Michael woke to something chirping. What was that?
He became aware of his stiff fingers, squashed between his body and the couch pillows. He wiggled them to wake them up a bit and he cracked open an eye lid. Alright - he was in his apartment. Why was there a cricket in his apartment? He lived on the third floor for crying out loud.
That's when it clicked: His phone. His usual alarm was set to the tune of an AC/DC song, but the second one - his backup in case he didn't hear the first - was programmed to the chirp of crickets.
Shit. He'd slept in.
Wobbling, he threw himself up off the couch. His shirt twisted around his body and his boxers were sitting low on his hips. He knew he fell asleep on his couch way more often than any man should, but he preferred it to sleeping in his room. It was too lonely, and his bed was too big.
He finally made it to his phone and turned the alarm off. He also realised that he had exactly seventeen minutes until his first class started. There was no way he was going to make it.
The rest of the morning was cloudy. Michael managed to get together a not clean, but close to it, outfit. Before brushing his teeth and dragging a wet comb through his hair.
Of course he had to slam every red light, a small traffic jam and a train on the way to school. His car was the only one to hear the profanities that fell out his mouth.
By the time he arrived, first period had been in for almost half an hour. He practically ran through the halls, keeping an eye out for Mills - or even worse, Dean. Michael hadn't been late in years, and he knew he would not pass up the opportunity to gloat. He assumed Dean was hung up elsewhere, because Michael made it to class undetected.
He prepared himself, ready to walk into a classroom full of chaos. After this, he couldn't get anyone into trouble for being late for a good week or so. He pushed his door open, not bothering to think it strange that it was already closed.
"Okay, I'm running a little late but-" The rest of the sentence was sitting on his lips, his voice raised so it was heard across the noise of the classroom but he stopped when he was met with silence.
Everyone was sitting with their heads in their books, that was until they looked up at Michael, slightly astonished looks on their faces. At the front of the class stood Samantha Riggs, her bright eyes alight with surprise.
For a brief second, Michael thought he walked into the wrong room. Ignoring the fact that there was a picture of himself and his family on the desk sitting behind her, or that one of his jackets was draped over the back of the chair. Every student and the teacher were staring at him as if he was unexpected, he glanced behind him at the door, as if thinking about turning and walking back out of it.
"I'm sorry," Samantha spoke after a moment, "When you weren't here after about fifteen minutes, Principle Mills asked me to watch them for a bit. My class is working on something, it wasn't a problem."
It took Michael a second to realise that she was apologising. Her eyes were apologetic, probably misunderstanding Michael's silence for anger because she apparently took over his class.
The students' eyes bounced between the two.
"No, no it's cool." Michael shook his head a little. "It was totally my fault - I'm not usually late."
Samantha smiled sympathetically, though it looked like she didn't quite believe him. This sent irritation trickling up Michael's spine, but before he could say anything else, Samantha had turned away from him.
"We were just finishing off the latest chapter." She turned her eyes on Michael again. "I should get back to my class, since I'm no longer needed." She smiled at him again - Michael soon realised that her polite expression was just a mask. There was far too much emotion behind her eyes.
"Sure," Michael replied, "And thanks - I owe you one."
"I'll remember that." She gave him that smile again before disappearing through the door, closing it gently behind her. Michael let out a small breath, leaning on the podium at the front of the room. Looking over, he saw his students watching him with strange expressions.
"Mr Cohen, is that the same suit as Friday's?" Ava Wilson asked, and Michael looked down. He pulled at his jacket, inspecting the shirt underneath. His tie was red. Friday's had definitely been blue.
"No." He said proudly. "No it isn't."
He looked up at Ava, smiling widely but she just shook her head.
Looking back, Michael decided he had a pretty typical High School experience. He played for the school football team, wore an Eagles jacket in the halls, smoked cigarettes beneath the bleachers and he always managed to have a pretty girl on his arm. His teenage years weren't exactly perfect - his home life saw to that - but it could have been a lot worse. He wasn't getting thrown into lockers or getting his head stuck down the toilets.
He found it odd that he'd thrown himself into a career that had him bound to school forever. This seemed even more prevalent when he walked into the teacher's lounge at lunch, looking around for his friends. Near the back, Garth waved at him, while Dean kept his head down, a tray of food sitting neglected at his elbow.
