TITLE: The Quality of Darkness
SPOILERS: Anything from the series is fair game.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Drake & Josh. All are owned by Dan Schneider, et al. I am not profiting in any way except creatively.
A/N: It's a little short, but when you've reached a natural stopping point, why force it?
Chapter 4: First Contact
Over the past four weeks, Drake and Mr. Bradford had fallen into a sort of easy routine. Due to Drake's band practice and the fact that most of their gigs fell on Friday nights, the tutoring sessions had been taking place on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.
It was a Thursday – the last Thursday, if Drake had his way – and Drake was tapping the tip of his ballpoint pen to an internal beat against his notebook as he waited for Mr. Bradford to finish reading his paper on the two biggest causes of the Civil War. They had managed to work their way through the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, and the Mexican-American War during the last month. Drake, if pressed, would have had to admit that some of the stuff was kind of interesting – but not interesting enough to cost him two hours a week after school.
That's why he was hoping that this paper would be enough to satisfy Mr. Bradford and bring an end to these mandated tutoring sessions. It was bugging him, though, that the teacher was scribbling so much on his paper with a red pen. That can't be good, he thought.
Drake stopped tapping when Mr. Bradford closed the clear plastic cover on Drake's paper and set it down, looking across his desk at him. The teacher said nothing for a long moment.
Shifting uneasily in his seat, Drake broke the silence. "Well?" he asked hopefully.
Mr. Bradford sat back in his chair, twisting the red pen in his left hand and propping his chin in his right. "Frankly, Mr. Parker," he said evenly, his eyes holding Drake's, "I'm a little disappointed."
"What?" Drake asked sharply, trying and failing to keep the anger out of his voice. "Why?"
Mr. Bradford didn't seem fazed by Drake's sudden vehemence. He waited a moment, letting the fire of the young man's anger fizzle away, which it soon did, as quickly as it had flared. "Because it doesn't reflect the caliber of work I believe you're capable of doing."
Drake was incredulous, gaping at his teacher with a slightly open mouth. All he could think about was all the time he had spent working on it; he had actually cancelled his plans twice that week to finish it – something he never did. "But I worked so hard on it," he muttered, halfway to himself.
"It's not bad, Mr. Parker," Mr. Bradford said gently, trying to reassure him. "You've definitely shown improvement over your previous work. But I just think you can do better."
"What's wrong with it?" Drake asked. He really wanted to know. Most of the time he didn't care, knew that his grade reflected the minimal amount of work he put into it. But this paper was different; he had actually worked on it and it bothered him that his effort wasn't being rewarded the way he thought it should be.
"Well, for starters, the structure of your paper is weak. You start off in the introduction explaining what you're going to talk about, but then the paper seems to lose focus. It's not clear where one point ends and another one begins." Mr. Bradford watched Drake closely across his desk, could see him slowly sinking into his chair. "Plus, your supporting evidence is weak, you fail to adequately cite your sources, and your conclusion doesn't effectively summarize what you've talked about."
Drake waited for him to say more and when he didn't, asked sarcastically, "Is that all?" He knew he sounded shrill, but he couldn't help it. He also knew what Mr. Bradford was going to say next and braced himself for the inevitable.
"I want you to work on it over the weekend, using my notes as a guide," Mr. Bradford said and he saw Drake's jaw tighten. "Have it for me at our next session next Tuesday."
Drake's mouth fell open again. "I was kinda hoping that we could stop with the tutoring. I mean," he said, gesturing with his hands, "I'm doing okay, right?"
Mr. Bradford smiled slightly. "Yes, you're doing okay, Mr. Parker," he replied. He gave Drake a serious look. "But I would hope that after all the work you've been putting in, you'd want to do better than just okay."
Drake had to admit that he was getting a little bit of satisfaction out of knowing that he was getting a grade higher than a D for once. "Yes, sir."
"Give me two more weeks. Four more sessions," Mr. Bradford said. "If you still want to quit after that, we can talk about it." He raised his eyebrows. "Okay?"
Not really, Drake thought to himself. But he said grudgingly, "Two more weeks, huh? I guess that would be alright."
"Great," Mr. Bradford said, standing. He picked up Drake's paper, walking around his desk to hand it to him. "You're a smart kid, Mr. Parker," he said evenly, looking down at him. "If you'd only put as much energy into your schoolwork as you do into your social life, I have no doubt you'd be a straight A student."
Drake reached for the paper, wondering briefly how Mr. Bradford knew anything at all about his social life. But he brushed the thought away. "Yeah, well," he said, stuffing the paper in his backpack as he stood up, "I'll leave the straight A's to my brother. I'd just like to graduate." He favored the teacher with a self-deprecating smile.
Mr. Bradford smiled back. "Well, I think you're well on your way," he said. "As long as you keep working hard," he added with a wink.
