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22 March 2007 @ 03:50 pm
I Wish You to the Cornfield, ch. 8 (DBZ)  
Title: I Wish You to the Cornfield
Fandom: Dragonball Z
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor (read that as CRACK)
Publish Date: 10/29/2002 to 1/5/2003
Disclaimer: A, B, C, D, E, F, G, I do not own DBZ.



It was a harried-looking teenager that entered Mr. W’s classroom at the end of the Social Studies hallway. Trailing after the frazzled girl was a strange assortment of people. They drew quite a few stares as they all made themselves comfortable at the back of the room. Candyland sank into her desk, wishing desperately that a nice big black hole would just open up underneath her and swallow her whole. It was only fourth period, Western Civ, and at the rate the day was going, death would have been far easier than trying to get through her last two classes.

Oh well. At least I get out after fifth, she thought, grateful at that moment for tiny blessings. If this had happened last year and I was stuck here for the full seven periods of the day, I probably would have jumped out of a second story window by now.

"Hey, Candyland," a tall, husky boy with spiky, bleach-blonde hair dropped into the vacant desk beside the author.

"Hey Bob. What’s up?" she asked, managing a weak smile.

"Not much. Did you watch DBZ yesterday?" he asked with a grin.

"Yeah," Candyland sat back in her chair. "You know, I think I’ve figured out what Buu’s problem is. It’s the fact that he keeps cracking his neck like that. If he gets a good chiropractor for that neck problem of his, he’ll be a good guy!" (AN: This really happens. Every day during fourth period one of my friends and I analyze the latest DBZ episode. Honest to God. It’s our daily ritual. And in answer to the question running through all of your minds, no, I don’t have much of a life outside of schoolwork, writing, and show choir. It’s sad, isn’t it?)

While the two teens enjoyed a nice laugh and went into discussion on the previous day’s episode, the Z fighters were listening in the back of the room. They were bewildered, to say the least.

"How do they know about Buu?" Gohan asked in disbelief.

"And what the hell is a DBZ?" Piccolo chorused.

Apparently, the two students heard the startled questions and both turned. Bob’s jaw fell open in amazement. "You’re...you’re...Piccolo?!? And everyone else?!? What the..."

The Namekian quirked an eyebrow, not sure how to respond. But Candyland just sighed and replied, "DBZ is the abbreviation of Dragonball Z. It’s the TV show you star in." As if that explained everything, she turned back to her friend and renewed their conversation. Once again, the Z senshi were left in bewildered silence.

The bell rang, and a tall, middle-aged man with white hair came into the room. He strolled to the front of the room, apparently taking no real notice of the extra members of his class. At the podium in the corner of the room, he wrote something for a few seconds, then addressed the class. "All right, can I have your undivided for just a minute? All right, we’re going to continue with the movie today. What I want you to get out of this is a feel for the way the Battle of Thermopylae went and how wars were fought in the time of Ancient Greece. So we’re gonna start up the movie again." With that, he bent over and fiddled with the buttons on the VCR. (AN: The movie is called "300 Spartans". It was made, like, in the sixties. I slept through half of it and didn’t pay attention to the other half. It was soooo goofy!)

When the lights in the classroom went out, the lights of about half the students in the room went out as well. Most of the guys zonked out with their heads on their desks, while the majority of the girls sprawled out on the floor, speaking to each other in hushed, high-pitched whispers.

Goten and Trunks stared at the TV screen, completely enthralled, for about ten seconds. Then Goten leaned over to his best friend and whispered, "Trunks, I wanna watch Pokèmon!"

"I doubt they get cable in this place," the eight-year-old whispered back.

Vegeta, meanwhile, spent his time studying the fighting tactics of the armies, and muttering something about "primitive" and "pathetic fighters" and the like. Bulma hissed at him to be silent, and a small vocal argument broke out between the two, ending only when a frying pan emerged from the mysterious pocket where all frying pans stay while not in use. Said kitchen implement entered a crash course with Vegeta’s skull. Vegeta shut up. Thus ended the argument.

Suddenly, Goku nudged the Saiyan Prince, who was not amused, and pointed to a desk near the front of the room, where Candyland was sitting.

Or rather, sleeping.

The teenaged author had fallen asleep with her head pillowed quite nicely on her arms.

"We could get out of here!" Krillen suggested excitedly, but a stern look from the women of the group very quickly squashed that idea. Piccolo just rolled his eyes and resumed his meditation. Gohan looked blank for a second, then shrugged and followed his mentor’s example. Videl just took a desk and watched the movie. Seconds later, the older women decided that she had the right idea, and also grabbed seats to watch the two Roman armies beating the crap out of each other in *cough* realistic battle scenes.

It was maybe ten minutes later that someone realized that the two children were MIA.

"Krillen!" Goku whispered nervously. "Where are Goten and Trunks?"

"Right...there..." his voice trailed off as he noticed that the spot the chibis had occupied only moments ago was now quite vacant. Anxiety immediately set in. Luckily, none of the women had noticed.

"Kakarott, try and sense them," Vegeta ordered. If anything happened that involved Trunks, it was his neck that was in danger. "Then you can do your Instant Transmission thing and bring them back before the women notice that anything’s wrong."

"Gotcha," Goku replied. Then he fell silent, and his face twisted in concentration. After a few tense seconds, he grinned. "Got ‘em." Putting two fingers to his forehead, his expression once again contorted as he focused. And in an eyeblink, he was gone.

A very short moment later, he appeared again, in exactly the same spot, but with two very disgruntled-looking chibis accompanying him. Trunks was holding onto Goku’s leg with a ticked-off expression on his face, and Goten was tucked safely under his father’s arm, looking frightened. Goku just looked amused as he set them down and whispered to his friends, "They found another candy machine in that room we were first in when we got here. That big room with the instruments. I got there just in time to keep them from blowing it up to get at all the Runts."

"Whatever," Vegeta rolled his eyes to symbolize how little he cared, and turned his attention back towards the vicinity of the television screen.

Half an hour later, Candyland stirred, then opened her eyes, blinked owlishly a few times, then sat up and stretched her arms over her head while yawning. "Is the class over yet?"

"Nope," the girl sitting behind her whispered with a smile. "I wish it was. I get out after this."

"I’ve got choir, and then I’m free," Candyland said, stretching again and rolling her head back to look over her shoulder at the clock on the wall. "Less than five minutes till the bell rings. Please let this day be over soon!"

Mr. W seemed to notice that attention was waning, and stopped the movie, pausing to make a few comments in regards to a test over ancient Greece and a possible essay question over the battle highlighted in the movie. Many a groan followed those words.

"I don’t see why they’re getting so worked up over," Gohan looked perplexed. "It’s just a test. And history’s probably the easiest subject in existence."

"Yeah," Videl poked him in the arm. "For you. Not for all of us normal people who don’t study twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. You’re just too smart for your own good."

Gohan blushed and muttered a disclaimer, but it was lost in the dull roar of conversation amongst the students in the class. Candyland had resumed her conversation with the guy she’d called Bob. They seemed to be discussing the movie; words such as ‘cheesy’ and ‘bad special effects’ were heard.

Finally, the bell rang, and a more relaxed-looking author slung her backpack over her shoulder, looped her purse over her arm, grabbed the green water-bottle off the desk, and strolled out of the room. The Z gang scampered after her, more than a little freaked out. After all, they really didn’t know where they were. At the rate things were going, anything could happen in this crazy place!