Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Till Death Do We Part ❯ Big Secrets ( Chapter 2 )

Author’s Note: Well here it is. The second chapter of TDDWP I hope you guys like it and I got a positive response from the last chapter so I’m hoping I will this time as well.

Chapter 2: Big Secrets

Friday Morning

In Biology:

“Welcome class, I am Mr. Hukiyu your science teacher. This year, you will all be presenting a major research topic related to science. It is to be presented in a novel way. But today, you will be learning about respiratory systems, and you will be divided into pairs. Each pair will have a rat to dissect, and the pair that manages to make the rat’s lungs rise and fall, can go fifteen minutes early,” the short balding man told them. He was Chinese, with what was left of his hair all smoothed over to the left and a stereotypical Chinese accent. “The pairs are as follows. Mr. Nasku and Miss Briefs, Miss Masters and Miss Richards,” the teacher droned on and on. Bulma clasped Yamcha’s hand under her desk and smiled at him.

“I hope you know how to make this rat breathe, Bulma,” he whispered quietly. She nodded.

“I’m not taking Advanced Biology for nothing, Yamcha. Give me some credit,” she laughed. Yamcha grinned back apologetically.

“Now that’s all the pairs. One of the pair come up here and get a rat, the other go to the back of the classroom and get your equipment.” The chairs slid back, and Yamcha headed to the back of the class for the equipment. Bulma walked up to Mr. Hukiyu and asked for a rat. The teacher handed her one and she went over to the bench Yamcha was setting up the equipment. She placed the dead mammal on the board and washed her hands. Yamcha followed suit, and then Bulma picked up the knife. She turned the rat over, and slid the knife down its stomach, cutting a line down the middle. Bulma felt Yamcha shudder next to her. She laughed and pushed him playfully.

“Yamcha, you’re soft. It’s only a little bit of blood!” Bulma placed her fingers on either side and pulled them apart. Yamcha turned away, dry reaching. Bulma laughed out loud, nearly knocking the rat onto the floor. She regained her composure, and set about looking for the rat’s lungs. She located them and then turned to Yamcha, whose eyes were watering.

“Yamcha was there a straw with the equipment?” she asked. He nodded weakly and gestured towards the equipment basket on the floor next to her. “Ta,” she said, picking up an ordinary drinking straw.

“What do you need a straw for?” Yamcha asked turning around, his face pale and clutching his stomach.

“To make it breathe. Why did you take science if you can’t stand blood,” Bulma asked curiously. Yamcha smiled.

“ ‘Cause you were in here!” he told her. She smiled.

“That was so sweet. Don’t look, Yamcha!” He spun away again and Bulma went back to her rat. She placed the straw carefully down its throat, and then exhaled. Bulma watched as the rat’s lungs rose, then she took her mouth off the straw. The lungs sank back down again as the air was let out.

“Mr. Hukiyu! My rat’s breathing.” she said. A swarm of people came over to watch, and Mr. Hukiyu pushed his way to the front.

“Very well, Bulma. Let’s see then.” Even Yamcha had turned back around to watch. Bulma placed her mouth on the straw, and there were echoes of “Eeew” from the other girls in the room. Bulma ignored them, and let out her breath into the straw. Just like last time, the lungs rose, and when she took her mouth away, they sunk again.

“Excellent. Quite excellent, Bulma. You and Yamcha may leave now, if you wish,” Mr. Hukiyu told them. Bulma nodded, and pulled off her science jacket. Yamcha did the same, and after grabbing their bags, they walked from science class and headed to their shared locker.

“Welcome class. I am Mrs. Collins, your English teacher. You are not in this class to dance with the fairies so if you don’t like the way I teach, take a pill and get over it,” a tall woman told them. She had short, brown hair, which sat just under her ears and was layered. She wore a bright, lime green mini skirt, with a matching lime green business jacket. Her earrings were long and dangly, with aboriginal (Australian Natives) painted snakes on them. She had on a white blouse underneath her jacket, high-heeled shoes and a thin purple, pink, green and blue scarf. Her hair was streaked blonde, but had grey re-growth at the top. Chichi looked sceptically at Mrs. Collins. Goku was snoring; Krillin had his head in his hands and the rest of the class looked asleep as well. “Now unless I am mistaken which I don’t think so, you are all highly intelligent people capable of stringing at least three words together?” Mrs. Collins asked. A few people looked at Goku, who was still snoring and laughed. This diverted Mr. Collins’ attention to him for the first time.

“Mr. er, Son,” she said, consulting her roll. “Mr. Son can you tell me what is an Adverbial Phrase?” Goku kept snoring. “MR. SON!” she roared, jerking Goku from dreamland.

“Yes, Miss?”

“It’s Mrs. What is an Adverbial Phrase?” Goku bit his lip and a little drop of anime-style sweat dripped down the side of his head. “Well?”

“Erm is it a word like chair, or table?” Mrs. Collins sighed angrily.

