I wrote this on Tumblr a few months back and somehow never got around to posting it here. Anyways, I live for American public school teacher Jeanne.
"Woodpeckers fight with woodpecker pride!
We'll keep on pecking 'til the day we die!
And that's why at DHS we all shout
Every green and gold day is a woodpecker day!"
Melody Patterson groaned inwardly as she finished leading the student body in their school's alleged "fight song". The students of Duke Senior High School were forced to sing it on the first day of school every year, and every year the senior elected to lead them had the privilege of watching the faces of the freshman class morph from unadulterated terror to expressions of those waiting to be informed that they were being Punk'd.
According to legend, the third and fourth lines had once rhymed. But at a football game in the 80s, the head cheerleader had shown up drunk, stumbled through the song at halftime before passing out under the bleachers, and the lyric alteration had stuck. Last year there had been an online petition going around to "change the song to literally anything else" (one of the student suggestions had just been a video link to a 20-year-old infomercial).
As Melody descended from the stage to rejoin the newly-minted seniors, her eyes swept over the line of faculty members strategically positioned to ensure nobody could escape the world's saddest pep rally. "Somebody's missing…"
Vice Principal Floyd was unmistakable with her perm straight out of an 80s teen movie (not a good look on a woman now in her late fifties). Mr. Pittman's fantastically large nose would identify him on any police lineup. There was only one possibility. "I guess rumors were really true," Melody thought. "Mr. O'Reily never made it back from Vegas."
Exactly what had befallen their former European History teacher had been a popular topic of discussion among the student body over the summer. One story was that he had suffered a complete psychotic break and was now making his living as an Elvis impersonator by day and gigolo by night. However, the dominant theory seemed to be that the mob had finally caught up to him, supported by the fact that a fake Nevada ID with his photo and the name "Carl Blevins" had since been discovered in his classroom.
Indeed, the only thing people were even more curious about was who had been hired to replace their clearly ill-fated instructor. According to Melody's parents, the new teacher had been brought on at the very last minute, only a few days before school had started. Nobody even knew her name, and thanks to a yet-to-be-caught student hacker, everyone's schedules just read "Voldemort" where teachers should be.
Wait, there was someone new, at the back of the auditorium. Melody strained to get a better look, but at that moment, the first bell of the year rang. 4,300 students with nine to twelve years of Pavlovian conditioning rose as one and began making their way to class, and Melody became primarily occupied with not being trampled.
The morning passed in a blur. At lunch, Melody tried asking around to see if anyone had been in a class with the new teacher yet. The clearest response she got was from a junior whose eyes lit up the moment she heard Melody's inquiry. "Professor Jeanne?" the girl gushed. "She's all I've ever wanted in a teacher! I can't really describe what she's like though, you know? You're so lucky you have her 7th period, I'd love to be able to end my day with her!"
By the time that year's AP European History students entered the classroom at 2:45, there was an amount of anticipation in the air that Melody had only previously felt at a midnight screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. And yet… the classroom was empty. With that tense uncertainty that can only be found among teenagers who have not seen each other for almost three months abruptly being forced back into another year of questionable state-sanctioned "education", the fifteen students nevertheless began the time-honored tradition of racing to acquire their first-choice desk.
Finally, after five minutes of taking in the somewhat minimalist classroom (at least Professor Jeanne didn't seem to be a fan of those god-awful "positive reinforcement" posters that looked like they were made by a middle schooler in 1999 Photoshop), the students heard the telltale click of heels on tile heading for their classroom. Every head in the room swiveled towards the door in almost comical synchronization as it slowly opened.
The first words they heard their new teacher speak were, "Shit, that was the late bell," followed by, "That's what I get for going all the way out to the Gates," all in a polished accent that did not match detention-worthy profanity or a patron of what Melody assumed was The Gates of Hell. More accurately, these statements came from beneath a scarlet motorcycle helmet that matched a clearly designer leather riding suit.
Before anyone could speak, the woman reached up and effortlessly swept off her helmet. Melody felt a gasp escape her mouth as a waterfall of platinum blonde hair fell freely down the woman's back. Her ensemble was rounded out with makeup so flawlessly applied that Melody's inner actress squealed. No way this woman was a teacher.
"Well now," the blonde woman said, setting her helmet down on her desk. "You all would be…" She reached into a drawer and retrieved a class roster, flipping through it to the final page. "Ah yes, advanced placement." Raising her eyebrows at the assembled students, she noted, "Smaller group than I was expecting. They stuck me with almost thirty of you in 4th." She sighed. "Just as well, I suppose. Hopefully you all live up to the name."
At this point, Melody risked raising her hand. "Excuse me, ma'am, but are you our teacher?"
The woman stopped, looked Melody over with an expression that Melody hoped was approval, and faced the rest of class. "That's right, I haven't introduced myself," she said, turning to the whiteboard. Plucking up a red marker, she scrawled "Professor Jeanne" across most of the surface in flowing cursive. "This, or simply 'Professor', are the only names you will address me by. Anything else, and I will ignore you." Before anyone could respond, Professor Jeanne continued.
"I looked over your textbook for about twenty minutes before deciding its content was complete rubbish. As such, you will never see it this year, so I don't see any need to waste time handing them out. I daresay I have a better understanding of European history than any half-delirious septuagenarian college professor, anyhow."
Melody was vaguely aware of whispering coming from two rows behind her as she watched Professor Jeanne continue setting up the classroom. Despite being across the room from the source, Professor Jeanne froze from unpacking a box of classroom decorations (was that an actual gun? No, it couldn't be, and it looked to be about 500 years old to boot) and stalked up to a snickering jock whose face immediately fell.
"And if I hear one more comment from you about my ass this year, Mr. Albano, I think we can surely find a way to put yours to work in detention." She smirked, voice lowering. "Is that clear?"
The boy nodded, now looking much less pleased with himself.
"Lovely." Professor Jeanne crossed back to the front of the classroom in a manner that Melody could only describe as a strut. "Now then, the curriculum I was given says I am to start with the dawn of Ancient Greece. Between all the divine adultery and blatantly incorrect science being spouted off by glorified cult leaders, I suppose we could note that humanity really hasn't changed all that much."
Melody had to physically stop herself from grinning. She wasn't quite sure what Professor Jeanne was doing teaching at this school, but she had a feeling they were all in for a very memorable year.