Chapter Text
Converse soles squeak against linoleum as Poe Dameron whips around a corner, narrowly dodging a trashcan. As he runs past a bulletin board, flyers and club information and reminders for picture day whoosh backward. A custodian gives him a look but he just sprints faster.
And he would’ve made it, too, if it weren’t for the sharply dressed kid at the end of the hall who snags him by the collar of his varsity jacket.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the boy asks.
“Well,” Poe says, glancing at the fancy Hall Monitor badge fixed to the other boy’s lapel, “I was thinking of going to Fiji. Could use a vacation.” He winks. “Kind of looks like you could, too.”
“You’re five minutes tardy.”
“And you’re only making me later, buddy. You guys ever realize that? This whole system is flawed. Discipline really shouldn’t override my need for an edu-”
The hall monitor pulls out a pad of late slips. “What’s your name?”
“Poe,” he says, groaning inwardly. “Poe Dameron. What’s yours?” The hall monitor just shoots him a look before returning to writing him up. “Listen,” Poe says, dropping his voice. “Here’s the thing, okay? Here’s what the thing is. I’m on the lacrosse team. And if I get five tardies, I get put on suspension.”
The hall monitor’s demeanor does not change. “And how many tardies do you have?”
Poe glances down at the partially-completed slip. “I’m sittin’ at four and a half right now.” Hall Monitor Guy rolls his eyes but pauses in filling out the form. “Alright, don’t let me slide for me. Do it for you! Wouldn’t you like to make someone’s day better for once?” Hall Monitor Guy continues to hesitate. “Come on. Pretty please?” He’s putting on the charm. He’s putting on the helpless puppy act. He’s using every weapon at his disposal.
“Fine,” Hall Monitor Guy sighs, tucking the pad in an inside pocket of his jacket. “Just this once.”
“Totally!” Poe says, beaming. “Next time you catch me, feel free to give me two tardies. You know, make up for this one.”
“Don’t make me change my mind,” the guy grumbles, escorting him down the hallway. “Where are you headed?”
“Room 2187,” Poe says, trying and failing to hide his grin. “Solo’s class.”
“Follow my lead,” Hall Monitor Guy says, “and don’t let this happen again.”
“Yes, sir,” Poe says, mock-saluting as he marches on. When they get to the classroom, Hall Monitor Guy does all the talking and Poe just stands there and looks pretty.
“Poe here was helping out in the library,” Hall Monitor Guy explains. “You know ever since… with Mr. Tekka gone, the library assistants can use the, well, assistance.” Poe’s pretty sure Solo’s not buying it, but with Hall Monitor Guy throwing in the mention of Tekka, his eyes soften. Poe’s impressed; Hall Monitor Guy is quite the liar.
He’s also considering changing Hall Monitor Guy’s moniker to Cute Hall Monitor Guy but, well, that’s not exactly the most helpful thought at the moment.
“Thank you,” Solo says to Cute Hall Monitor Guy, and nods at him to leave. “Take your seat, Poe.”
Poe beelines for his desk and slings his backpack to the left of it, sliding into his seat. He doesn’t need to look at the seat beside him to know that Rey’s judging him.
Solo resumes teaching and Rey slides her notebook to the corner of her desk so Poe can see that she’s written Overslept? on the page. He nods and she rolls her eyes.
On his own paper, Poe writes, Homeward Bound was on late last night. Had to stay up and finish it.
NERD.
“Miss Skywalker-Antilles,” Solo says, calling her out without even looking away from the board. “What do you think? Should I read that note to the rest of the class?”
“No sir, Mr. Solo sir,” she says, straightening up in her seat as if she’s being respectful. Everyone in the class already knows she’s just sassing her uncle, just like everyone in the class knows he’s just messing with her. “Actually, I don’t have a problem sharing it. I was just pointing out that, um, Poe here is a nerd who loves talking animal movies.”
“Tell us something we don’t know,” Solo sighs, continuing to draw the map on the board and returning to geography.
Meanwhile, in the front office, Secretary Arthur Deetoo’s frantically trying to scrape all of his gum wrappers, eraser shavings, receipts, rubber bands, and broken paper clip bits onto his side of the desk so they’re not cluttering the pristine organization on the other side.
“Morning,” Principal Organa says to him, sweeping into the front office. “Where’s your husband? He’s supposed to be doing the announcements.”
“Really?” Deetoo says, curling his lip. “You know he always fucks up the announcements.”
“Watch your language.”
“Sorry. No filter,” he says, still attending to the chaos on his side of the desk. “Which, incidentally, is why he’s not here. There’s no more coffee filters so he went to get some.”
“Oh, right,” she says, shaking her head. “Like coffee’s the most important thing in the galaxy.”
At that moment, her brother steps into the front office carrying a Tupperware container in one hand and a drink tray in the other; one of the three Starbucks cups bears her name. “Hey, I brought you a coff-”
“Oh thank God, I love you,” she says, grabbing the cup so fast she nearly upsets the other two. She downs a swig of the latte before saying another word, not caring how hot it is. “Luke Skywalker, you’re my hero.”
“I try,” he smirks.
“I like coffee, too,” Deetoo mumbles.
“Sorry, Art,” Luke says, gesturing with the Tupperware to show off his one prosthetic hand. “But I only have so many hands. Just one, actually.”
“It’s not like there’s not four slots in the goddamn drink carrier.”
“Oh, ignore him,” Leia says, taking another sip of her drink. “What are you doing here?”
Again, he gestures with the Tupperware. “Wedge forgot his lunch at home, I was bringing it in.”
“Aw, aren’t you the best husband in the world?” she says, looking mildly exasperated. “Now, just to contrast, this is what Han left for me on the staff fridge this morning.” She waves a Post-It in his face.
“‘Have a good day, