Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Drummer's March ❯ Chapter 5 ( Chapter 5 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

“The Drummer’s March”

Disclaimer: See previous chapters.

Chapter 5


The name plaque on the desk read Mack Gibbons. The man behind the desk was slender, had messy brown hair and a matching mustache.

He stood up and smiled when we came in, gesturing to the two chairs in front of his desk. “Sit down gentlemen. You can call me Mack.”

We looked at each other and shrugged before slouching into the chairs rather ungraciously.

When I’d met Trunks that morning, he had sheepishly apologized. I’d threatened to blow him up the next time we sparred and that had been that. I’d never been one to hold a grudge, haven’t really got the personality for it. A bit of swearing and I was good. After all, despite the mess he’d got us into, he was my best friend.

This school counselor though was definitely not my best friend and I didn’t owe him anything.

“You boys know why you’re here?”

We shrugged and I spoke up. “You’re a shrink, school thinks we have a problem and you’re supposed to fix it.”

He coughed, “Well I wouldn’t exactly have phrased it quite like that but yes, I am the school counselor.”

I rolled my eyes and the counselor eyed me speculatively.

“So. You want to tell me about what happened in the locker room?” He fixed his eyes on us and spoke in a cheerful voice that made me think of teachers talking to four year olds.

Trunks smiled his biggest smile, the one he always used on Bulma to get out of trouble. “It was no big deal; we’re good. So that’s it right? We can go now?”

The counselor guy smiled back and shook his head. “Not quite, Trunks was it?”

Trunks nodded and slouched deeper in his seat. “Told you it wouldn’t work.” He muttered to me and I shrugged. It’d been worth a try.

“And you must be Goten.” It was my turn to nod.

“So you guys just transferred here, right? Did you go to the same school before this?”

I glared and waved a hand toward the files that sat on his desk. “You have all our information right there. Think you could just ask us what you really want to know so we can get out of here?”

The counselor stopped smiling and tipped his head toward me. “You seem a little angry Goten.”

I refused to say anything and folded my arms. He sighed, “Ok then. You want to tell me why you just stood there and let Trunks punch you?”

“Because he’s a dumbass?”

“Goten!” Trunks hissed at me, “Knock it off man or we’re going to be here freaking forever.”

“Fine. I let him punch me because that guy Mike was itching to pick a fight with him.”

The counselor was watching us intently. “I’m not sure I follow you Goten.”

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, even though I knew it made it stick up even more. “Well if I’d let him get into with Mike, it would have been messy and the guy would have gotten hurt. And then we’d have got into trouble, maybe kicked out, blah blah blah. So I let Trunks deck me instead. Problem solved.”

The counselor started tapping the desk again with his pencil and nodded slowly. “That seems very noble of you Goten but why didn’t you just tell Trunks to walk away?”

I glared at Trunks and he winced a little. “Because,” I griped. “He was bored.”

“Bored?” It was Trunks’ turn to get the steady inspection.

“Yeah, look I already apologized to Goten. I was bored and looking to pick a fight. I shouldn’t have done it and I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“So Goten had you hit him instead.”

We nodded.

“Does this happen often?” He seemed to be watching us even more closely and the pencil had stopped tapping.

We threw glances at each other and shook our heads. “No.”
I wondered if he realized how obvious his fidgeting was. Whenever he asked a question he found particularly important, he stopped tapping his pencil. I bet he really sucked at poker.

He seemed to want to say something further on the matter but changed his mind. “Well it appears you two have worked it out between yourselves. The next time you get bored Trunks, run a lap around the track.”

He nodded in relief and we jumped up, ready to take off out the door.

“Hold on a moment Goten, I want to talk to you a bit further. Trunks you can head to your first class.”

“But . . . ” I had hoped we could skip the little individual talk Piccolo had mentioned but apparently the counselor had other plans.

“I won’t take much of your time Goten. Please sit down.”

I threw myself back into the chair in irritation, listening to the door shutting behind Trunks. The counselor was watching me expectantly.

“Thank you for staying Goten.”

“Not like I had much choice,” I grumbled.

He shook his head and sat back. “That’s not true; you always have a choice.”

“My dad said you’d want to talk to me, so here I am.” I stared at the wall behind him, taking note of the books he had on his shelf. A lot of titles about psychology.

“Do you always do what your dad says?” He was tapping his pencil again and I looked in his direction briefly before turning away again. “Of course.”

He seemed to find that rather surprising. “You do? Most teenagers don’t get along that well with their parents.”

I shrugged, “Never had that problem.”

“What about your mom, you get along well with her?”

I tipped my head back to study the ceiling, not particularly liking where this line of questioning was going. “No mom.”

“Ah,” His voice held sympathy, “Parents divorced?”

I dropped my head to look at him. “No. Dead.”

He was silent and I took pity on him. “Look, don’t sweat it. She died in child birth, so it’s not like I lost anything really. You can’t miss what you never had and all that.”

