So after not writing for the better half of three months, I realise I have three weeks till I start my second year of a Writing course at university. The result of said realisation is this little thing. I'm not overly sure where it's going (if anywhere at all) but I do hope you enjoy it and sure do hope everything's in character. Not that we'd know what that is, seeing how she's just ABADONED us.
Anyway, please read, review and enjoy!
"Alright, Scumbags, get inside." The teacher's hand held open the paint splattered door, allowing a slow trickle of fifteen year olds access to the large, open studio. He let the glass door slam itself shut as he tried to maneuverer through the anxious teens, eventually taking root behind the desk at the front. "I want bags on the floor, money on the table. Those of you who forgot, you have till I reach you to come up with a half decent bullshi-," he coughed, "lie as to why you forgot."
The room filled with hushed snickers and muttered panic, few sleeved hands shot in the air, wiggling fingers emphasising their need for answers. The teachers eyes rolled somewhat, walking round the front of his desk and leaning against it. He scanned the class, taking in untucked shirts and apple sized tie knots. He blew air from his nose in frustration, first day back and already he's reciting the same old lines. He finds the worst example of uniform and decides to warn the whole class at once. He jabbed his finger at one lone student.
"You, child with the audacity to enter my classroom with that sham of a uniform," said child's eyes widened and her friends flinched also. "Do up your top button and tighten the knot of your tie; it's not a metaphorical noose though I'm sure you feel it is. It is rules and regulation." He smirked to himself as he caught numerous students shift as they tucked their shirts in under the table and a couple tiny hands tried to subtly tighten their ties. "Your question?"
"Oh, urm. I- er, I'm sorry, I- I can't remember."
The teacher quietly snorted, walking towards the supply cupboard. "Alright then, as I said, money on the table, if you've any preferred colour, say so now or forever hold your peace. Can't guarantee you'll get it." He gathered twenty odd A3 sketchbooks and heaved them into the studio, dropping them on the middle table, startling a couple students as he did so.
"Mr Kanda, sir, you've totally forgotten the register," came an overly familiar cry from the back tables. Kanda felt his jaw clench. You see, sometimes, though very rarely, you have the honour of getting assigned the same child throughout the years. Now, usually you'd feel some deep routed inkling of joy that alights in the cockles of your heart at the familiar tone adopted by said students. But in Kanda's case it was a tone similar to nails on a chalk board. Unappreciated and much unneeded. He remained focused on the sketchbook, sorting them into coloured piles, speaking as he did so.
"Devit, what a veritable thrill it is to have you in my class once more, now hush your ever slackened gums, if you are able, that is. I will register the class in my own time, now is your report on my desk?"
The dark haired child scowled at his teacher, crossing his arms over his chest as he spoke. "Mr Kanda, you know it's the first day back, right?" He didn't wait for a reply, instead adopting a perfectly honed sarcastic drawl, "I'm not on report anymore, new year, new start. You're hardly encouraging an improvement of behaviour from me."
"Well, you have my sincerest apologies. I must be practising for few weeks' time, when you are, no doubt, on report once more. And I'm merely speaking from experience, what's this, our fourth year together. Truly an honour." Kanda stood and started making his rounds, slip of paper and pencil in hand he walked to the right side of the room. "Now I want your name and preferred colour on the paper and your money if you have it."
Oh how the hour dragged.
Now, Mr Kanda's studio was one of two that the Art department owned. The third was found behind the frosted glass screen that only opened after home time, the very same screen the department had hidden behind 'artistically strewn' fabrics and inspirational student work. See, what the student rarely noticed was that beyond the display was the small textiles department, and often sat behind sparkly planners and numerous unthreaded bobbins, you'll find Miss Lee, the schools second textiles specialist. She liked to spend her free periods threading empty sewing machines and gorging herself on Special K bars, and this morning was no different.
But every now and again she'd walk over to the frosted screen and attempt to peer through. Of course, she'd wind up standing on the schools plastic chairs in order to get a better view and she'd cackle to herself whenever Mr Kanda would forcefully push his back against it, his attempt of a subtle 'fuck off'.
In fact, she was doing this very thing when a lone student entered her fabric laden lair.
"Miss Lee, I somehow doubt the Art department appreciates your distractions."
Lenalee jumped, her beaded necklace clacking with the action. She carefully placed her heeled boots on the floor and pulled her pencil skirt down a little, smiling at the familiar face with a chuckle.
