"You look like crap." Garth set his mountain of paperwork down on a desk with a light thump.
"Good morning to you too, Garth." Michael's eyes never strayed from the paper in front of him. It was the thousandth essay on 'The Grapes of Wrath' he'd seen that morning, and all the words were beginning to run together.
Unenthusiastically, Michael's eyes slid over to the large pile Garth was struggling to tame, he held back a sigh. "Please say that whatever that is, it's not for me."
"Not all of it." Garth gathered around three quarters of the pile and placed it on the left side of Michael. "Mills wants the system tuned up. If you were to join the twenty-first century and do it online, it would be a lot easier."
"The system's fine." Michael replied, scribbling a mark at the top of the page and pushing it away from him. He grabbed the mug of coffee that sat beside him and took a long sip, wrinkling his nose as he remembered he'd let it go cold.
Garth slid his thin figure into a chair and leaned back, kicking his feet up onto the table. "What's up your ass?" Garth smirked, before letting his face drop into a look of sarcastic compassion. "Is it your special time?"
Michael glared at him. "Shut up, Garth." His tone was harsher than he had originally intended.
Garth pulled his feet off the table and frowned deeply. "Alright, jeez... I was kiddin' around."
Guilt washed over him as he watched Garth's face fall. He was right - The two had structured their relationship around sarcasm and friendly repartee, but he never acted like this.
"Sorry. I'm just tired." He winced as his chair screeched across the wooden floor boards as he stood. He picked up his mug and poured the contents down the drain, before picking up the coffee pot and pouring another cup. "Maybe I'm not even grumpy, you're just oddly upbeat."
Garth immediately perked up. "Can you blame me? Even you're interested in the new kids."
Michael turned and leaned against the counter of the teachers lounge. "You're gonna start freaking your students out if you get any friendlier." He smirked.
"I'm not talking about a new student." Garth rolled his eyes. "Do you not read any newsletters?"
Michael raised an eyebrow as the words fell from Garth's lips. "No. Of course I don't."
Garth shook his head and continued. "Well if you did, you'd know that the new History teacher starts today." As he got to the end of his sentence, Michael could feel the excitement radiating off of him.
"Right." Michael stated. Even he heard how bland his reply was, but this really didn't phase him. Sure, they'd be working across the hall from each other, so awkward 'Good Mornings' were a given and getting rid of the slow walking, heavy breathing substitute will be great. But other than that, they won't really effect him at all.
Garth's expression, once again, faded as he looked to Michael. "Why are you so dull? Get excited."
"Why should I be excited?" Michael questioned.
"Come on, man. You know what I'm saying - you haven't come out with Dean and I in weeks. All you do is throw yourself into essay after essay, you're here all the time. Day and night."
Michael knew he could talk to Garth, but he just couldn't get into all of it. After his father's death, knowing he'd be searching through all of his old, dusty possessions that weekend. Deciding what to keep or sell, burn or throw away. With this, he was going to keep himself to himself.
"Garth, I-"
"I know the past few months have been hard on ya, bro, but if you just-"
"Garth, drop it."
"Drop what?" Dean walked into the lounge, heading for the pot of coffee beside Michael. He was wearing his usual attire; plaid shirt, worn, ripped jeans. Michael stared at his clothes enviously. Dean got away with wearing anything he wanted, because he spent all of his time down in the school's garage which meant he pulled overalls over the top of his clothes anyway. Michael, on the other hand, was captured by the school's strict dress code. So he was confined to wearing ties, dress shirts and dress pants.
"Nothing," Michael shook his head. "Garth was just getting excited over meeting the fresh blood."
"Oh yeah - I forgot that was today." Dean frowned a little, running a tough hand over the stubble on his jaw. "Damn, am I glad that sub's gone."
"Right?" Michael agreed readily.
"Y'all are bullies." Garth pouted, and Dean chuckled. Michael glanced at him gratefully. There was something soothing about Dean - the way his eyes crinkled, the rough saltiness to his voice. He had a way of dismissing the tension, which often came in useful.
Other teachers had started to flow into the lounge, throwing jackets onto the back of the second-hand couches as their voices bounced around the walls. Michael glanced at the clock, wondering what his chances were of getting first class to do something quiet so he could sit and rest for a little while.
