Disclaimer haiku: Sure, everyone thinks/ It's easy, but then they try/ And learn - it's not. Duh.
Notes: Okay. I know everyone's probably sick of these education-themed fics (and I'll be darned if this one doesn't share a setting with "Milk and Cookies"; I have food issues, clearly), but you just try sitting in my "Intro to Teaching English for Speakers of Other Languages" class for three hours straight without emerging a little warped. I mean, it's necessary and useful stuff to know, but three hours... This is poking fun at myself and my classmates, pre-service teachers all, along with some obligatory jabs at the world that, judging from our future paychecks, hates and fears us.
By the way, this fic has no ESOL component whatsoever. Thank God.
Beast took one look at the two exhausted, disgruntled teenage figures slumped at the kitchen table and, on his way to plumbing the depths of the pantry, quoted at them, " 'Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach.' "
Jean summoned enough energy to make a face and ask, "Who said that?"
"Someone who never taught." Beast paused mid-raid and gave them both a sympathetic, knowing grin over his shoulder. "A long first day, I take it."
Scott didn't bother to lift his head off the table. "We finally got them to listen, and it was still like... like pulling teeth. What's up with that?"
"You should try it," Beast said, plucking a warm can of soda from the bottom shelf, "with a two- hour lesson, a forty-five minute window, and thirty kids all demanding your complete attention."
Both teens made noises of pain.
Tucked in the far back of a shelf, behind a box of Ororo's tea and a bear-shaped container of honey that looked suspiciously congealed, Beast found a dusty but otherwise immaculate package of Twinkies. He withdrew, triumphant, and finished with, "And then multiply that by six or seven class periods."
More pain noises. Jean shuddered and said, "I don't understand how becoming instructors means the other students lose all respect for us."
"Aha!" Beast dropped his newfound prizes on the table and pulled up a chair with one hairy foot. "The r-word. A commodity that is in short supply throughout all aspects of the teaching profession, I'm afraid. As for the sudden drop in your popularity levels - well, you're on the other side of the desk now. You're the enemy. Rebellion is a given."
Her frown deepened into a look of indignance. "That's not right."
"Neither was the pittance the school board called my salary," Beast said, and hummed Aretha's immortal "Respect" under his breath while he tried to decide what to consume first.
"Hey, yeah, you were a real teacher," Scott said, raising his head at last. "Aren't there any tricks we can use to make the next class go a little smoother?"
"I can think of dozens." Beast leaned back in his chair and regarded them over the Twinkies. Two different shades of red looked back at him - the fire colors of Jean and the deeper ruby of Scott. He could remember his first day as a Bayville High teacher, watching Jean collapse on the PE field and Scott, as close to panic as Scott came, carrying her to the parking lot at a dead run.
They were kids. Just kids. Not even college students yet, technically. And how odd that they had been adults for so long already.
Beast stripped off the plastic wrapper, wadded it up and, with effortless ease, tossed it into the distant trash can. "However, this bunch of students seems to be immune to all of them."
"So what should we do?" Jean asked, with the air of a petitioner seeking a miracle.
Around a mouthful of delicious and not entirely stale cream-filled pastry that boasted no redeeming nutritious value whatsoever, Beast said, "The same thing every rookie teacher does: Hang in there."
Scott slouched a little, unimpressed. "That's helpful."
"It's how I've survived the X-Men x-perience thus far." Beast swallowed the last remnants of Twinkie and decided to take the soda on the road - there was a mountain of work awaiting him in his lab, and not nearly enough hours in the day. He rose and, modeling appropriate behavior from sheer teacher habit, pushed the chair back in.
"The X-Men x-perience," Scott repeated, one eyebrow hiking up over the black frame of his sunglasses.
"Indeed. And very, very soon my class size will be much reduced, what with our new full-time instructor." Beast gave Scott a fanged grin and a mock salute from the door. "Which reminds me, Mr. Summers, please stop by Xavier's office and get a copy of the tentative class schedule for the fall."
With that, he left, and the Institute's newest full-time instructor dropped his head back onto the table with a heartfelt groan. "Great. Jean, why don't you just knock me unconscious right now?"
"Sorry, but you're the one who wanted to skip college," she said, and eased the relative harshness of the words with a quick, soft kiss on his cheek, and an equally soft, "I think you'll be great, Scott. And in the meantime, I'm still here."
He straightened and gave her a smile that did wonders towards making a thousand butterflies swarm to life in her stomach. "Yeah. Maybe this won't be so bad after... all?"
It wasn't meant to be a question, but it became one when a new figure burst into the kitchen. Both Scott and Jean turned towards the motion, and Scott, alarmed by a long experience with sudden entrances (which so rarely boded well), asked, "Rogue?"
"Scott," the younger mutant said, slightly out of breath and pointing over her shoulder in the general direction of the garage. "They're protesting homework or somethin'. Bobby says they're gonna TP your car and -"
But Scott was already up and sprinting for the nearest exit. Rogue watched him go, slightly quizzical, and then turned back to Jean, who was sitting at the table with her hands folded neatly in front of her and an odd little smile quirking up the corners of her mouth. "What?"
"Nothing," Jean said, as outside the first sounds of a firefight began. She gave Rogue a wider, more serene version of the smile. "Just looking forward to being a student."
-end!-