"Oh, how you made me jump, Wisely!" She walked to her desk and glanced at her wrist watch. "What're you doing here, sweet pea, it's only twenty-to-nine. You skipping?" She asks with a thin eyebrow arched, disapproval swimming in her soft voice.
"Little ol' me?" The teen asked his eyes wide and black painted nails against his chest. "Never, Miss! I have first period free." The teen dropped his hand, walking past Miss Lee's desk, fingers rubbing the lace draped across one of the many mannequins. Lenalee watched as the boy rooted through the fabric bin and pulled a neat strip out, wrapping the thing round his head.
"Wisely, honey," she waited till the teen gave her his attention. "I may have nice clothes and false lashes, but believe you me, beneath my perfectly blow-dried hair is a highly educated brain." The boy looked down at the desk with a laugh. "I know you're meant to be in drama, young man."
"I bet you a quid you have my timetable up on your laptop," he deadpanned, eyes glaring at the pink little device. Lenalee snorted, very unladylike, as she slammed the thing shut.
"Besides the point, you should be in class."
"But—"
"No buts, Wisely. Why're you here in my decrepit little lair, rather than that luxurious remodelled Drama department, hmm?"
"Because Mr Krory sucks balls, that's fucking why!" He cried out of nowhere, fingers picking the black vanish of his nails.
"Mr Noah," she barked, tone sharp as needles. "I will not accept you talking about my fellow teachers with such disrespect." Lenalee stood and walked into the storage cupboard adjacent to her desk. She came out with cotton pads and a pink bottle, taking the plastic seat apposite the boy. "Now I will be having words with Mr Krory during break time and I will find out what happened…"
The boy threw his head back to let out a forceful sigh.
"However…" she continued, opening the cap of the pink bottle.
He rolled his head to watch her though his bangs.
"If you help me set up for class, I guess, if you do everything I ask, you can stay here." She ignored his gaping mouth in favour of passing the opened bottle and cotton pads across the table. "First things first though, no nail polish at school, sweet pea. No matter how well you pull off punk."
"Thank you, Miss Lee," he chimed, so happily, Lenalee felt she'd been professionally played. Instead of saying anything, though, she stood and walked towards the table of sewing machines. Each one she'd named after numerous film characters. She threads each of her arms through two machines and carried them over to the teen's table.
"I'll thread Shrek while you thread Stitch, okay?"
"You're so lame, Miss." He laughs, getting up in order to gather a bobbin and white thread from the trolley beside Miss Lee's desk.
"It's the bane of my life, dear child, most certainly is." She mutters, making quick work of the sewing machine and placing it back with the others. She took herself to her desk and proceeded to re-read her lesson plan, opening her laptop and entering her password. The teacher and student managed to sit in silence for few minutes before the shrill ringing of the bell disrupted it. "The countdown begins," she whispers as the echoes of Art students pass through the frosted divider.
It wasn't long before the divider screeched open and a disgruntled Art teacher pops his head through.
"Lee, stop peeking your head over my damn divider. It's hard enough training children without your mug distracting them." Kanda spews, the tiniest smirk you've ever seen on his face. "And why is trouble child number three in your classroom already?"
"Because apparently," Lenalee starts, closing the laptop as she stands, "Mr Krory sucks testacals."
The Art teacher raises a single eyebrow, adjacent eye squinting in amused confusion. He turns the humorous expression towards the student, whose busy sticking his head as far in the sewing machine as humanly possible.
"I didn't say that," he mutters.
"I think you'll find you did, sweet pea." Miss Lee sings with a wicked grin on her pink pearled lips.
"Sweet pea?" Kanda echoes.
"I said balls, Mr Kanda. 'He sucks balls', that's what I said!" He speaks up, eyes widening as he quickly corrected himself, "not in a literal sense! I'm not accusing him of anything." He was attempting to ram his head in the machine further, pretending to really struggle with the bobbin. "Just, he's so blubbery and he's always on the verge of crying. He just grinds my gears, he just sucks balls, you get me?"
Kanda looks towards the other teacher: she had a Special K bar rammed between her smiling lips. "Yeah, I really don't. Lee, you've been warned. Later," he mutters, scraping the glass door shut once more. Just like that, the small textiles room started to steadily fill with spotty, greasy sixteen year olds. Wisely dumped the sewing machine with the others and jogged to his fellow students, promptly ignoring the lame Miss Lee. She sighed as she collected the black stained cotton wool pads and nail polish remover.
