A/N Okay, so I figured I'd do a little Fanfic writing in my spare time, and this idea has been stuck in my head for about a month now. Yes, it does involve an OC character, and yes there is an OCxCanon pairing, but don't write it off just yet!

Oh, and don't start saying that my OC is a Gary Stu, especially by his description. I write everybody a deep introduction, so don't pull that card on me.

The story takes place during the gangs high school years, but Miss Frizzle is still their science teacher, and they will still behave like the third graders we know and love.

Now lets get on with it!


She strode into the whitewalled classroom with a confident gait. Her beehive of hair towered above her forehead, with every hair out of place. It seemed as though her hair simply refused to comply with her attempts at styling it, almost like it had a mind of its own. Below the mess of fuzz, was the short, sweet natured face that extended below it, complete with a slightly pointed nose, thin lips with a light pink coating, and two wide brown eyes. This head was perched upon a craning neck that swiveled about to take in the faces of her students, and as she did so a smile spread across her face. She took a brief moment to brush some stray mess from the seafoam green lab coat that covered her body. It was a stark contrast to the usual clothing she wore, with its designs of whatever science subject she had selected for the day, but it kept the dirt and liquid from seeping through, so it was a useful trade.

This was Miss Frizzle, the brilliant and famously wacky teacher from Walker Elementary, now moving up in her career as a worker at Walker High. As she looked out over her latest batch of freshmen, she spied several familiar faces that had once been part of her third grade class.

There was Wanda, the tomboyish Asian American. She sat right up front, rapping her fingers on her desk in nervous anticipation. Above her almond eyes, there lay a mess of straight, rich black hair that fell neatly down her neck and temples. A few locks of it spilled over into her face, obscuring the view of her right eye, though it didn't seem to bother her. Her form was clad with a pink T-shirt, that extended just past the rim of her blue-jeans. Overlaying her shirt was her faded red vest, which had been trimmed and refitted due to her instant pleading with her parents.

Behind her sat Arnold, the "Doubting Thomas" of the group. He sported a bright polo shirt, striped with yellow and white, with long sleeves that covered all of the flesh upon his white arms. Curly, ginger colored hair covered his head, and was nearly as frayed as the Friz's hair, though not nearly to her extent. His cheeks were spotted with brown patches, his freckles, which he still had despite the fact that it was the middle of winter. His brown eyes were glossed over with untainted glass, set within the square frame of his glasses, which balanced upon the very tip of his nose as he leafed through a comic book.

A single desk back was Ralph, though nearly everybody called him Ralphie. He was a bit more muscular than the others, due in part to his massive involvement in athletics. Baseball, football, and basketball, were the three he had chosen to compete in this year, though they weren't nearly all those that interested him. His head was covered with a neatly trimmed head of hair, just centimeters from being considered a buzz cut, though he hid that beneath his crimson baseball cap, which was always turned backwards. He claimed that he did this to keep the sweat out of his eyes, though there was no real reason for it while there was snow on the ground. His chest was covered with a neon green Tee, emblazoned with a bright red "R" upon the breast. His palms were in the pockets of his cargo shorts, as he mentally dozed off, trying to catch up on the sleep he had missed the night before.

Taking up the very rear was Phoebe, who sat doodling a picture of a raccoon in her notebook. She brushed aside some stray eraser bits as she scribbled the signature mask of the creature into place. Her love for animals was legendary, as was her shy disposition. She had been the new girl back when they were in third grade, and that reputation had stuck with her. She had branched out a bit, but still stayed within her shell. She gave her head a little scratch, weaving her fingers into the short, lightly curled, brunette mass atop her head. A sunny gold colored headband kept the hair from falling into her face, and made it appear to be longer than what was being shown. The band matched the undershirt she wore beneath her rosy blouse.

Beside her, was the class clown, Carlos. The never serious Hispanic with a bad pun for every occasion. His mop top of black hair fell lazily at all angles, like a balloon had had lost its inflation. He was leaned back casually in his desk, clothed in a navy blue, hooded, sweatshirt, and blue jeans to match. His tennis shoes were up on the pedestal of the seat, and were crossed in his usual fashion. He, like Ralphie, was currently catching a few Z's that he had omitted before hand. Truthfully, he had stayed up past midnight again fueling his latest video game obsession, Call of Honor VII. Then again, ThegreatR143 (Ralphies online user name) had been online as well, so it was understandable why he was exhausted.

Ahead of him, was an empty seat. It hadn't been filled at the start of class, but there was always room for one more.

In front of the empty chair, sat Dorthy Ann, better known as DA. She was thoroughly immersed in the Human Genome Project, which was outlined in the book which rested upon her desk. She was rarely, if not never, seen without a book in her clutches, usually written on a science subject that all others found boring. However as the class bookworm, as well as brainiac, she could never find a dull moment in the world of Physics, Genetics, or the Theory of Relativity. She had done her sandy blonde hair in a pair of pigtails, a childhood favorite of hers that just stuck with her. Her sky blue blouse came down to her shins, not too long, not too short, but somewhere in between. Just the way she liked things. Her midsection was covered by a pur-VIOLET sweater, that she seemed to have an endless supply of.