So Dean was pissed at him. This day was just getting better. Michael pulled out a chair and sat, Garth eyed him, his hands wrapping around a sandwich that looked way too big for him. "I was thrown off when I didn't find you surrounded by papers this morning." He smirked. "I missed your tax accountant look."
"Hilarious." Michael retorted, running a hand through his hair. "I slept through my alarm."
Dean looked up, noticing Michael's rumpled appearance. "Some of the guys downstairs think you've had a one night stand."
"Me?" Michael lifted his eyebrows. "A one night stand?"
"It's not that far-fetched." Garth said, muffled by the amount of sandwich he had just crammed into his mouth. "You're young, single. Kids have wild imaginations. Horny, wild imaginations."
Michael laughed. "I can't remember the last time I had a one night stand."
"Maybe that's your problem." Garth muttered, and Michael raised an eyebrow at him, biting his tongue around an offensive retort.
"Can't get laid if you don't come out." Dean's eyes slid back to the newspaper he was reading. Michael could take the cold shoulder from a lot of people, but it was different with Dean. Probably because he knew he wasn't easy to piss off.
"Dude, I'm sorry." Michael leaned onto the table, doing his best to replicate his younger brothers puppy-dog look. "I said I'd go and I dropped the ball - tell me what I can do."
Dean's eyes lifted to meet Michael's. "Alright, I'll tell you. You're coming out with us on Friday, and you're buying. Don't do us any favours, I want you to wanna hang out with us. Like the good old days."
"The good old days?" Michael repeated. "Dean, that was like, a few months ago."
Dean shrugged. "This is your last chance. Blow this, Cohen, and there's gonna be hell to pay. You got me?"
Michael glanced at Garth who was looking at him in an 'uh-oh, you're in trouble' kind of way, but Michael nodded.
"I got you."
Dean closed the newspaper, that's when Michael knew he was forgiven - even if only temporarily.
"Where's your lunch?" Dean questioned.
Michael blinked down at the empty table in front of him. "I dunno - I guess I didn't bring one?"
Dean shook his head and sighed quietly to himself.
"So how late were you? Mills was freaking out - something about an accident on the freeway."
"Passed it, it wasn't me though." Michael replied, "I got here a while after first bell."
Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Jeez. What did your kids do for all that time?"
Michael looked down, trying to hide is interest. "The new girl covered me - what's-her-name."
"Samantha?" Garth supplied, and Michael absolutely hated the shiver that accompanied those three syllables. "I've got a few kids who're taking her classes. They love her - can't get enough."
"I know what you mean. They were silent when I walked in." Michael narrowed his eyes, unable to stop himself. "I mean my kids are good, but they're not that good. There's no way they found Gatsby that interesting."
Dean fought with himself for a minute, before speaking up. "I got Charlie to do a little research-"
"Dean..." Garth warned, his voice was low and rather threatening.
"I couldn't help it." Dean said defensively, "Who decides they want to teach high school in Houston? Unless they're from here?"
Michael and Garth shared a look. Dean went on.
"Exactly. So I got Charlie to dig up some dirt on her."
"And what?" Garth asked.
"She's got nothing." Dean's eyes widened. "She got her diploma. Masters in History, then went on to study education. But that's it. No birth certificate, no criminal record, not even a transcript. It's like she appeared as soon as she enrolled at college."
"That's impossible." Michael leaned on the table in front of him. "How could she get into college without a high school transcript?"
"It ain't possible." Dean tilted his head. "So either she got into the system and deleted the records herself or she got someone else to do it for her."
"Hold up," Garth said, "This isn't hacking into someone's twitter account, this is official government records. How many people can do that?"
Dean huffed a laugh and shook his head. "Including Charlie? Three or four."
"Maybe you're getting ahead of yourself." Michael said, hoping to add some logic to the topic. "Maybe it's a glitch?"
"Hell of a glitch, man. To delete twenty-odd years of someone life?" Dean questioned. Neither of them had an answer. Michael watched him, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach.
"You're not letting this go, are you?" He asked. Dean shook his head.
"Nah, she's a challenge. I like a challenge." Dean replied. Garth just groaned half-heartedly. Michael kept quiet after that. He knew it was best if he kept her as far away from him as possible. Especially since Dean was getting an expert hacker to unravel the mystery that was Samantha Riggs.