Currently Un-named Hoot Fanfic by Meredith Trainor

Disclaimers and Warning: I do not own Hoot. If I did, we'd say sayonara to Bea and get Mullet a better name, and Roy would wear Abercrombie and Fitch. But I don't, so they're all nerds, just the way I like them. ;) Also, this fanfic contains some slash (which is gay material) but I promise, there's no ACTION, if you know what I mean, it's all implied. And the worst word I say is "damn". So, enjoy!

Chapter One: (Roy's POV)

"Oi! Stupid-head!" Dana was so eloquent. "I'm gonna have your head for a football!"

I slowed to a jog to reply over my shoulder. "You'd never catch me, retard!"

That made him mad. Panting, I sped up and rounded the corner, flying up the whitewashed stairs.

"Retard? I'll give you retarded, you little nerd!"

Now he had to be joking. Had he forgotten what had happened last time he messed with me?

"Feel like going back to juvie? I hear you found some friends there!"

"Shut up, Montana!"

I was laughing full out now, and I even forgot to run.

"Montana? That's so old, Juvie!"

He didn't like his new nickname.

"Juvie juvie juvie, where have you gone?"

I figured he gave up, since he couldn't scare me anymore.

I figured wrong.

I saw it happen in flashes. A burlap sack flew over my head and down past my protesting arms. It muffled my voice as I yelled, and he must've tied it tight, because next thing I knew my feet were lifted off the ground as he dragged me… somewhere. Damn. This is not good.

"Good morning, Principal."

"Good morning, Dana. What's in the sack?"

"Now was my chance! I struggled, but the shaking he was doing gave me a headache. I tried to scream.

"Just some salmon I'm takin' down to the freezer for the lunch tomorrow. Guess I got used to helpin' out 'round places."

Oh, this was TOO much. He was using my captivity to make him look like the Citizen of the Month or something. How bloody ironic.

"Well hurry up, then. Here's the key."

"Thank you, sir."

I guess that exhausted his limited vocabulary, because we were definitely moving again, at a fast jog. I had no idea Dana was so fit: he was carrying all 90… err, 97! pounds of me over his shoulder, and still making good time. Wherever we happened to be going.

I found out sooner than later that he was going to make good on his promise of the freezer. "Oh Lord," I thought, "Dana's lost it. He's really trying to kill me! I'm gonna die of hypothermia before anyone finds me!" The last struggle at my life was something I thought I'd rather die than do: I begged Dana. It was hard to draw air through the thick sack, but I pleaded as loud as I could, "Please lemme go!" I got a sharp kick for my efforts, and I keeled over on my right side. He didn't bother to pick me back up. Instead, with a barking chuckle, he shut the door, saying as he did, "Sweet dreams, Montana!"

I was doomed.