Just then, a tall, assertive woman in a pantsuit - Principal Mills - walked in. Closely followed by a woman Michael had never seen before. Everything about her resembled the stereotypical university professor - her hair was dark, falling neatly over her shoulders, a navy dress hugging her figure pleasantly. Michael glanced down subconsciously, suddenly feeling underdressed.
Dean and Garth didn't seem to have noticed her, but Michael watched as she moved around the room, being introduced to different teachers. She was then introduced to Dean, who turned a huge smile on her. He watched her reaction carefully; too often had he seen Dean use that smile to reel in unsuspecting women, only to throw them back when he told them he was engaged. This woman, who he had yet to put a name to, only smiled at him politely.
Michael raised an eyebrow. That had never really happened before.
Then Mills was moving onto Michael. Before he could properly prepare himself she was talking, "This is Michael Cohen; he has the classroom opposite yours. He teaches American Literature. Michael, this is Samantha Riggs. She'll be taking over Mr. Walker's classes."
Michael shifted his mug to his left hand, plastering on his best smile and shaking the woman's hand politely. His eyes clashed with her Hazel ones. Their hands slid together almost perfectly, her skin was soft and her grip was warm as he stared, a little infatuated.
"It's a pleasure to meet you." She spoke. Her voice was very soft and soothing.
"Likewise." Michael was amazed he actually managed a reply, and then Samantha was moving onto Garth. When her hand left his, Michael's skin felt cold and empty, so he threw his hand into his pocket to chase the sensation.
"Miss. Riggs is not only new to our school, but to Houston as well." Mills said, her smile spreading across her face. "I trust you all will make her feel welcome."
Dean wrapped an arm around Michael's shoulders and slapped him gently on the arm.
"You can count on us, Boss." He said.
Michael smiled weakly.
"Masters, don't think I don't know what you're doing." Michael's voice broke through the silent classroom. His senior class were supposed to be reading their latest chapter of 'The Great Gatsby', Meg's eyes had not been on her book for the past fifteen minutes. Her hand was wrapped around her phone, just below her desk. Michael beckoned her over. "Bring it up here."
She groaned. "Seriously? I just got it back from Turner." She slipped out of her desk and began walking up to the front of the class.
"Mr. Turner." He corrected. She did look rather upset, he couldn't help but soften his expression. She dropped the phone in his hand and sighed.
"I won't keep it for the week, you can have it back at the end of the day. But I don't want to see it in this class again. Clear?" He closed his fingers around the phone and placed it in his desk drawer.
Meg visibly perked up and nodded. "Got it." She turned her back on him and walked backed to her desk.
Michael sighed quietly, looking back down at the book on his own desk. A hand shot up in the middle of the room, Michael looked up through his eye lashes.
"What is it, Eve?"
"I have a question."
"Is it relevant?"
The girl opened her mouth, planning to say something, but slowly closing it again. Her hand dropped back onto the desk and she shook her head.
Michael ran his hands through his hair, looking at the rest of the students. Most of them seemed interested enough, some we're shooting glances at the clock, others were sending the odd whispered comment to their friend. Michael made a mental note to actually sleep tonight, so he could put in the effort to form a decent lesson tomorrow. He didn't become a teacher to just sit around and do nothing all day.
Michael moved down the lines of students, black blazers and red ties forming a noticeable pattern. It was hypnotising.
His eyes fell on a kid in the front row, his blazer was ruffled and his tie was undone. The fringe of his hair falling over his forehead as he rested his head on the open book. His legs were curled under his chair and his mouth was slightly open.
The bell sounded and the students started moving - packing away books and grabbing bags. The boy in the front, however, remained lifeless.
Michael stood up, crossing his arms across his chest as he watched his class leave. "Finish this chapter for tomorrow." He called over the boisterousness of the class. "And be prepared to talk about Gatsby's effect on Carraway. - Masters, remember to come and get your cell, I'm not hunting you down."
The kid was still sleeping and some kids had stopped to laugh at him, some even pulled out their phones.
"Alright, alright. Move on." Michael waved them out of the room. Vultures, he thought to himself. Once the classroom was empty, Michael stood in front of the desk for a moment, before reaching out with his foot and kicking a leg of the desk.
"Morning sunshine." He said.
The boy's head shot up and he looked around himself tiredly.
