Disclaimer: "The Fairly Oddparents" belongs to Butch Hartman and Nickelodeon. This may not seem all that important to you, but I have to mention it. Besides, these little stories I write can be much more fulfilling.

Chapter 1 - Schooled

In this building, several young people pursue an education, in the hopes of starting them off on the path to success. There are those, however, for whom an education is secondary to talking with friends or getting a hot lunch. Through the hallway, a number of students commute, creating a ruckus of half-heard comments and squeaking footwear.

One of the students holds his books in one hand and heads toward a classroom. He is halfway through the door as he looks at an older student in a letterman jacket. The athlete has a book in one hand and an amorous cheerleader in the other. Her arms are wrapped around him as the athletic type puts the book in his locker.

The younger man snorts and walks inside.

XxXxXxXxX

"Thank God that's over."

The student feels a great sense of relief as he walks down the hall among fellow teenagers. It's not that he hates his classes. It's just that the freshman feels them to be a pain. To hear him tell it, he is one of those who prioritizes socializing above school.

"There will be some good news for you, tomorrow, class." Given how dull his classes could be, it was little wonder that Timmy took to mocking his teachers.

The crowd seems to disperse as the young man pulls a yellow piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolds it, all the while continuing his stride. It looks to be a computer printout.

"'History' is history, so there's 'Math 9', 'P.E.', then 'Spanish'."

He stares intently at the schedule…so much that he doesn't notice being lifted off of the ground. Two older boys, each in letterman jackets, hold on to him. The freshman puts the paper back in his pocket.

He tries to walk off, but finds himself walking on air. He looks on either side and, for the first time, acknowledges his 'handlers'.

"Oh, hey, guys." The (…he can only assume that they're) jocks don't say a word. "Uh, you can just drop me anywhere."

XxXxXxXxX

The two older guys toss their victim onto the floor of the girl's bathroom.

He groans and tries to push himself up with his hands. "You guys couldn't have chosen someplace less…pink?"

"Hey, there." A smooth voice rings through the lavatory.

The freshman looks up at the speaker. It's the student he saw pawing the cheerleader before class.

"Oh, hey, Pat. How's it going?" The boy on the floor may as well be polite. The guy standing over him looks like he can cause him great harm.

"Good. Good." Pat nods his head. "Except I've got nosy freshmen staring at me and my best girl like we were a freakin' peep show! You wouldn't know anyone like that, would you?"

"Mmmm…can't say that I do." The two carriers grab the young man's arms.

"'Cause, like all peep shows, this one costs money."

One of the thugs kicks open a stall. They drag the boy in.

"You do have money, yes?"

"I'm a little light until the weekend. Sorry."

"Oh, don't be." Pat looks to the two 'escorts'. "Flush this crap."

They stick his head into the toilet. The one on the left pushes the toilet handle with his foot. The freshman tries to force his way out, but the jocks' weight is too much for him. His arms go limp and the jocks stand up.

"Keep your nose out of my business, freshman."

The three older boys walk out, leaving their victim in the bowl.

XxXxXxXxX

A dark-haired girl washes her hands. She turns off the faucet and grabs a couple of paper towels. As she dries herself off, she gets a glance at herself in the mirror. The girl is somewhat entranced by her reflection.

A choking sound from one of the stalls interrupts her. She turns toward the source.

The young man grabs onto the toilet bowl and pulls himself up. He spits out a mouthful of water.

"Timmy?" She seems to be more surprised at the boy before her than the fact that a boy is in here.

"Tootie!"

"What are you doing here?"

"I was feeling a little dirty, so I decided to take a shower." The tone of his voice adopts a surprising coolness.

The girl eyes Timmy with suspicion. "A shower? With your clothes on?"

He blinks his blue eyes. "I'm in kind of a hurry."

"You know, you don't have to put up a front with me." There is warmth in her words.

"What front? What are you talking about?" His deepening voice is full of apprehension.

