Chapter Text
You fidget with your sweater sleeves as you push through the tinted glass doors of Dream Highschool. It was your final year of college, thank GOD. You’re getting out pretty unscathed, considering you’ve known you wanted to be an elementary school teacher since, well, elementary school, so you’ve been taking the necessary paths needed to get there along with no major changes. Student teaching was going to be your biggest test yet.
You don’t even understand why you had to student teach at a freaking high school. Elementary school and high school were literally opposites. The worse thing an elementary school kid is going to call you is a poopy head. The worse thing a high school would call you is, well, not something you want to think about right now.
You conceal your huff of frustration as you enter an ordinary school office. It’s after school, so you’re kind of surprised to see two high school boys behind to desk. At least, you think they’re teenage boys. Maybe you’re just mean.
“HI, CAN WE HELP YOU,” they shout in unison as they shove what seems to be pokemon cards out of sight. Yep, definitely teenage boys.
“Uh.. yeah. My name’s y/n y/l/n, and I’m here to speak to Mr. Watson about my student teaching position. I’m a senior at Live University.” Are you allowed to tell them your first name? Some high schoolers are so weird when they hear teacher’s first names and think they can call you by it.
One of the boys, he has half n’ half dyed hair, looks at what seems to be a schedule before nodding and holding up a single finger. He moves out of sight. The remaining boy, he’s got slightly wavey dark brown hair, flashes a kind smile. “He’ll be back in a minute,” he says. They both seemed to have recovered from being caught doing what you assume they weren’t supposed to do.
You nod and shift your weight between your feet. You decide to strike up a conversation. You may have this boy in a class, and you’d hate to make a poor first impression. “You’re a student here, right? Why are you still here after school hours on a Friday?”
“Oh, we’re office helpers while we wait for our friend’s brother to get off work and take us home. Ranboo calls it ‘resume building.’ I just call it ‘child labor,’” the boy answers. You can’t stop yourself from letting out a snort. It makes the boy smile wider.
You’re about to reply when the teenager with the dyed hair returns. “Phil – I mean, Mr. Watson is ready to see you now.” He cringes a little, and the other boy rolls his eyes. You just smile politely and walk through the door to the principal’s office.
You hear the dark-haired boy’s distant voice say, “I don’t get you, Ranboo. You call him Phil during school and Mr. Watson outside –” before you shut the door to the office. Sitting behind a beautiful mahogany desk in a nice-looking wheeled chair is a groggy-looking man with medium-length blonde hair. He’s in the middle of setting down a green and white striped hat. He rubs his eyes, but they haven’t seemed to focus just yet, and his mouth is shaped in a soft frown. Had he just woken up from a nap? I guess it is after school...
“Ranboo tells me you’re the new student teacher hire. It's nice to meet you. I decided last week that I’m going to have you shadow Mr. Halo. He’s one of the teachers that’s been with us the longest. I think you’d learn a lot from…” his voice drifts off as he finally looks up at you. His eyes widen marginally before he snaps to attention. He flashes you a toothy smile, a complete 180 from his previous demeanor. “Sorry, ignore me. I’m a tired old man; I don’t even know what I’m saying! Mr. Halo already has a student teacher assistant. Who I meant to say you’ll be shadowing is Mr. Blade. He graduated a few years ago, and he’s gotten accustomed to his classroom setting quite quickly! That’s an essential skill, you know.”
You don’t even get a word in edge-wise before he begins talking once more. “It’s y/n, right? It’s a pleasure to meet you! I’m Phil, the principal of Dream Highschool." He stands and sticks out his hand. You’re only a little hesitant about taking it. Can anyone blame you, though? You’ve literally got mental whiplash from all that’s being thrown at you right now. All you know is that you were supposed to be working under an experienced teacher, but now you’re working under a new hire? You don’t want to be mean, but you can’t help but be skeptical about what he could help you with.
Phil’s firm handshake snaps you from your thoughts. “Uh.. yeah, a pleasure to meet too.” You give a smile that you pray doesn’t come off forced. If he noticed that something is off about you, he doesn’t mention it. He moves to the door and beckons for you to follow him. The two of you walk back out to the main office, where you watch the two teenage boys thrust trading cards out of sight once more. They laugh nervously as Phil gives them a wave. Once you’re in the main hallway, Phil start’s up a new conversation.