"Alright, my pretties," she shouts above the teenage chatter, dropping the pads in the bin. "Welcome back, take a seat and get comfortable. I hope you had a lovely time off but you're back now and boy do I have some dastardly little tasks in store for you." Her smile made a handful of new students shudder, more familiar students laughed in response. "I have two words for you, little darlings."
They all sat in remarkable silence.
"Tie-dye. Grab your materials and some elastic bands, girls and single boy. You are in for a prehistoric treat."
An hour later found the school's students roaming the grounds, numerous articles of food between their lips as they refuelled their brains for two more hours of class. It also found a handful of teachers adorned in florescent orange vest coats, effectively in charge of, what they called, 'crowd control'.
"Children, your lips are for eating food, not other student's faces," one particularly enthusiastic teacher bellowed across the field. Slapping his knee with mirth at how fast their faces flushed scarlet.
"Lavi!" The other hissed, "you can't talk to them like that."
"And why not, Mr Walker, why can I not enforce the school rules as I'm very much being paid to do."
The other stopped, standing still as he crossed his arms and furrowed his brows. "You can enforce the rules without crippling them with embarrassment. I mean, look at them."
The two previously attached teens had separated and both found opposite patches of the field to be of absolute fascination. It made Allen cringe with second hand embarrassment just watching them.
"Gah, it makes my back cringe just looking, it's not our job to make teenage life any harder than need be."
"Jeez, you need to pull the metaphorical stick from your arse cheeks," he laughed, pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.
"And you need to put those away before an innocent child sees you, Mr Bookman, or need I contact your head of department?" He raised an eyebrow with a slight smirk. "Again."
"Har har," Lavi grumbled, pocketing the packet. "You're such a thrill to patrol with, Allen."
"Mr Walker," he corrected.
"A thrill," Lavi repeated.
To which the schools bell cried and the two teachers had a real job on their hands. Herding children into their respective pens or, as the more professional would call them, their classrooms.
"Alright everyone, rubbish in bins and off to class," Allen said to every teen he passed, clapping his hands together with the order. Half of them cooed while the other laughed. Lavi, unable to watch any longer, ushered the smaller teacher inside.
"I do believe you have a class to register Mr Walker, do you not?"
"Oh, crab cakes, you're right." He spun and started to jog inside, stopping suddenly and jogging back. "I'll keep mum about the cigarettes," he whispered, thanking the red head as he darted back inside and down the corridor.
Now, Lavi himself had a class to attend to, but unlike his proper little co-worker, he had more of a relaxed work ethic. He meandered his way down the outside paths and stood at the bottom of the field.
"Hope no-one's out here playing hooky," he said aloud, fishing through his pockets for the cigarette packet he'd been denied minutes before. He pulled his zippo from the other and lit the thing.
He did a ten minute lap of the field as he had his smoke. Content with the nicotine and lack of students outside he flicked the fag on the floor and killed it under his shoe. Strolling towards the History huts sat outside, he climbed the three steps into his own little home away from home.
These huts were paper thin; as he stood in the little two metre porch he could hear his class through the right door. Through the door to his left was Miss Lotto's class, noisy as ever, and through the door in front was their little History department tea room. He opened said door and popped in, grabbing his reading glasses and throwing his orange vest on the side. He stood in front his hut room door, popping his specs on and entering the room.
"Alright kids, not quiet fifteen minutes but I'd say I was pretty close, right?"
There was a collective groan from the more familiar students; the newer ones just looked down at their history books, unsure about how to respond to the handsome, four-eyed fuck up of a teacher.
"Right then, what're we doing? What did we end on last year, jeez, I can't remember." He pushed his glasses up his nose and ruffled his cowlicks. "Something amazingly awesome, no doubt, well, welcome back. Year elevens! Wow, how my students have all grown up!" He sniffed the air, rooting through his drawers for his lesson plan. He heard the ruffle of fabric and looked up, spotting a familiar hand in the air. "Ah, Lulu, here to save the day, no doubt!"
"The history of medicine," she said, loud and clear, propping her hands together on the table top.