“No, Mr. Son. It is not. That is a noun. I want you all to head up your English books, red line top and bottom of your page, date and subject; NOUNS.” There were mumbles from the class and the shuffling of pages as people opened their books.

“This really sucks,” mumbled Krillin who was sitting next to Goku.

“Tell me about it,” he muttered back.

“Sure, she’s a hell raiser guys, but I heard she’s actually quite a good teacher,” Chichi reasoned.

“Don’t see how that can be possible! Her clothes are giving me a headache!” Goku laughed.

“I heard that, Mr. Son. It seems to me like there is a little bit of a relationship going on between you and Mr. Tashi. (I made up Krillin’s last name). Would you like me to book you two a room?” she asked menacingly. Goku and Krillin both turned scarlet and sank low into their chairs. Laughter chorused throughout the room. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Mr. Son,” she laughed.

“But the highest form of humour,” came a cold drawling voice. Vegeta had finally located his timetable and was obviously supposed to be in English.

“Mr. Ouji. You are,” she consulted her watch, “sixteen and a half minutes late. Therefore, at lunchtime, you will make that time up to me. Doubled. And seen as you saw it fit to answer me back, I am giving you a gum scraper at interval. I want fifty pieces of bubble gum in a plastic bag on my desk before the end of interval.” Mrs. Collin’s told him in a voice of deadly calm, that made the hair on Vegeta’s back stand on end. He glared at her, and took his seat next to Krillin. “Now that I have dealt with Mr. Ouji, do any of you know the four types of nouns?” she asked. No one moved. “You mean to tell me, that a bunch of seventh formers (over here, that’s what you are in your last year of high school), who can’t even tell me the four types of nouns?” Mrs. Collins was gob smacked. Vegeta looked around his still and silent classmates. He could always... No. He couldn’t do that. Then without warning, he did. Vegeta’s hand shot into the air.

“Yes, Mr. Ouji,” Mrs. Collins asked, frowning slightly.

“Abstract, common, collective and proper,” Vegeta was saying before he could stop himself.

‘Oh, shit,’he thought. ‘I’ve really done it now.’ Mrs. Collins was staring at him, a look of undeniable shock on her face. Most of the class’ faces echoed her look.

“Yes, Mr. Ouji. That is correct. Could you explain each type and give examples of them?” she asked, shock still setting in.

“Abstract nouns are feelings or emotions, like love, hate, honour, pride. Common nouns are objects, like dog, cat, chair, tree. Proper nouns are names of people or things, like my name, Rocks Road, Pacific Ocean, and have capital letters. The last one is collective nouns, which are the names given to groups of the same thing. A group of cows is called a herd. A group of soldiers, an army, a group of stars, a constellation.” Vegeta couldn’t help it. He was blurting it all out, blowing his cover and he couldn’t for the life of him stop himself.

“Mr. Ouji. You are right. The rest of you should be copying this down,” she snapped at the rest of the class. The scratching of pens filled the air, and Vegeta looked at Mrs. Collins. She was eyeing him strangely.

“Mr. Ouji, would you come here please,” she asked. Vegeta stood and walked to the front of his class, hands in pockets. “Mr. Ouji, do you think you could tell me what an adverbial phrase is. And be honest.” Vegeta sighed. He’d blown his cover of 13 years now. Might as well go the whole way.

”An adverbial phrase is a group of words together, that give meaning to an adverb. They start with a preposition, unlike adjectival phrases, which can start with either a preposition or a participle; past, present or future. They immediately precede the noun. Example. The forest with tall trees, if you add an adverbial phrase could be, the forest with trees of great height.”

“Mr. Ouji, I’m impressed. I’ve never had a student who knew so much about English. OK, one last thing. What is Onomatopoeia?”

“Onomatopoeia is words that sound just like how they are written, like clank. That sounds exactly like the word. I used to confuse it with personification, which istaking inanimate objects like a tree, and making them talk or giving them personalities.”

“Mr. Ouji, I have no choice but to put you into my advanced class. Your fellow students are far behind, and this class would be extremely boring for you. So you can change your English periods to English Extension. I will confirm it with the principal tonight. You may leave now. You’ve earned it.” Vegeta nodded. He walked over to his desk, picked up his bag and walked out of class without a backwards glance.

Vegeta slammed the door behind him and leant against the wall.

‘What have I done?’ Vegeta thought desperately. He stood up and started walking down the hall to his and Goku’s shared locker. As he rounded the corner to his locker, however, an unpleasant sight met his eyes. Bulma was laughing, and Yamcha had her pushed up against the wall, kissing her. She was playing with his hair with her fingers.

“Get a room, you two. Man,” he mumbled, walking past.

“V-Vegeta!” Bulma gasped, pushing Yamcha off her and fixing her hair.

“What, woman?” he asked irritably. He couldn’t care less what those two did, but he didn’t really want to witness it.

“W-w-what are you doing here?” she asked.

“I got out of class early. I could ask you the same thing?”

“We got out of class early, too. Unlike you, who most probablycut class,” she tried to tell him seriously, but burst into laughter and Yamcha began nibbling at her ear.

