A/N: Welcome to Halls of Ivy. First off, the title of this comes from my good friend the thesaurus. When I searched 'school', one of the alternatives it gave me was 'halls of ivy'. I thought it had a good ring. Second, this story is dedicated to two people: To JP/Turtle, for her motivating reviews and for seriously fluffing my ego, and to Maddie, whose idea for chapter U of my alphabet fic snowballed into an entire Alternate Universe. Thank you, ladies, this one's for you.

And I am very, very aware that I am completely bastardizing this story. It's supposed to be fun – keep that in mind, k?

:heart:s
Andrix

The Creston-Ingram Academy. The nation's most prestigious private school. For two-hundred years since it's founders Jedidiah Creston and Oswald Ingram had first opened it's doors, it's halls had spawned nothing but lawyers, businessmen and billionaires. It was rumoured you had to be stinking rich just to get past the gates.

At least, until the Losers showed up. In a school full of rich brats, they stuck out like sore thumbs. They had all gotten in for their talents in certain areas. Frank Clay and Linwood Porteous were the best quarter back and full back Coach Coleman had ever seen. Jake Jensen could program anything and everything from a VCR to a super computer. But that didn't matter to the rich kids. They were losers. Each of them came from a no-account family. All of their parents were footstools to the parents of the higher class students. And the Losers knew it, but they didn't give two shits. And that was why no one fucked with Clay and his gang.

No one, that is, save for one person. Max Creston was the son of the son of the son of the son of Jed Creston himself, and to him, the Losers were bugs that needed to be squashed. Max and his cronies William Roque and Wade Travis constantly schemed and connived to make life for the Losers at C.I.A. a living hell, and, very often, they succeeded.

For the most part Clay, Pooch and Jensen turned the other cheek. Max was just a petulant, spoiled rich kid, and they all knew it. That was until Max drew the straw that broke the camel's back.

It started like every other day. It was the middle of the first semester. Pooch and Clay where standing around waiting for Jensen, who was late as usual. When the blonde finally showed up, they exchanged their 'hey's and 'how ya doing's, until Jensen noticed a new face standing just behind Clay, leaning against the lockers, quiet as the dead.

"Hey, looks like you've got a second shadow, Clay." he remarked.

Clay blinked and looked over his shoulder. "Oh yeah," he said, "He's so quiet I forgot he was there. This is Carlos. He's new."

"Cougar," the kid corrected, tipping his cowboy hat slightly.

"Cougar. Okay. Well, this is Pooch and that's Jake Jensen. We just call him Jensen." Clay replied, pointing at each in turn.

"So what do your parents do?" Jensen asked. "Millionaires? Big-shot lawyers? Owners of a Fortune 500 company?"

"None of the above," Cougar replied, with a distinct Spanish accent.

"Jensen," Pooch said, "If he was from any background like that, you think he'd be hanging around us losers?"

"You never know," Jensen replied, "Maybe they're not all dickweeds?"

"No," Clay said, "They're all dickweeds. Cougar's here for the same reason as you an' me."

"Ah, 'talent out-reach program', then. So what do you do?"

"I shoot."

"You shoot?"

"I shoot. Archery, skeet shooting. Paintballing."

"He could pin Stegler between the eyes with fluorescent pink from 500 yards." Clay said, "He's the Archery team's new star."

"Impressive," Jensen admitted. Before he could say anything else, however, the chime of the PA system rang out and Coach Coleman's voice crackled through.

"Frank Clay and Linwood Porteous to the Phys. Ed. office, please. That's Frank Clay and Linwood Porteous to the P. E. office."

And little did they know, but that was the sound of shit hitting the fan.

Pooch and Clay smelled the rat as soon as they set foot in Coleman's office. It was a scent they had grown very familiar with. It was a smell they had grown to loathe. The coach looked at both of them and held up two sheets of paper.

"Gentlemen, do you have any idea what I'm holding in my hand right now?" he asked.

Pooch could see what it was very clearly. "Report cards, sir," he answered.

"Report cards, Pooch." Coleman confirmed, nodding. "And let me just say that I am not impressed."

"Sir?" Clay said questioningly.

"Franklin Clay, failing grades in both English and Biology." Coleman read, "Linwood Porteous, failing grades in English and Math."

Clay stared at him like he was stark-raving bananas. "You have got to be fuckin' kidding me."

"Watch your language, Clay. And no, I'm not kidding. You're both off the team." he then amended his statement. "...at least until your grades improve."

"Sir, with all due respect, the last time I checked, I was passing every class I was in." Pooch said, "Even math, and we all know I'm crap at math."

"Well, that's not what this says." Coleman replied.

"Then there's some mistake."

"There's no mistake, Pooch. Principal Stegler's signature is right there." Coleman extended the report card so Pooch and Clay could both see. Sure enough, plain as day, was Stegler's signature scrawled across the bottom. The ink was even smudged, proof that it wasn't just a photocopy.

Clay's lip curled in a snarl and he turned on his heel, marching out of the office. Pooch gave Coleman the glare of a lifetime before following him. Jensen and Cougar were waiting outside the door.

"What was that all about?" Jensen asked.

"We're off the team," Clay snarled.

"What!" Jensen exclaimed, "Why?"

"Apparently, we're both failing two classes." Pooch replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Bullshit," Jensen muttered.

"Yes, Jensen," Clay replied, "And I smell a rat."

"Wait. You think Max has something to do with this?"

"Who is Max?" Cougar asked.

"Max Creston is the school founder's great-times-four-or-something-grandkid." Jensen told him, "He's been a thorn in our sides since we got here. He doesn't take kindly to... what was it?"

"No-account, no-good pond scum," Clay answered.

"Yeah. He doesn't take kindly to 'pond scum' like us sleazing up his daddy's precious school." Jensen finished.

"Sounds like a puto." Cougar commented.

"Hit the nail on the head, Cougs!" Jensen replied, giving him a slap on the shoulder. Cougar smiled from under his hat. "He's about the biggest puto you'll ever meet."

"And I have a feeling he has something to do with why Pooch and I were just booted off the team."

"But you can't prove that," Jensen said, "You can never prove he does anything we know he does. He's untouchable, Clay. We'd get expelled for slandering the founder's family or some shit like that."

"I'll find a way."