A light snicker escapes her lips. "Some jocks gave you a swirly." The boy looks away. "How long have we known each other, Timmy?"

"I don't know, five, six years?"

"Right, and you really need to delineate between regular and rhetorical questions." Tootie takes a few paper towels from the dispenser and hands them to the young man.

He grabs them and dries his face.

She reaches her hand out, but quickly withdraws it. "Timmy?"

"What? Oh, thanks." He tosses the towels into the garbage can and heads for the door.

"You're welcome." The brunette sees him. "Timmy?"

"What is it, Tootie?"

"If you ever want to talk or…anything, you know where you can find me."

He walks out before she finishes. The girl takes a few more sheets and wipes her eyes. One would never know to look at her, but she has quite a crush on the young man she was trying to console.

As a child, Tootie's overly affectionate manner scared him off to the point where he wanted nothing to do with her. She resolved to calm down in his presence one New Years' Eve.

The door swings closed. She brings another sheet to her moist violet eyes.

XxXxXxXxX

Timmy rushes to a classroom. It wasn't all easy going, though: there was the matter of getting the necessary notes and textbook from his locker. Then, there was the fact that the class convened on the third floor. He was on the first floor and the elevators were for teachers only. What a life.

He takes a seat behind a dark-haired girl in the corner. Given her manner of dress (a designer blouse and a skirt that shows off her long legs), she seems to want the world to know that she is someone of importance. A lot of people know her as 'one of the most unattainable girls in the school', but Timmy has always known her as…

"Trixie?" The boy whispers.

She doesn't turn around. He frowns and leans in closer.

"Trixie?"

The girl leans back somewhat. "Do you mind? If I have to learn, I'd much rather do it without distraction."

"I just want to know if I've missed anything."

"I can't tell. Someone keeps talking to me."

Timmy looks around a bit. "Well, that's not right."

Trixie straightens up in her chair. "No, it isn't."

The boy leans forward yet again. "Could you point him out to me?"

The brunette growls a little. A devious smile tugs at her lips. "Sure." She reaches into her purse and pulls out a compact. She hands it to him. "Here he is."

Timmy takes it. "Whoa." He checks his face. "How long have I had this zit?"

"Mr. Turner! Miss Tang!" The conversing students look toward the front of the room. A balding man in an eye-catching tweed and glasses ensemble glares at the talkative ones. "What is so interesting that you must interrupt my class?"

"Well, I was just trying to find out about the lesson that I may have missed…"

"I was paying attention, Mr. Lewiston, but he just kept on going. He doesn't care…"

The educator puts his hand up, in no mood to hear the dueling explanations. "Never mind. You two will have plenty of time to make this up in detention."

The two students groan in unison. Timmy lets his forehead fall to his desk. Trixie leans back once more. "I hope you're happy."

He doesn't move. "Do I look happy?"

XxXxXxXxX

The angered brunette sulks out of the classroom amidst the happiness of everyone else. Of course, they were of good cheer. They didn't have to stay after school. Trixie Tang wasn't - isn't - the type to get detention. Other kids get detention, while she silently mocks them.

'It's not fair.' She thinks to herself. 'Damn that boy…what's-his-name.' The girl makes her way to her locker.

Trixie is used to having things her own way. She figured if she could rule elementary school, then high school would be a snap. The first week of school, her eyes were opened in a big way. Girls more stuck-up than she could ever have imagined pretty much shot her down when she attempted to join up with them.

As with a number of situations where one finds themselves in a frightening and unfamiliar environment, it helps to have a friend.

Trixie opens the door of her locker and puts her books in. She looks both ways down the corridor. The coast is clear.

Attached to the door with a butterfly magnet is a picture of her with her arm around another girl, her blonde hair in a ponytail. The brunette sighs deeply at the photo.

She takes the snapshot from its resting place and hugs it to her reasonably developed chest.

A tear falls down her face. "Veronica."