Seated before her, was Kesha. She was the pessimist of the bunch, always looking with a "Glass is Half Empty" perspective. In her eyes, there was a kink to every plan, that could never be ironed out, and thus the entire plan was eventually doomed to failure. Her hair was chocolate brown, though against her skin it seemed slightly darker, and pulled back in a ponytail, the tip of which just graced the end of her neck. Her shirt was a regal purple, with a single streak of neon blue cutting it diagonally. Below the shirt, was her jeans, which had grown faded and worn, now with several threadbare patches dotting the denim.

Then came Tim, the final member of their classroom family. He was an African-American, with skin of ebony and shortly trimmed black hair. He was typically the logical one in the group, always wishing to take his time and find the perfect solution to every problem. Of course, around here, things very rarely moved at Tim's pace, and had no time for exact measurements and split second timing. He was clad in jeans, much like the rest of the group, as well as a dark blue sweater. At the moment, he was sketching out a drawing on some scrap paper he had found. Unlike Phoebe's hastily doodled raccoon, his drawing was of himself, and was much more detailed, as he plotted out each stroke and stab with his pencil.

At the head of this bunch, Mrs. Frizzle once again cracked a smile at her old students, then opened her mouth to speak.

"Good morning class." She paused as greetings were reiterated back to her, then went on, "I have some very special news for you all today.'

"Is it a field trip?" Wanda replied, the anticipation showing on her face as well as in her voice.

Arnold's heart skipped a beat as he heard those last few words. Without warning, a cold sweat washed over his back and neck, as every muscle in his body suddenly tensed. He began to feel sick, as though his stomach had just turned inside out. He shut his eyes, folded his moist palms upon each other, and said a silent prayer that she would say no.

"I'm afraid not Wanda," There was an audible groan of distaste from the others, and a sigh of sweet relief from Arnold, "But, we're finally going to be filling that desk that's been empty all year."

"You mean...We're getting..." DA managed to stammer, nearly biting her tongue in the process.

"You're absolutely right," The Frizz took a slight hop backwards, taking a seat upon her desktop in the process, "Class I'd like you to meet Jeremiah, he's going to be starting school with us today."

All eyes were on the door, waiting for this newcomer to show himself.

He entered without a word, and stood at the foot of the teachers desk for a moment. His hair was untamed, curling off in every direction as though it were unaccustomed to being combed. It fell to his neck in an unkempt heap, and from there fanned out over the area. It was a tinged orange hue, with some spots appearing lighter and darker than others under the glow of the fluorescent bulbs from above. He bore hazel colored eyes, and both seemed frosted over, as though he were in a state of perpetual drunkenness. His clothes were a size to large for him, as his jeans seemed as though they were ready to fall right off his body, and were held up only by a tightly drawn black belt. He bore a black T-shirt, with two red streaks that circled around his sleeves.

"Why don't you tell us a little about yourself, Jeremiah." The teacher prodded, attempting to get the student to talk.

"Hallo daar. Mijn naam is..." He spoke, obviously in a foreign tongue.

"In English, not Dutch."

He hesitated, as though he wished to remain silent.

"Jeremiah..." She gave him a stare that could bore through solid steel, much less get him to talk, "Either you tell them about yourself, or I'll do it for you."

"Oh, come on Mom!" He blurted out in response.

The other students were suddenly slack jawed in sheer shock. Mrs. Frizzle had a son? She had never mentioned him before, or maybe she had somewhere in that long list of relatives she had always referred to. Why hadn't he been attending school all along? It wouldn't make much sense for him to have gone to any other school in the area, not when his mother was teaching at Walker.

Back at the head of the class, the Frizz and her kid stared each other down, their eyes locked in a display of mental warfare. But, only a few seconds in, the elder won the battle of the eyes.

"Alright, alright I'll talk." He took a deep breath, then began, "My name is Jeremiah Frizzle. But you can call me Jerem, or Jerry, or that Jerk. The reason I never attended school with the rest of you was because I was educated at a boarding school in the Netherlands, which is also why I speak some Dutch."

He paused taking a look at the students he would be working with for the next four years of his life.

"As far as I can see, there is no psychotic space cadet in the class yet, so I will be filling that position." His words brought forth a few laughs from the group, as well as a smile gracing the corner of his mouth, "Anyone who would like to disagree, feel free to do so."

He strode quickly to the empty desk between Carlos and Dorthy Ann, taking his seat without hesitation. As he sat, he turned instinctively to Carlos.

"Why is a Raven like a writing desk?" He quoted from Alice in Wonderland, stealing the unanswerable riddle of the Mad Hatter.

Carlos could only stare back as he replied.

"I have no idea."

"Because there is a B in both, and an N in neither." Jerem chuckled, obviously the only one who understood this joke.

"You're crazy." The Hispanic smiled at the stupidity of the riddle, "I have a feeling we're going to get along just fine."

The two slapped hands, a sure sign that what Carlos had said was going to come true.


Alright, that's what I got for chapter 1! Please review or...I'll blow up the internet!

DO IT! DO IT NAUGH!