A/N: This is a fun story that has been in my head for awhile and was just dying to come out. Reviews are always welcome!

Chapter 1: Welcome to Prepville High

“You have got to be shitting me. I’m going to Prepville High,” I scowled as I stared at the new private school I would be attending for the next academic year of my life.

“The technical name is ‘Saint Joseph Preparatory,” my father, Byron McAfton, corrected me.

“And I’m wearing guy’s pants.”

“You could have worn the skirt,” suggested my dim-minded, college-bound brother, Duke.

“And ridden a motorcycle to school? I don’t think so.” Like I want to proclaim my panties to the world.

“Well, I’m sure they meant to send you the girl’s pants but just sent the wrong package,” said my father, using his “I am so patient with my insane 17-year-old daughter” voice.

“So some poor boy is in my pants?” I asked, not realizing the possible repercussions of my statement. Soon enough, my brother (who’s mind is perpetually in a gutter) came up with a lovely come back.

“And you are in his.”

“Duke, that is so disgusting.”

“You’re the one who started it.”

“Daaaaaad…” I moaned.

“Duke, stop taking Rodney’s words and twisting them around for your own delight.” I smirked at my brother with glee. “Rodney, stop making it so easy for him to do so.” I gave a little “humph,” crossing my arms across my chest. Ewww, I was wearing a collared shirt. I’m so going to suffocate.

“Daddy, I can’t breathe! This collar is going to eat me alive,” I cried, clutching to my father for help.

“Rodney, let’s not make a scene, people are looking at you funny.”

“That’s not uncommon,” muttered my brother. Why can’t he be all nice, supportive, and protective? And buy me ice cream?

“Daddy, please don’t make me go here. In a few days I’ll have too-much-plaid-itis, know the Period Table of Elements by heart, and I’ll like be like saying like every like other like word! Like.”

“Brushing up on your chemistry isn’t going to kill you- unless it’s boy-girl chemistry..”

“Because God forbid that I ever get within a five mile radius of a man…”

“And I thought we already went over this. California is going to be fun!” my father cried.

“Oh my God, they brainwashed him too!” my eyes glazing up with fake tears. “Brother, hold me!” I sobbed as I latched my arms around my brother’s torso.

“Dad! Ew! Get her off me!”

“Duke, your sister does not have coodies. Have a little maturity. And I mean both of you,” my dad said, getting down to business. He stood up straight. If he were in a business suit he would have looked quite intimidating, but instead he was wearing a white tank top under his leather jacket and leather pants. His light brown hair was mussed up and a biking helmet was propped under his arm. “Now,” he said, shoving the helmet I wore into a compartment in his silver Ducati, “we are going to march you in the office right there and you will go to school without making any more fuss. And Duke… watch the bikes and don’t flirt.”

“Yessir,” my brother mock saluted.

“Come on now, you,” my father said, taking me by the shoulder and leading me to the office. “I know that California is a lot different from Nevada, even though they’re next door neighbors, but it can’t possibly be that bad.”

“They have beaches.”

“And Nevada has Salt Lake.”

“Nevada is a desert with nothing to do but go clubbing… not that I would know or anything… plus, beaches equal water, water equals swimming, swimming equals bathing suits, bathing suits equal lots of skin showing, and lots of skin showing equals sexual tension. And someone might seduce me! And we don’t want poor little Rodneykins being seduced by some bad, bad man, do we?” Just when I thought I had nailed my argument, my father suddenly did something rather unexpected.

“Meh, you can handle them.”

“What?!” I cried, as we entered the office.

“Shh!” he ordered nonchalantly. “Hello Mrs. … Hartwurth,” said my father, taking a moment to glance down at the secretary’s name tag.

“Oh, it’s Miss Hartwurth. Is that motorcycle yours?”

“Why, yes it is.”

“Then you can call me Joanne.” Ewww, my dad is flirting with the secretary… and she is flirting back! Ew ew ew ew.

“Dad, suddenly I feel rather nauseous,” I groaned.

“Bathroom is down the hall and to the right,” said Joanne without taking her goo-goo eyes off my father. This is so disgusting.

“Oh she’s alright. I’m Byron McAfton, and this is my daughter Rodney. This is her first day here and so I wanted to come in with her-”

“And flirt with the secretary…” I muttered.

“And make sure everything is okay,” he said slightly louder and gave me a pointed glare, to which I shot down with an innocent pout.

“Oh, Rodney McAfton, we’ve been expecting you. The dean will be delighted to meet you. Just head down the hallway and to the left. And Mr. McAfton-”

“Byron,” he suavely corrected her. Will someone just please gag me with a spoon now? Anyone? Anyone?

“And if you have any questions about Rodney’s arrangements, please give me a call any time. And in case of emergency, my personal number is on the back.”

“Thank you Joanne,” he said, slipping the card into his pocket. “Come on Rodney,” he motioned to me as he started heading down the hallway.

“He’s gay and eats bugs!” I stage whispered to Joanne before my father pulled me away.

“Are you trying to kill me?” my father asked, a smile plastered on his face as he said hello to everyone who passed.

“Are you trying to kill me?” I inquired back.

“I just might have too,” he muttered as he knocked on the door. Without thought, we both turned to each other, fixing each other’s hair and clothes before turning back around to the door and fixing a smile on our faces.

“Come in!” called a voice from within.

“It’s show time,” we both whispered in unison before we opened the door and made our grand début.

“I’m Dean Whithers, head of this school.”

“Rodney McAfton,” I said with a sweet smile, shaking Dean Whithers’ hand firmly.

“And I’m her father, Byron McAfton,” said my father, following suit.

“Please be seated,” the dean said. “Um, Miss McAfton, are you aware of our dress code policy here at Saint Joseph Preparatory?”

“I am, Dean Whithers.”

“Then you would know that those pants are not to code?”

“I understand. However, I was sent the men’s pants instead of the ladies’ pants, so I had to resort to wearing these.”

“Did you receive the skirts?”

“I did, but wearing skirts is against my religion,” I began to B.S.

“What she means to say is she will be riding a motorcycle to school as her means of transportation, and thus we can’t have her straddling a bike in a skirt, can we?” interjected my father, saving my butt once again.

“Very true. I’m afraid you will have to wear the gentlemen’s pants until we get another order of ladies’ pants in.”

“I’m quite alright with that, Dean Whithers.”

“Excellent. Now, here’s your schedule and a map of the school. I will fetch someone to show you around for the day and be your mentor. I’ll keep your father for a minute to sign a few more papers. Your guide is waiting outside. Just say good-bye and you’ll be on your way Miss McAfton.”

“Thank you,” I said, then turned to my father, who had a mischievous smile on his face. We did our secret handshake (pound up, pound down, knuckle, bang bang, slick back the hair) before I wrapped him in a bear hug.

“You’ll be fine,” he softly reassured me before pushing me out the door.

“So, what religion does Miss Rodney follow anyway?” I heard Dean Whithers ask my father before the door shut completely.

I looked around warily for my tour guide. Sure enough, a pretty, preppy, and chirpy blonde came in, her hands full of AP books and club folders, and a backpack that probably weighed a ton.

“Hello, I’m Jenny Firmson. You must be Rodney McAfton. Welcome to Saint Joseph Preparatory.” She shook my hand so vigorously her ponytail bounced up an down. “I will show you around for the day, take you to all your classes, give you a tour of the school, inform you of some written and unspoken rules on campus, introduce you to some new people and all of the amazing programs SFP has to offer, any anything else you deem necessary for your survival.”

“Do you have any guns? I think I need to shoot myself.”

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