Chapter Text
A loud crash sounds from across the room and Ronan sighs.
Playtime for the kids usually provides Ronan with some downtime - check e-mails, text Gansey profanities under his desk, that kind of thing. All he has to do is make sure the kids don’t kill each other or set the room on fire or some shit, all of which would be pretty hard to do in the super bright, almost too safe kindergarten classroom. Sometimes he engages with them, pretends to lose game after game of Memory or Go Fish or whatever, but still. Either way, playtime is a pretty chill part of the day, but this year he already has some problem kids. Well, one problem kid in particular. Six weeks into the new school year and he’s already had to have the “respectful treatment of other people’s toys” conversation with little Nathan Parrish. Like, three times.
Sure enough, when Ronan looks up he sees Nate standing next to a downed plastic kitchen set, giggling his fuckng head off. Damn, the kid is cute. It’s always the cute ones with the bubblegum laughs and the floppy curls who turn out to be the biggest pains in the ass. Ronan has really been hoping that he would be able wait until parent-teacher night to talk to the kid’s parents - he hates having to call parents in to discuss their kids’ shitty behavior. He isn’t great at feigning formality, and he really isn’t interested in it either, but parents want to know that their toddlers are safe in the hands of a kind, respectful teacher. Not that Ronan isn’t all of those things, because he takes his job very seriously in that regard, but kids don’t care about that crap. Parents are no fun. Kids just want a teacher who tosses stuffed animals at students with their hands up in lieu of calling on them, and who talks to them like they’re equals. Even at five years old, the fastest way to ensure they won’t like you is to treat them like they don’t know shit. Ronan understands that. Ronan is way better with kids than with adults.
Except Nate is apparently determined to have his parents in before the conferences, and subsequently frustrate Ronan beyond belief. The tiny jerk is surrounded by upset five year olds, and this is the fourth time he’s done something like this, and that’s not even including all the tiny disruptive shit he does during class every day. Ronan very happily adheres to the kindergarten teacher standard of “three strikes and you’re out,” which means it’s time to call in Nate’s parents. Damn.
“Come on, man, we’ve talked about this,” Ronan says when he arrives at the scene of the crime. He picks up the toppled mini kitchen and directs Nate to go stand by his desk while he calms the remaining distressed kids.
When he gets to his desk a few reassurances later, Nate is sitting on the floor, tying his own shoelaces together. Ronan decides to ignore this, hope he isn’t practicing to try that on someone else, and he kneels down next to him on the carpet.
“Hey man. You wanna tell me why you thought it would be fun to push the kitchen over?”
Nate blinks up at Ronan. “Why are you bald?”
Ronan raises an eyebrow. Okay, so he does miss some of the retort options that came with not working with children, but this is probably for the best. There are all kinds of nuances to speaking professionally that Ronan would ignore anywhere else and then probably get into trouble, whereas at least here there are very definite rules about what you can and can’t say to a five year old. So, instead of swearing or saying “because your hair looks stupid,” Ronan says, “My head isn’t bald, it’s shaved, and I like it that way. Why aren’t you bald?”
Nate giggles that cute laugh and Ronan feels his resolve crumble a little. The kid just looks so much like Ronan’s younger brother did when he was this young, only with brown hair and eyes instead of blond and blue. Still adorable. Stay strong, Lynch.
“You said you aren’t bald! My hair is longer than yours because I hate haircuts!” Ronan nods very seriously, as though haircuts are a worthy enemy, but then the kid continues, “I don’t think Mommy likes it like this. People always say I look like Daddy, and Mommy and Daddy don’t love each other anymore.”
Yikes. Ronan knows his parents aren’t together - this is the kind of shit they tell teachers who have to meet with separated parents for the conferences in two weeks - but still. Big fucking difference between knowing a kid’s parents are divorced and hearing the kid in question say “Mommy and Daddy don’t love each other anymore.” Okay, time to regroup.
“Those are some pretty interesting insights, Nate. Got any more about why you knocked over that play set while your friends were using it?”
“They aren’t my friends,” is all he says. Ronan raises an eyebrow again and waits. After a couple embarrassed seconds, Nate tries again. “It looked like it would be fun. It was fun!”
Ronan sighs. “Sure, I get that, but we’ve had this conversation, right? That’s disrespectful. To the kids, whether or not they’re your friends, to the toy, to me, to you. If you didn’t keep doing this you could be enjoying your break right now. I mean, I know I’m pretty great, but wouldn’t you rather be over there playing?”