“That’s Ranboo and Tubbo, friends of my son. Good lads, they are. Although, Ranboo takes a good while to break free of his shell with strangers and Tubbo is pretty much an open book at day one. It’s funny finding a pair of boys that’re so opposite when making friends becoming close with your kid,” Phil explains. You smile as you recall the boy’s (was it the one named Tubbo? You’re pretty sure Ranboo is the kid with dyed hair) joke about being an office helper.
“They seem like lovely kids. You have a son that goes here, then?” You ask. You look around as you talk, taking in the pristine school. You pass a gymnasium full of a basketball team practicing. They seem good, but that’s not surprising. Dream Highschool is always in the paper with their crushing sports wins.
Phil nods. “Yep, he’s my last kid in school. I had two others that attended here, but those birds flew from the nest. Not too far, though. See em’ every day still.”
“That’s good,” you reply. You bite your cheek as you try to remember the last time you saw your parents. Was it move-in day your freshmen year of college? You shake your head to free it from the depressing thoughts.
The two of you eventually make it to the academic hallway. Phil leads you down to a classroom with the door slightly ajar. He claps his hands together, grinning. “Here we are! I’ve got to sign some papers before I call it a day, so I’m going to have to leave you here. See you on Monday, y/n!” You can’t help but feel panic claw in your chest as the older gentleman leaves. You were hoping he could at least introduce the two of you. He seems to be a natural at icebreaking.
You sigh and fight the urge to run your hands through your hair. No, no, you can do this. You’re 21 years old. This guy is only a few years older than you. You feel yourself calm down as new opportunities arise. Of course! This guy isn’t some cruel old teacher. He’s going to be young, just like you, trying to make it in the field of education. You guys could definitely bond over experiences that you’re close enough in age to share.
Feeling significantly calmer, you open the door to the classroom to find… an empty classroom. Huh. Guess you have a few more moments to postpone the meeting.
Your eyes search across the tidy room. It has a lot of character, that’s for sure. Books line one of the walls in a towering bookcase. I guess that’s the good thing about teaching older kids; you don’t have to worry about childproofing a room. Sure, they are still immature enough to knock it down accidentally, but would it kill them? ...Hopefully not. The next thing your eyes land on is a beautiful sword behind the teacher’s desk. It’s in a nice glass casing, and you can’t help but walk closer for a better look. You’re no blacksmith, but you’ve read and watched enough period pieces to see it’s some 18th-century type blade. You’d go as far as to say it’s probably of French origin, but that’s kind of a shot in the dark. The blade gleams a dark gray, and the handle was dyed a rich brown with a few red jewels positioned at the hilt.
What an absolute badass thing to have in your classroom. Isn’t he afraid of some kid taking this? You unconsciously reach your hand out to the glass. Before your fingers make contact, you hear a sharp grunt behind you. You spin around, the tips of your ears burning. Your hands fall to your sides, fingers twitching.
In the doorway stands an unimpressed, tall as HELL, pink-haired man. Wow. That’s a lot to take in. He’s wearing a pair of circular glasses, but they do nothing to dampen the intimidating vibes he excretes. His hair, his PINK hair, is up in a tidy ponytail. That’s a lot of hair. His arms are crossed. He gives you a once-over before he begins to speak.
“Can I help you? Are you a new student or something?” His voice is a little rough and completely monotone. You step to the front of the desk in quick movements.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m y/n, and I'll be shadowing you this school year for my student teaching requirements.” You take a few more steps and stick out your hand for a handshake.
He lifts one eyebrow. “Says who?”
You furrow your brow. What the hell? “Uh.. Phil Watson? The principal? He led me here himself.”
He rolls his eyes and sighs like you just inconvenienced his whole life. You’re starting to think that perhaps you have. “There must be some sort of mix up,” he states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I run my classroom in a precise way, and there’s no room for some teacher’s aid in it. No offense, of course.” Yeah, no offense, your ass.
Your patience is running thin as you drop your hand. “Look, Mr. Blade, I was told by the head of the school to come to you. If you think there’s a problem, you can go talk to him yourself, but I’m definitely supposed to be here right now, so I am.”
He sighs again. You’re getting sick of all this sighing and eye-rolling. “No, talking to him won’t do any good. Are you even aware of what I teach? It’s 11th grade English, arguably the most important year for students. I expect everything from my students, and that’s going to apply to you too. Let me know if it gets to be too much for you, kid. I’d be happy to find a replacement teacher for you to shadow.” He brushes past you, pretty much towering over you. He doesn’t spare another glance.
What a pompous ass! “Alright, fine. You do that. But I’m positive I’m going to be just fine. I’ll be back on Monday.” You spin on your heels and walk out of the room. God, this year is going to be hell.