He gave me a strange look. “I’m not sure that’s the case Goten.” He seemed to gather his thoughts before asking me another question.

“What’s your dad do?”

I resumed my study of his ceiling. “He’s a writer.”

The counselor smiled, all interest. “Really? What does he write?”

I contemplating pointing out that several of the books on child psychology he had sitting on the shelf next to him had been written by dad but decided against it. Instead I settled for a general wave of my hand in the air and a vague, “novels.”

The counselor guy acted as if we’d just shared a big joke and laughed. “What’s your dad’s name?”

“Gohan.”

He closed his eyes and tapped his chin for a moment. “Hmmm, don’t think I’ve read anything by a Gohan Son.”

I shook my head, “You won’t have. He writes under a different name.”

“Ah. And I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what it is, are you?”

I smirked, “Well that would completely defeat the purpose of a pseudonym now wouldn’t it?”

He looked startled for a moment and then let out a sharp laugh. I was hoping this indicated we were done but apparently he had other ideas.

“Your dad never remarried? He must have loved your mother very much.”

“Not quite.” Back to the mom stuff. He was persistent; you had to give him that.

“What do you mean?” He had a concerned expression on his face that irritated me. Damn nosy bastard.

“I don’t see how this has anything to do with the locker room.”

“I’m just trying to get to know you Goten.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to get to know my dad.”

He sighed and sat back, setting the pencil down on the desk. “Ok then. Do you have a girl friend?”

“No.”

He smiled. “Any interest in acquiring one some time in the future?”

I looked at the guy trying to figure out if he was having me on but he appeared to be serious, despite the stupid ass smile.

“No.”

He looked at me intently and I could easily predict what his next question would be.

“How long have you been friends with Trunks?”

Bingo.

“Since I was four.”

“You guys get along well, for the most part?”

He was still watching me and I knew exactly what he was thinking. He wasn’t the first. Sometimes it was easier to have people believe that Trunks and I had something going on rather then the simple truth that we preferred each others company to most anyone else. Though Vegeta would go ballistic if he knew what people mistakenly suspected. The thought made me smile.

“He’s my best friend.”

“Do you have many you consider friends?”

“I had a frog named Mr. Hoppers once,” I answered acerbically.

He didn’t seem to appreciate the sarcasm and his smile was gone. He jotted a couple notes down in the file on his desk and then looked back up at me. “What about at home, any friends in your neighborhood you hang out with?”

“No.”

More notes. “What do you like to do in your free time Goten?”
Remembering Piccolo I smirked, “I’m learning to juggle.”

He looked up and smiled happily. “That’s a great hobby. Anything else?”

I thought about that. “Read; hang out, spar- sometimes we go fishing.”

“Spar? Do you box?”

“Box?” I was surprised. “No, martial arts. It’s a family thing.”

“Oh! Does your family run a dojo?”

“I guess you could say that.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Goten was an interesting kid. His file didn’t actually reveal that much, the transcripts from his previous schools, which showed that the kid was an outstanding student. Mack had talked briefly with the boy’s teachers yesterday afternoon and apparently they never seemed to pay much attention in class but always had the best marks. Having studied Trunks’ file, Mack was quite aware of who his mother was and so his intelligence didn’t surprise him. But Goten was a mystery.

From outer appearances he seemed pretty average. Even the attitude could be attributed to typical teenage angst. At first Mack had thought it was a simple case of Trunks being the lead man and Goten his weaker flunky. That would have explained why Goten had let Trunks hit him; it wasn’t unusual for those sorts of relationships to form in high school social systems.

However, as soon as they’d sat down, it had been Goten who’d been the most outspoken. Mack hadn’t been prepared for his logical if rather strange explanation behind the scene in the locker room. He’d had to reassess his opinion of the boy. Goten was highly intelligent, and once you got past the initial belligerence, he had a quick wit that cut sharply. He suspected there was a lot more Goten had wanted to say but kept to himself.

Mack wondered about the boy’s home life. He had been quite protective of his father’s privacy. It was also a little strange that he didn’t have any other friends outside Trunks. Mack had thought about stopping by Goten’s house to have a chat with his father, but the address on file had confused him. It had to be an error, since Goten had just recently transferred to this school, the address must be from his previous residence. He’d sent a note to the office requesting they contact the family for an updated address as soon as possible.

Shaking his head slightly Mack looked down at the few notes he had taken during his time with Goten. The meeting hadn’t gone quite the way he had expected. Instead of a pep talk on sticking up for yourself and not letting your peers push you around, he’d found himself running up against the boys strong personality and obvious irritation at being detained. Goten had been even more displeased when he’d discovered that he had to come back next week. Yet Mack had found that he was left with more questions then answers.

Nodding to himself, he closed the folder. He’d call Mr. Son and schedule an appointment to meet him before the end of the week.

TBC . . .

(He really is a nice boy! I’m not sure what happened. Guess he wanted to be more like Gohan then I originally thought. But that’s the way it goes.)Converting /tmp/phps0HKqq to /dev/stdout