“I did not cut class. You can go and ask Collins if you want to!” he growled, slamming his locker.

“Well sorry! What’s up your ass? Hold on, I don’t want to know. Just buggar off and leave us alone,” Yamcha snarled. Vegeta glared, but walked off.

“How the heck did Vegeta know all that?” Chichi asked Goku.

“I have no idea!” Goku replied.

“And did you hear her say that she’s putting him in the advanced class! That’s the same class Bulma is in. I’ve known Vegeta since Intermediate (Junior High) and he’s never showed any signs of being that smart!” Chichi said loudly, looking just like Goku for once; perplexed and confused.

“We’ll have to ask him later,” Krillin said. The other two nodded and went back to their work.

“Do you have any hard feelings towards your Aunty, 18?” the councillor asked. 18 was back in the councillor’s room. They had had to cancel her Monday appointment until today. She looked around the councillor’s office. It had flax-like plants in all four corners, a mahogany desk with gold handles that had a big sliding door with blinds behind it. There was a squashy leather chair behind the desk, in which sat a kind-looking woman. 18 was also sitting on a leather couch, with two leather cushions and a coffee table with a glass, see-through top on it. There was a tiny pot-plant on the table, and magazines beneath the top. Pictures hung all around the room. Pictures of the seaside, the bush, animals and cities. The room was painted a light peach colour with a white ceiling and white carpet.

“No. None of it was my Aunty’s fault. I blame my father really, for leaving my mother when she needed him. And for giving us such pathetic names and a pathetic upbringing for my brother and I. I kind of blame my mother, too, for committing suicide when we needed her most. But no. I blame none of it on my Aunty.”

“Hmm. Can you tell me, have you met anyone here you think you’ll get on with yet?”

“Yeah. A couple of girls named Chichi and Bulma, in my form class. And these guys, Vegeta, Krillin, Goku and Yamcha. They all seem real nice as well,” 18 told her. The blonde woman leaned forward, putting her elbows on her desk.

“As in Bulma Briefs, Chichi Mau, Vegeta Ouji, Krillin Tashi, Goku Son and Yamcha Nasku?”

“Yeah that’s them. Why?” 18 asked curiously.

“Well, those six are well known around the school. Especially that Vegeta one. Most people are scared of him, and he’s had more Saturday detentions than the rest of his form put together. I just don’t know if you’re right getting in with that crowd, given your current situation,” the woman told her kindly. 18’s eyes flicked to the brass nameplate on the woman’s desk. It read Wyona Leslie.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying that that lot are trouble makers. I’ve had all of them in this office at least once before. Bulma was getting teased; this is in Junior High, about her brains, Goku was depressed because he had none, Chichi was getting a hard time about her braces and glasses, Yamcha was suffering from withdrawal after being kicked off the rugby team, Krillin hated being short and that’s only half of it!” Wyona laughed, sitting back in her chair. 18 looked at her from the couch and tucked her legs up underneath her.

“What about Vegeta?” 18 asked curiously. Miss. Leslie stiffened and leaned further back in her chair, straightening a stack of papers.

“Well, I would like to tell you because I think you would understand, but Vegeta swore me to secrecy and I have no desire to break my word. Most people never knew he came here except for Mr. Son. I can’t tell you that, 18, I’m sorry.”

“OK,” said 18 slowly, frowning slightly.

“You might want to ask him for yourself. Explain about your past to him, and maybe he’ll be willing to open up to you and tell you. But I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” 18 nodded.

“Anyway, back to you. Did you see either of your parents after they killed themselves?” she asked. 18 nodded.

“I can’t remember whether or not when I was a baby, but it was me who found my father. 17 and I were downstairs watching a late night movie, and Dad came downstairs. He went out into the shed and said he was getting some bread. 17 and I heard him come back in but didn’t look. The movie we were watching was a horror and at almost the exact same moment the main character screamed, we heard a gunshot and assumed it was on the movie. An hour later, we went upstairs. I knocked on my father’s door and yelled goodnight. He didn’t answer. That struck me as odd, because he usually said goodnight back. I knocked again and still no reply. 17 was behind me and I opened the door. Dad was lying on his bed, all this blood seeping onto his pillow and more blood trickling out of the hole in his head. I screamed and clapped my hands to my mouth, and nearly fell to the ground, but 17 caught me. All I remember after that was crying into his shoulder. Then he took me downstairs and rang the police and the ambulance.”

“You poor girl,” said Miss. Leslie. “I really suggest you talk to Vegeta and tell him all this. I think you’ll be amazed how well he understands. I’m really sorry, 18 but I have another client. We’ll talk more about that side of it next week.” 18 nodded and swallowed hard. She stood from her couch and walked out the door.

Next Chapter: What’s this thing about Vegeta? Why would he understand 18? Where do Bulma and Yamcha stand? And what’s with Vegeta being so smart?

Author’s Note: So what do you guys think? I promise I won’t make all the periods this long I just had to set the scene and stuff. R&R