Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me.

Arthur swallowed. The teenagers in the room looked surly, distrustful. An air of hostility was hanging in the air. He moved towards the front of the class, his mind racing. Tom...what would Tom have said?

Suddenly, a voice spoke. "You're not our teacher, right?"

Arthur felt himself bristle slightly. Who did this kid think he was?

"Don't speak to me like that!" He snapped, and felt himself recoil as he did so. The student he'd addressed shrank back slightly, then leaned forward.

"I was asking a question!" he demanded. "Mr Sargeant is not here, and you are! So you must be our teacher! And I don't want you!"

Arthur blinked. When did students think they could speak that way to the Vice Principal? He glared, and could feel the tension in the room beginning to increase.

"Just remember who you're talking to," he said, feeling himself bristle. "I'm the Vice-"

"We know who you are!" A female student sitting at the front, spoke up. "We know you're the Vice Principal! We've all seen you, wandering round the corridors, giving out detention slips! But do you know anything about music? Do you know anything about what we need to learn?"

"I bet you don't!" Another student at the back hollered. "You just spend all day sitting in your fancy office!"

"Yeah, making up new rules to bother people with!"

Arthur blinked. He could feel himself beginning to flush scarlet. Why did he ever agree to the promotion? he thought, bitterly. Being a VP meant added hours and added stress and too much paperwork and not enough time with the students and forgetting what you'd started training to teach for. This was a mug's game, he thought, feeling his general unease increase with the tension in the room. He bit his lip. He was losing control of the situation. The only thing for it was to go to Cobb, tell him he couldn't do it, and get a sub in. That way, he could retreat back to the-

"I bet you don't even like music!"

Arthur blinked. His head turned towards the student who'd blurted out. He was a lean, rangy boy, with long legs stuffed uncomfortably behind the desk. He looked at Arthur, defiance on his face.

"Would you care to repeat that?" Arthur's tone was pleasant. The student blinked.

"I said, I bet you don't even like music!" The teenager shrugged his shoulders. Arthur looked at him, and smiled.

"You're right," he said, softly. "I don't."

A ripple of derisive laughter echoed round the room. Arthur looked at them.

"I don't know anything about music." His voice was soft, but it had a commanding edge to it. "I don't know whether the Pixies' Surfer Rosa is better than Doolittle; Whether Trent Reznor is more of a legend than Kurt Cobain; why Metallica are still going; whether the Strokes were the saviours of music; whatever happened to the Smashing Pumpkins and why Courtney Love still thinks she has a career. Yeah, you're right. I know nothing about music. Nothing except about Alternative rock, metal, grunge, indie, oh, and a little bit of classical. Anyone here want to know who would win in a fight between Wagner and Mozart? Or between Tori Amos and PJ Harvey. Or why there are no good white rappers. Don't try and tell me you think Eminem doesn't suck. You want to hear rap music? Listen to Straight Outta Compton. That's rap music."

Stunned silence filled the room. Every single student was looking at Arthur. He leaned back, and put one hand on the desk, and smiled. A sudden sigh filled the room as the female students caught sight of his dimples.

"ok," he said, his tone still pleasant. "I think I've established I know nothing about music. Now, how much do you know? And specifically, how much about Faure's Requiem, which I believe is your set study piece? Can somebody distribute the manuscripts? Let's look at the interpretation - what have you learned about the tone and dynamics of this piece?"

The students shifted. "Um, we haven't," one commented.

"You haven't?" Arthur's face creased in concern. "OK, what have you learned?"

"Well, Mr Ogilvie-" one of the ruder students blushed as he addressed him by his title - "Mr Sargeant thought it wouldn't show up in our exam-"

"I'm sorry," Arthur interrupted. "Its the set piece." He smiled again. "But we've got time. First, we need to listen to the piece - you have to learn its rhythyms, its structure. Then we can move onto analysing it. Of course, you'll also have to be preparing your own compositions as well."

A hand went up. "Mr Ogilvie?"

"Yes?"

"Can you-" the boy blushed. "Can you compose a piece on the guitair?"

Arthur started to grin. "Of course. If its good enough for Jimmy Page, its good enough for the examiners!"

"Mr Ogilvie?" A female student called out. He turned to her. "Yes?" he spoke kindly, glossing over her rudeness to him earlier. She blushed.

"Can you-" she paused. "Can you play the guitair?"

Arthur shrugged, modestly. "I've been known to dabble..."

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