"Yes!" He all but cried, "yes, that's the one, thank you, Lulu. I hope you all revised over summer." He looked at the array of blank, somewhat worried faces and laughed. "Yeah, I didn't either. But big exams this year, oh yes. The big G-C-S-E."
Silence. Awkward first day silence.
"What're we doin' today, Sir?" Came a familiar drawl, "'cause right now you're really overplaying the fumbling professor routine."
Lavi laughed. Why'd he have to have this kid again.
"Sorry, sorry. Nice to have your presence in my class, Mr Mikk. Hello. Right, I shall get on with the register, shall I?"
"Please," the boy replied.
And boy did Mr Bookman grit his teeth for the hour.
Allen didn't have a class third period. He left Mr Bookman, darting into the staff room in order to hang his orange vest on one of the few hangers, then he was back out and taking two steps at a time to get to the second floor faster.
Now the English department was one of the few on the second floor. Alongside the library, the only other people on this side of the second floor were the admin staff and head teacher. Now, that really put the pressure on keeping the little devil spawn in order. Of course, life would be so much easier if the English department head wasn't such a dickhead.
But Allen wasn't thinking all this when he burst into his classroom. What he was thinking was: where the hell are all my fucking students.
"What," he said to himself. "I've lost an entire class." He stood in silence, mouth flapping open and close. "How did I? What the hell."
He resisted the urge to look under the tables, I mean, like they'd really be under there. He spun on his foot, brushing his bangs from his face and stormed towards his department head's office. He knocked once on the door.
"What," came the ever eloquent reply. Allen had quickly learnt it was the man's way of saying: come in wonderful co-worker of mine. He all but threw the door open.
"What have you done to my class." Allen demanded..
"I beg your pardon, little runt."
"Mr Cross, sir, where is my period three class?" He spat every syllable, every word clear and almost violent with their pronunciation.
"Oh, yeah, I moved them," he hummed, ramming a finger in his ear and kicking his heels up onto his desk.
"You just… moved them, first day and…just failed to inform me this morning in the staff room." Mr Cross hummed in agreement. "Can I ask why?"
The older male said nothing, opening his desks drawer and rummaging through. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from all the shit and screwed it up, throwing it at the smaller teacher. "I gave you new jobs."
Allen clenched his jaw as he bent down to pick it up, opening it and reading the, almost, illegible handwriting. "What's this?"
"Open your eyes, boy. Your fucking jobs, now get out and do them."
And Allen did leave, for he feared if he stays in that room any longer he'd possibly commit actions so frowned upon he'd be forced to leave the school.
He didn't get back till one. He'd been gone all period three, most of period four. He'd completed the freakin' list and still somehow managed to maintain a professional exterior. He'd spent an hour and a half borrowing admin phones and telephoning numerous schools apologising on behalf of his superior. He'd ordered in department resources, printed and photocopied Mr Cross' class hand outs, not only that but also colour coded the lesson plans to save further explanation to his abomination of a department head later on in the day.
In case you hadn't realised, Mr Cross wasn't in charge of the English department, Mr Walker was. The staff had a problem, they went to Allen. Problematic students? Straight to Mr Walker's class, with only a threat of Mr Cross, you see a threat was usually all it really took to bring tears to the little shit's eyes.
Allen sat at his desk and scrubbed his eyes. He sighed and decided to cheer himself one of the few ways he knew how. Food. Pulling his bag out from under his desk, he pulled out his wallet. Pocketing the thing Allen made his way downstairs and followed the corridor to the atrium.
Now there was still ten minutes till the lunchtime bell so the kitchen staff were still setting up tables and benches. The counter was all set up though, tills out and on, food piping hot under heated lamps and smelling amazing.
He made his way across the maze of metal tables and popped his over the counter, smiling his brightest smile at the cook and fellow kitchen staff.
"Jeryy, can I please have some food." He paused, licking the corner of his lips. "Can I have a drink too? I've had such a hard day," he cried, batting his eyelids.
"Bullshit," came the voice behind him. Allen needn't look to know who it was. "You walked past the Art department window so many times. Hard day my ass, Shrimpy." Allen looked over his shoulder with a glare.
"Okay, first," he started, pointing one finger to the roof. "Stop swearing inside the school. Second," two fingers to the roof. "I have knee pains so I'm still growing. And three," I'm sure you've got it by now but three fingers to the roof. "All the frickin' photocopiers jammed and I was looking for the IT guys." He turned back to the kitchen. "Please Jeryy, I just want like, four Panini's, a coffee and set meal C. Please."
