his task to care very much about Maron's whereabouts.

Bulma stretched herself out on the bed more, lounging. "I don't get why you date her. She's such a troll."

At last, Goku paused what he was doing, and smiled pervertedly. He gave a slight shrug. "A troll with big cans." He was referencing her overabundance of boobs.

"Boys—you're all dogs," Bulma chastised. "No amount of boobs can make up for a personality as bad as hers." She cocked her head to its side in curiosity as Goku tossed some luggage out his window. "There's this awesome thing called a front door y'know."

Goku gave a laugh. "I don't want mom flipping out if she sees me. I told her I'm going to stay with dad until school starts so I don't cause her any grief. I'm really going to Supreme Kai's place to train to be a better fighter though. I can compete in the World Martial Arts Tournaments as a singles wildcard fighter that way." The Supreme Kai was a sort of eccentric fighting instructor known for his taste in badly told jokes, but those who served under his tutelage were exemplary fighters and often earned championship titles in the World Martial Arts Tournament. "Who would have thought that divorce could have a positive outcome after all?" She knew he was being sarcastic, but could still detect the obtrusive impact their parents' separation had had on him.

Bulma did have to admit she was mildly impressed with the plan. It was very clever of Goku. But he was forgetting one thing. How was he going to explain his absence at school? "Aren't you supposed to be starting at Saiyan Academy? How's that supposed to work out?" She couldn't help but ask him all the questions which were glaringly obvious. His plan, albeit seemingly solid, had gaping flaws.

He smiled sheepishly. "I thought maybe you'd be an awesome sister and call them to tell them I'm dying, highly contagious too, and then when the semester's over tell them it's a miracle I'm still alive."

"An entire semester!" Bulma nearly choked. "You're going to get expelled again and then be held back! How are you supposed to get into a good college?" She knew was beginning to sound more like a parental figure rather than a sister, but she didn't want Goku making mistakes he would later regret.

Goku sighed. "Bulma, it's not as if I want to be a rocket scientist like you or dad. I want to be a pro fighter. I can't do that if I'm too busy learning Steve Irwin's Evolutionary Theory."

"Charles Darwin's Evolutionary Theory," Bulma corrected.

"Whatever," he replied. "The only way I can take my skills to the next level is by training with the Supreme Kai." He propped the window open all the way to ensure he'd fit through it as he carefully slid out. She had already guessed his motorcycle, Nimbus, as he fondly called it, was just outside and fueled efficiently for the trip ahead.

"Goku, what if becoming a champion fighter isn't all it's cracked up to be and then you're left with no backup plan?" Bulma called. "That's a pretty big risk there!"

Goku's head resurfaced. He was grinning. "I guess I like taking risks then. You should try it sometime." Then, he was gone.

Bulma carefully considered his last words. Perhaps he was right in a way. Sometimes you had to chase your dreams down if they wouldn't come easily to you.

"Who are you talking to?" Mrs. Brief materialized in the doorway. "Please don't tell me I need to send you for counseling too. I don't think I can handle both you and Raditz so fixated on your issues with mine and your father's separation. Is this something every family goes through? Sometimes I feel like it's just me." Always a dramatic one.

"No, mom." Bulma spared an eye roll.

She wasn't buying it. "I thought I heard nimbus. That bike is so loud—our poor neighbors must suffer. I wish he would just get a car like a normal person. It's not as if we are unable to afford it." Her mother scowled.

"That was just Goku on speaker phone. He was working on his bike, testing the engine." She motioned to her cell phone. Lucky for her she always had it on her. "He's at dad's place now. They're developing a cure for cancer together." Bulma almost smacked herself. She had just finished saying Goku was playing mechanic. 'Well, whatever, people are totally capable of multitasking,' Bulma reminded herself.

It was evident she didn't have to worry about arousing suspicion though. Her mother could care less as she held up the same kimono from before and twirled it. "Just imagine how beautiful you will look when you emerge a full-fledged geisha after they call your name at the Festival of Shenron, and you delight your audience with a beautiful dance. Miss Bulma Delilah Brief."

Bulma pretended to gag. "Sorry, mom. I'm not about that life."

"I'd have better luck getting Goku into this dress and getting you into his gi than the other way around." Her mother huffed angrily, turned on her heel and left Bulma to herself.