"I'll do my best," Drake said.
"I hope so." Mr. Bradford was watching him closely and it was starting to make Drake a little self-conscious.
"Well," Drake said, breaking the tension and making a move towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow in class."
"Have a good night," Mr. Bradford said, letting Drake pass.
Drake was to the door when he heard Mr. Bradford's voice behind him. "Do you need a ride home, Mr. Parker?"
Drake stopped, turning to face his teacher. As a matter of fact, he did need a ride; that morning Josh had told him that he needed the car that afternoon to go to work right after school – Crazy Steve was on vacation and Helen had asked him to cover his shift. But looking at the man in front of him, he was hesitant to admit it. "Well," he began.
Mr. Bradford cut him off, saying nonchalantly, "The only reason I ask is because I have to meet someone on that side of town in" – he looked at his watch – "thirty minutes and I don't want to leave you waiting here by yourself after school hours."
Drake thought it over. The guy seemed sincere; besides, he had given him a ride home once before and it had been alright. He shrugged, "Okay," he said. "Thanks."
"No problem," Mr. Bradford said, going back to his desk and gathering up his things.
They walked out together and Drake waited as Mr. Bradford checked the doors to make sure they were locked. As they walked to the teachers' parking lot, Drake spotted Mr. Bradford's Suburban parked at the end of the first row; he had had the windows tinted, he noticed, since the last time he'd given him a ride. He mentioned as much to Mr. Bradford.
"Yeah," Mr. Bradford said, laughing easily. "This southern California sun is wreaking havoc on my upholstery."
"Where did you live before?" Drake asked, making conversation.
"Minnesota," Mr. Bradford answered quickly.
"They don't have sun in Minnesota?" Drake asked jokingly.
Mr. Bradford gestured to the sky. "Not like this," he said, then changed the subject.
The drive to Drake's house passed in casual conversation; the two were talking about music. When Drake told him that he liked Eric Clapton, Mr. Bradford laughed.
"What's so funny?" Drake asked.
Mr. Bradford shook his head. "Look in the console."
With a curious look, Drake reached to his left and pressed the latch on the center console. When the lid popped up, he looked inside, his eyes widening. "No way," he said, reaching in and pulling out a stack of CDs. Two of the first five were Eric Clapton albums. When he got to the sixth one in the stack, Drake couldn't contain his excitement. "You've got 24 Days?" he asked incredulously, casting a sideways glance at Mr. Bradford and seeing the man grin widely. "I've been looking all over for this one! Where'd you get it?" He flipped it over, his eyes scanning the back cover.
"I saw him in concert a couple years ago," Mr. Bradford said. "They were selling copies of all his CDs there." He looked over at Drake and motioned to the CD with his head. "Look inside," he instructed as he turned his eyes back to the road. They were closing in on Drake's street and he turned on his blinker.
Drake did as instructed; his mouth fell open. "It's autographed," Drake said reverently, touching the signature lightly with his fingertips.
"Pretty cool, huh," Mr. Bradford said, turning onto Drake's street.
"Yeah it is," Drake said, his eyes still on the CD. He didn't even notice when Mr. Bradford maneuvered the SUV next to the curb in front of his house.
Putting the vehicle in park, Mr. Bradford turned in his seat to look at Drake. "Keep it," he said, smiling.
Drake snapped his head up, looking at the teacher with wide eyes. "No," he finally said, placing the CD reluctantly on top of the stack and putting the stack back in the console. "No, I-I couldn't."
"Take it," Mr. Bradford insisted, reaching into the console and pulling out the CD. He held it out to Drake. When Drake didn't take it, he said, "Go on. I can see that it means more to you than it does to me anyway."
"How about I just make a copy of it and then give it back to you?" Drake asked tentatively, a little unsure about accepting something so valuable from a teacher.
Mr. Bradford chuckled. "Or," he suggested, "you make a copy, give the copy to me, and keep the original for yourself."
"But…" Drake protested.
"It's either that or you don't get it at all," he teased, smiling as he wiggled the CD in front of Drake's face.
Drake finally relented. "Fine," he said, taking the CD from him. He looked Mr. Bradford in the eyes. "Thank you," he said sincerely.
"You're welcome," the teacher replied, resting his right hand on Drake's left shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze, his thumb making small circular motions.
The air inside the vehicle suddenly seemed heavier and Drake quickly reached for the door handle, a vague tremor traveling up his spine. "See you tomorrow, Mr. Bradford," he said, sliding out of the Suburban and standing on the curb.
"Don't forget about that paper," Mr. Bradford reminded him.
"I won't," Drake said. He held up the CD. "Thanks again." He closed the door with a heavy thud.
As he walked towards his front door, it didn't even occur to him to wonder how Mr. Bradford remembered after a month exactly which house was his.
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