After a lunch break full of Taylor Swift discussions, Mona horror stories, and an unexpected bond formed over shared playlists and petty educational trauma, the staff at Columbus North High School reluctantly returned to their classrooms like the Avengers after shawarma—full, emotionally tangled, and semi-ready to take on another chaotic afternoon.
Andrew Clarke adjusted his ID lanyard like a tie and gave his husband, Daniel Fields, a quick peck on the cheek before heading back to the guidance office.
"Brace yourself," Daniel said, watching their friends disappear back into their classrooms like soldiers into war zones. "It's only two more hours."
"That's how they measure time in detention," Andrew muttered, already juggling a folder full of scheduling conflicts and student mood swings.
As Andrew settled back into his guidance office, the phone rang. The caller ID glowed with the name: Cheryl Darnell, a parent he had spoken to twice this semester.
He sighed, clicked the receiver, and put on his best "I'm listening and not internally screaming" voice.
"Hello, this is Mr. Clarke, Guidance Department."
"Oh, hi," came Cheryl's chirpy-yet-concerned voice. "I'm so sorry to call again, but it's about Elena, my daughter?"
"Yes, of course," Andrew replied, already pulling up Elena's academic file.
"She's really struggling in her Biology class," Cheryl said in a tone that suggested she was about to drop something heavy. "And I mean… it's Mona."
Andrew didn't even flinch. "Yes. Go on."
"She said Mona stared at her for fifteen seconds without blinking when she asked for clarification about meiosis. Like an owl, Mr. Clarke. An owl with a grudge."
Andrew bit the inside of his cheek. "I understand. Elena's been a strong student in all her other subjects."
"She loved Biology last year! But now she's crying at mitochondria."
Andrew scribbled a note. "Would she be interested in switching teachers?"
"Yes! I mean, no offense to the school, but I'd rather her learn about DNA from YouTube than sit through another class where her questions are met with scientific riddles."
"I'll begin the process," Andrew said warmly. "We want her to feel safe and supported. Even when chromosomes are involved."
Cheryl sighed in relief. "Thank you, Mr. Clarke. You're a gem. Also—have a great day. I hope you're not in Mona's class."
"Oh, no," Andrew said with a faint chuckle. "Just her orbit."
Meanwhile, down the hall in Room 119, Kat was in her element. A CPR manikin lay flat on a table, surrounded by a group of curious students who had just finished giggling about whether the manikin's eyebrows looked like their principal's.
"All right, folks," Kat said, adjusting her healthcare polo like a game show host, "today we're learning how to save lives. So, no pressure. Except literally. On the chest."
She dropped to her knees next to the manikin and positioned her hands. "Two inches deep, 100 to 120 beats per minute. If you need a rhythm in your head, I recommend… 'Stayin' Alive.'"
One student raised his hand. "Can we use 'Bad Blood' by Taylor Swift instead?"
Kat's eyes sparkled. "Yes. But you better keep that beat flawless."
Next door in Room 212, Maria was back in Spanish mode, circling the word "imperfecto" on the whiteboard like she was sketching a beautiful spell.
"Okay, chicos y chicas," she said, "today we're talking about the imperfect tense. When you want to describe things in the past, things that used to happen, you use the imperfect."
She scribbled examples across the board:
Yo caminaba a la escuela todos los días.
Ellos jugaban al fútbol cada fin de semana.
"Think of it like… a flashback in a telenovela," she said. "It's dramatic. It's ongoing. It's not over yet. Just like your homework."
Students snorted.
"I want you to gather in groups," she added, "and write three sentences using the imperfect tense. Make it juicy. I want a drama arc. I want scandal. I want someone who used to be in love with a baker."
As the room buzzed into life, Maria walked among the clusters of chatter—until she noticed something odd: a student slipping a JUUL into their pocket like it was a magic wand.
Maria narrowed her eyes. "¿Qué es eso?" she asked, pointing.
The student blinked. "Uh… un bolígrafo electrónico?"
Maria raised a perfectly sculpted brow. "¿Un bolígrafo que hace humo y huele a mango? ¿Estás bromeando?"
The student blanched.
"¿Quieres activar la alarma contra incendios? ¿O que venga el director bailando con el extintor?" she said, hands on hips.
"...no."
"¡Entonces no vapees en el pasillo, por el amor de Taylor Swift y las reglas escolares!"
The class erupted into laughter. Maria held her ground like a general guarding the border between sanity and teen nonsense.
At the same time, Daniel passed Maria's room just in time to hear "¡por el amor de Taylor Swift!" and made a mental note to add that phrase to his vocab cheat sheet.
He poked his head in, caught her eye, and gave her a thumbs-up.
Maria called out, "Handled. Just another day at telenovela high."
As the clock ticked toward the end of the school day, Andrew wandered down to check on the classrooms, bumping into Daniel near the vending machines.
"She said her daughter's been owl-stared by Mona," Andrew whispered.
"Classic Mona," Daniel replied. "I once saw her stare at a lab skeleton because it was 'too smug.'"
They passed Kat's room, where students were dancing to 'Stayin' Alive' while practicing chest compressions, and down the hall, a kid dramatically whispered "Yo amaba a Mariana... pero ella me traicionó" to another student for their Spanish dialogue.
Daniel chuckled. "This school is a circus."
"And we're the ringmasters," Andrew said.
"I'd rather be the hot trapeze guy," Daniel replied, slipping his arm around Andrew's waist. "But sure, let's run the show."
And so, with laughter echoing down the halls, a CPR dummy getting CPR'd to Taylor Swift, a student almost setting off the smoke detector with peach-flavored bad decisions, and Andrew mid-way through plotting another schedule change to avoid Mona's educational reign of terror, the afternoon marched on.
Chaotic. Petty. Beautiful. Just another day at Columbus North High.