"You've been out for a while." Michael sat on the desk next to him. "I've got slackers, Ben, you're not one of them." He sighed and tilted his head to the side slightly.
Ben didn't look at Michael, quickly standing and preoccupying himself with piling up his books. "I'm sorry, I didn't sleep well last night." He glanced up at Michael quickly and headed for the door. "It won't happen again, I swear."
Ben sounded so guilty, it made Michael feel guilty for waking him. Ben had started hanging out with a tougher crowd - the kids with piercings and band stickers on their notebooks - but Ben was a good kid. He got good grades, always arrived on time. This was strange.
"Alright." Michael stated, though he looked at Ben warily. "Catch some sleep tonight, alright? Get going to your next class. If Mrs. Blake's got a problem with you being late, tell her to have a word with me." Ben nodded and hurried out the door.
Michael slipped into the seat that Ben had left empty and dropped his face onto his arms. He had a free period, he thought that he should use it to actually do some work, but he really just wanted to sleep. It was funny how he was just lecturing a kid on how to take care of himself, when Michael himself couldn't do it. He couldn't nap even if he wanted to - this free period was also Dean's free period and as if on cue, Dean walked into the room and sat down on the desk next to Michael.
"Michael, how old are you?" He asked.
Michael's voice was muffled by his arms. "Twenty-nine. Why?"
"Because you're acting like you're eighty."
Michael lifted his head. "Everyone is so full of compliments today."
"You know that's not how I meant it." Dean's expression softened slightly. "You're not acting like yourself. You've got yourself in a funk."
"A funk, Dean?" Michael scowled at him. "I'm fine. Funk free zone."
"I believe you." Dean said way too easily. Michael narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Come out with me and Garth this weekend. The Roadhouse. My treat."
Michael didn't want to go out but he thought that if he laughed and smiled at the correct moments, it might get them off his back.
"I'll think about it." He said. Dean seemed to take this as a small victory. Both men were quiet for a moment.
Dean filled the silence. "What do you think of the new gal?"
Michael looked away carefully, composing his features as he stared at the desk. A touch of her hand had made Michael feel something he hadn't felt in years. Who gave her the right to do that?
"I don't really know her." He said shortly, not daring to meet Dean's eyes.
"I think she's nice." Dean continued, "Way too classy for this place. D'you hear she's way over qualified?"
"Yeah?" Michael looked up at him now. "She might not last long here. She might get bored."
"Not if Mills has got anything to do with it. Did you see her? She's smitten."
He internally cringed at the word.
"You didn't answer my question." Dean hit Michael's chair with his foot.
"What?"
"What do your think of her?"
"I told you. I barely know her." Michael said sharply.
"Call me crazy, I thought I saw something between you two."
"Like?" Michael questioned, immediately regretting it afterwards.
"To be cliché, a spark." Dean shrugged.
"You're crazy." Michael snapped.
"I'm saying what I saw, dude." Dean replied defensively. "You've been the living embodiment of darkness for months now. You saw her and you lit up. Your eyes turned into hearts!"
Michael levelled a gaze with him that could kill a man.
"An exaggeration, maybe." Dean amended terribly. "There is nothing wrong with natural chemistry, brother. Get to know her?"
"I don't need anymore friends. I've got you and Garth, and you're both a pain in my ass." He attempted to use sarcasm to cover up his affection.
"I am sick of your 'I'm supposed to die alone' crap." Dean thought for a moment. "Some people are cut out to be alone. Like nuns. But you, you are not."
"I'm not destined to be alone." Michael argued. "I'm choosing to be alone. Big difference."
Dean threw his hands up and stood. "I give up." He walked towards the door and guilt settled in Michael's stomach.
"I'm not that much of an asshole." He called after him. "I said I'd go to Jo's, didn't I?"
Dean smiled, quickly wiping it off his face before turning. "You said you'd think about it."
"I thought about it." Michael replied, fully aware he'd regret the words coming out his mouth. "You're right, I need it. So I'm in."
Dean grinned and pointed at him. "I'm holding you to that."
Michael nodded. "I know." Dean searched his face for a brief moment, before turning and disappearing down the hall. Michael groaned and looked up at the ceiling, sending curses to a God he'd never prayed to in his life before dropping his head back onto his arms.