She finally peeled herself from Goku's bed and gazed at herself in the mirror he had. She studied her reflection, envisioning several possibilities. Goku's words about taking risks echoed once more in her head.

She grinned suddenly, mind set. "I guess you never really know until you try."

King Yenma's Place

Raditz howled with laughter, unable to decide whether he should take his sister's request seriously. Setting his chopsticks down he said, "I'm fairly certain I must have heard you incorrectly, because what you seem to be proposing is that you want to parade yourself around as our brother—but that can't possibly be what you meant to say since that would be absurd."

"Absurd enough to work," Bulma smiled. Her two friends, Ranfan and Launch, nodded in approval to suggest they supported the idea as if it were their own. "I'm going to go to Saiyan Academy as Goku, join the men's martial arts team, and beat any Orange Star opponents I face in the World Martial Arts Tournament team division."

He patted her on the head affectionately. "I think dad ran out of test subjects and got desperate so he used you instead. These are the symptoms of radiation talking, not you." Raditz returned to his meal, shoving a heap of noodles into his mouth. Similar to Goku, Raditz had an outrageously large appetite.

"I can do it," Bulma insisted. "I'm nowhere near as good a fighter as you or Goku, but I can hold my own in the team division even if it is men's."

"Bulma, be practical," Raditz said, striping his attention from his meal to his sister. "You have a girl's voice, unlike your friend Launch over here." She stuck her tongue out at him in disdain in reaction to the insult, but he ignored her. "Your mentality, despite what you may think, is that of a tough girl, but still a girl nonetheless. You have long, obvious blue hair. You're small-framed, very much unlike Goku and me." He paused once more, giving her a more serious look. "And you have boobs, not pecs." He motioned to his own well-defined pectorals to provide an example. "You're not as busty as Maron the Moron, but you have enough to make your gender apparent. You won't be able to get away with it."

Ranfan defended the scheme this time. "No one's seen Goku at Saiyan Academy. They'll have no one to compare her to."

Raditz rolled his eyes. Bulma's friends were loyal to her, he'd give them that, but they were being just as impractical as she. "They'll know she doesn't have a dick."

"No need to be crude," Ranfan said with censure.

He shrugged. "I'm just being honest. No guy is going to actually believe she's a dude. That's the bottom line. She's been living under the girl code for too long to be reformed under guy code restrictions."

"But you can teach me all of that," Bulma asserted. "Please, Raditz?"

It was hard to resist his younger sister when she asked anything of him. It had been that way since they were children. He'd often let both his younger siblings get their way and if their ways differed from one another, Bulma would win. Raditz and Goku were extremely fond and protective over her, which was part of the reason why he believed he should put his foot down. She would get herself into trouble if she was found out, perhaps even be expelled from both schools and it would ruin her chances of all the scholarships she was destined for.

Looking into his sister's eyes, he reached his decision. "I seriously hope this isn't some sick way for you to get back at Yamcha by becoming a transvestite."

Bulma and her friends shared high-fives and cheered. That was Raditz's way of giving into her request. "Yamcha can suck my non-existent dick," she grinned.

"Spoken like a true dude—well, sort of," Raditz laughed. He stood up abruptly and examined his sister from head to toe. He tugged her long blue locks and frowned. "You'll have to cut this short, probably like Launch's new 'do, and wear wigs. One wig should look like Goku's hair, and another should look like the way you have your hair now so that mom doesn't freak."

Bulma eyed Launch's hair warily. She'd cropped most of it off except the top, an edgier look than all the others she had tried. The top part was bleached blonde and the sides remained somewhat dark, her trademark two-toned hair, no matter which style she tried. Bulma was grateful she wouldn't have to cut her hair exactly the same way, just decrease its length enough to wear a wig comfortably.

She couldn't help but smile. This scheme was just crazy enough to work. She could feel it in her bones, the same feeling she got when she was on the brink of a scientific breakthrough, a feeling that seeped through her skin and warmed her entire body. "This is totally happening!" She exclaimed, pumping her fists into the air.

"And I've totally got my work cut out for me," Raditz chuckled, partly serious, partly in humor.

Author's Note: Big brother Raditz to the rescue with training Bulma to be Goku. They've both got an interesting task to face together. What do you think?