Mr Kanda huffed a laugh behind him. "Well I'll be damned, that's all you're eating?"
"Not now, Kanda, I need my mind on food right now."
Jeryy allowed it just this once, so Allen got his snacks, collected his plastic cutlery and waited for Kanda to get his apple and coffee also. The Art teacher plucked three of the others Panini's, alongside his meagre purchases, and followed the smaller up into his classroom in order to eat. A routine they'd perfected years before. Allen placed all his food at his desk, took to his seat and started eating. Kanda pulled up one of the many plastic chairs and sat opposite; placing Allen's three Panini's down, alongside his coffee and took a bite of his apple.
"How was first?" Allen choked out through his mouthfuls. Kanda groaned before taking a sip from the polythene cup.
"No-one remembered money; I took three shoes in exchange of basic writing equipment and Miss Lee decided to gawp at my class through the divider."
Allen huffed a laugh into his jacket potato. "Three shoes? What is it with school kids, the further through school they get the less equipment they bring?"
"Oh and Devit's in my class. Again."
"Oh brilliant," Allen said, smiling into his tea. "Your favourite student, what's it, third year in a row?"
"Fourth," Kanda corrected.
They both sat in comfortable silence, eating as the lunch bell rang and the corridors flooded with students. Allen stood from the desk and shut his classroom door.
"So why the hard day," Kanda spoke over the rum of his cup, "third period with the year elevens too stressful for you?"
Allen side stepped the sarcasm as he dug through his trouser pockets, pulling the scrunched up note from it and throwing it at his colleges head. The paper flew beautifully, bouncing off Kanda's head quite nicely. The Art teacher being used to such behaviour just leant down and plucked the note of the floor, peeling it apart and reading it.
"I didn't have third period," Allen fumed.
"I don't get it?"
Allen sat up straighter, "alright, so my twit of a department head moved my class to another teacher and coerced me into doing his flippin' dirty work."
"And you did it?" Kanda asked, lip sneering at the note.
"He'd moved my class, I had no choice, woe is me."
"But you planned that lesson for hours," Kanda started. "I should know I fuckin' helped, as did Lavi and Lee. Fuck, it was a fuckin' group project by the end of the night."
"Don't even go there, Pretty boy. I may cry." He screwed up one of his many greasy Panini wrappers and threw it at the other. "My life," he moaned. "I wanna teach English, not be some assholes PA, God."
Kanda snorted, standing up and walking round the desk. He leant over Allen and grabbed the man's leftover papers in one hand; standing straight he placed the other atop Mr Walker's coarse haired head. "Well, Tiny man," he started, "use some of the dazzling personality you show me and I'm sure you can tell Mr Cross to go fuck himself."
Allen swatted the man's hand from his head with a laugh, eyes closed and nose in the air. "Language, Mr Art and Design." He opened his eyes and jutted his tongue out. Kanda had disposed of the rubbish and leant against the now open doorway, flippin' the bird in reply.
"Well Mr Context and Connotations, grow a pair of balls and I needn't be so crude for you. See ya, Shrimpy." And with a wave of his hand he was gone.
Allen stared at the doorway with a small smile. A quick laugh and he was pulling his phone from his bag and dropping three people and identical text.
To: [Miss Bobbin], [Mr Art and Design], [Mr Specy and Book]
Message: [I've been persuaded to host an annual drink and recover meeting. Please attend by 17:00 (PM) or all drinks may be consumed before your arrival. Don't know about you but I need a drink after an apocalyptic first day. Woe, how I fucking miss summer. Mr C+C]
Allen heard his phone buzz a total of three times during his last period. And it took almighty willpower to put the thought to one side. His class couldn't finish soon enough, for as soon as the last student fled the classroom Allen whipped his phone out, entered his passcode and flicked through the replies.
From: [Mr Specy and Book]
Message: [Preach my brother! Gonna fuckin' smash it! Mr S/B 3]
From: [Miss Bobbin]
Message: [Whaaaaat? I've had a day of tie-dye and needle work, plus Art room peeking. Obvs best first day back but defo be there for my main bestie! Excitement over 1000! MsB xxx]
From: [Mr Art and Design]
Message: [Amen Shrimpy. MA+D]
