Chapter Text
“Do you know anything about the new teacher?”
The question bothers me. I’m tired. I don’t want to deal with staff room drama. I stir sugar into my coffee.
“I hear he’s from the Bronx.”
“Isn’t it Brooklyn?”
“Eh, same difference.”
It’s September. Things change. They always do. Especially with Eric retiring. I don’t see why people are making a big deal out of it. It’s not like the Sun’s dying. That would be a huge talking point.
“Heard anything, Grace?”
I guess there isn’t much in this school apart from things to gossip about, so people use what they’ve got. We also get paid, I guess. Just not enough to make a point out of it. I don’t see why anyone would want to transfer here anyway. Does he want a better life? Was he fired from his last school? Is he a spy? Well, I know he’s not a spy but that would be cool. Wouldn’t it? Our own James Bond in San Francisco.
San Francisco? Weird choice. Why not stay in New York? Not like I know him to ask.
“Why did he transfer to San Francisco, of all places?” I wonder out loud. I should probably say something.
“No one knows, not even Jordan”
The room hums as I take my first sip. It’s nice. Sure, the machine measured the cream wrong and I’d probably have to fix it later, but it works. I feel warm. Good.
Through the cacophony, I hear something outside the door. Or is it more? Definitely more. They're taps. One is fast and
thunderous while the other is slow and delicate. They’re footsteps. They’re getting louder. They’re coming here.
I take another sip and look up. Jordan, our principal, is standing there with someone new, scanning the room. Dark rings under her eyes. Timing fits. New guy.
“Speak of the devil,” Ruby, based on the accent, mutters behind me.
“This is Mr. Dunne, he’ll be replacing Mr. Evans in our history division,” Jordan says sharply, as soon as she reaches the centre of the room. For someone so militant and formal, it’s strange hearing her explain something we already know. Faces don’t match reputations. They just… don’t.
“Uh, call me Dan,” Dunne says while waving. Skinny. Maybe too skinny. His other hand is shaking a little. Full head of hair. Unkempt goatee. Sweet smile. He looks about my age. Maybe younger. Good. I’ll remember that.
The man walks over to my table. I know that there’s a lot of us here but I can’t stop thinking that he’s coming over to me.
“Does anyone here know how to use that coffee machine? I forgot my thermos at home,” he asks casually. I’m the only one with coffee. Plus, I’ve mastered every setting.
“I’ll help,” I say. Of course I will.
Whilst getting up, I notice Dan taking out a container with food in it. Probably pasta. Right thickness. Right colour. Good. He eats. The slimness must be genetic. Nothing to worry about. He’s heading towards the fridge.
“You can’t use that”
“Why not?”
“It’s broken,” I point out. Dan opens the fridge, checks inside and slams it. The light flickered on him for a brief moment. Pretty. Sorry. That’s not helpful. Why did I just apologise?
“That’s pointless. Why have an expensive latte maker when you have a broken fridge?”
“I’ve been trying to get Jordan to approve it. She keeps suggesting times I’m not available. Typical.”
“Bullshit. Just call someone. Get a professional,” he replies with a soft laugh.
Right. Of course he would say that.
“What coffee?”
“What?”
“What do you want? You mentioned lattes before…”
“Americano”
“Americano it is.”
The rest of our conversation was awkward but brief. I showed him. He took notes. He asked questions. I gave answers. We left. Nothing important. I probably won’t talk to him much. Fine. That should’ve been the end of it.
I don’t like Dan Dunne. It’s a strange sensation. I normally go through phases of indifference with people. Yeah, I remember names. Departments. Small facts. Just things to keep in mind. Nothing to care about. That’s the rule. Dan Dunne should be no different.
It’s unfair. I don’t know why. Nothing specific. Just friction. He barely spends time in the staffroom and when I see him, he’s normally making coffee or putting his lunch in the recently fixed fridge. He’s either in his car or in his classroom. Quiet. Keeps to himself.
My students seem to like him. They keep on bringing him up during my lessons. Especially when it comes to trying to get out of things. They say that he doesn’t really teach. Why is he a teacher if he doesn’t teach? They say he just talks to them. He might be gathering information, because he’s a spy… No. He’s probably bad at his job. But, still. It’s an interesting pattern. They keep on trying to get me to be like him. That’s never going to happen.
I get their attention back by the end but it’s irritating nonetheless. They usually like my lessons. I like to make lessons fun, hence the beanbags and why my classroom looks like a mad scientist’s lab. It’s a good thing this term’s focused on biology. Focusing on the jars is good for swinging their attention back.
“We have a minute. You know what that means?”
“Lightning round!” chanted my students as I grabbed some beanbags from the drawer.
“What is the primary muscle for respiration?”
“Diaphragm,” Larry cried rapidly.
“Correct!” I threw a beanbag at him while asking the next question. “What is CHNOPS?”.
“Carbon, Hydrogen, Nitrogen, Oxygen, Phosphorus and Sulfur,” Abby said. Impressive. I’ve only touched on this once. It’s a shame really.
“Wrong.”
“Why?” That’s strange. She’d normally argue first.
“I didn’t ask you to name….”
“The six most essential elements for life on Earth”
“Correct” I threw a beanbag to her with a smile.
The bell rang. The kids left. Except Abby, coming closer with her beanbags. I reach for the tin.
“Mr Grace?”
“Yes, Abby?”
“I was wondering if you can do some history based stuff? I know it’s a science lesson but I enjoy it,” Abby replied.
“What do you enjoy about it?” I query as Abby searches the tin. Planet pens. Makes sense.
“Mr. Dunne, he’s cool,” Abby answered, putting the pens in her bag, “Thank you, Mr. Grace.”
I nod my head and spin on my chair as she leaves the room. I’m the cool teacher of Grover Cleveland… well I was.
I like ramen. It’s convenient and it tastes good. What’s not to love? I decided to sit by myself today. I needed to mark, so I couldn't have any distractions. Talking about distractions…
“What’s your name again?” Dan asks, walking over to me and sitting opposite. So much for being alone.
“Ryland.”
“Well, Ryland…”
Dan shuffles closer. My heart stops. What is he doing? He’s reaching his pocket… he’s an assassin… I’m going to-
Dan takes out a handful of beanbags. I let out a breath. He looks concerned.
“Some students have been throwing these around. They said that you gave them these?” Dan checks, pushing them more to my side. I lean over to take them. There’s a small distance between us. Anxiety beats at a hungry pace.
“Oh, they’re a reward system. It makes learning fun… like a game. I-” I look over to Dan, he’s cocked his head. I’m going on for too long. Help me. “What class was it?”
“7B”
“I’ll talk to them”
Dan stares at me for a few seconds.
“Good,” he says, a small smirk tugging his lips before he gets up and walks away.
I don’t like Dan Dunne. No. Not at all.