Nate mumbles, “I guess.”
“Then you gotta stop disrespecting other students and the school’s toys, okay?”
“Okay.”
Now for the hard part. “Okay, cool. So, I hate to do this, trust me, but you remember what I said. Three strikes, right? This is your fourth, so we have to call your parents. Who should we call, Mom or Dad?”
Nate is looking at his feet. “Dad. I’m at his house on week days.”
“Awesome, Dad it is.” Before getting up, Ronan holds his hand out for a high five. “Dude, you’re cool. There’s a pretty simple solution to this problem, you just have to stop being disrespectful to your classmates and surroundings and all that. Sound like a plan?”
He nods, and hits Ronan’s outstretched hand.
“Perfect. Great. Now back to recess with you.”
Later, when he’s waiting for his afternoon class to get there, he’s sitting in the teacher’s lounge with Gansey, recounting the morning’s events and stuck in a game of phone tag with the very professional sounding voicemail of Nate’s father.
“And I look up and there the fucker is, laughing while surrounded by crying toddlers. Who raises their kid like that?”
“Who calls a five year old ‘fucker’?” Gansey counters, eyebrows raised.
Ronan just rolls his eyes and runs a hand over his shaved hair. “I’m not even at the best part, though. I go to talk to him, tell him for the fourth time this year to stop messing with school property and killing kindergarteners’ dreams, and he starts talking about how his mom doesn’t like his hair because it makes him look like his dad and, I quote, ‘Mommy and Daddy don’t love each other anymore.’”
Gansey’s eyebrows shoot higher, through no fault of Ronan’s for once. “Jesus. I am so glad I teach high schoolers.”
The school they work at is a private Catholic school that teaches kindergarten through twelfth grade, and technically the really little kids and the really old kids aren’t supposed to interact so they are kept on opposite sides of the campus, but Ronan and Gansey usually hang out in one of the staff rooms that’s relatively equidistant to both of their sides of the school.
“I don’t know,” Ronan muses, “if I had to teach high school history I’d probably gauge my fucking eyes out. You have fun grading all those papers, I’m okay way over there teaching tiny people the color red.”
He holds up a hand to stop Gansey’s response and digs his vibrating phone out of his pocket.
“Ronan Lynch.”
“Oh! Hello, Mr. Lynch, I’m glad I finally caught you. It’s Adam Parrish. Sorry about the inconvenience earlier, work has been busy. What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Parrish,” Ronan answers with a significant look at Gansey, “Hi, nice to talk to you. Unfortunately, your son Nathan has been somewhat disruptive over the course of the last few weeks. It would be great if you could come in and talk with me about how we can handle his behavior.”
Gansey shakes his head in mock disappointment and Ronan shoves him slightly.
“Nate? Really? He’s usually so calm at home. What has he been doing?”
Ronan raises his eyebrows. Calm at home. Sure. Of course he is. He continues in an even tone, “He shouts and acts out during lessons, and he misuses toys and upsets the other students during recess. He and I have now had four conversations about appropriate use of toys and being respectful of the other kids. I think it’s time you came in and we tried to work something out regarding his behavior.”
“Oh,” Adam Parrish sounds surprised. Maybe the kid really is calm at home, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a piece of shit at school. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea. Of course I can meet with you, I can come in tomorrow after school? Maybe around four?”
“Sure, four sounds great. I’ll see you then, Mr. Parrish.” When Ronan hangs up, Gansey is walking back to their seats holding two cups of coffee. He opens his mouth to say something, almost smiling, and Ronan stops him again. “I swear to God, Dick, if you’re about to say something about my growing maturity or responsibility or any other bullshit about my job with kids that makes me sound like a well-adjusted adult, I will dump those coffees on you.”
Gansey’s mouth snaps shut, but he looks pleased with himself.
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You look too happy about it.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Yeah, sure you didn’t,” Ronan drinks his coffee and looks away from his insufferable pseudo-brother. Said pseudo-brother just laughs and then stands up.
“I have to go, I’ve got a class soon. Yours will probably start coming in eventually too, so you should get going. I’ll see you tonight, and hey, tell me about Mr. Problem Child after your meeting tomorrow.”
“Yeah, yeah.”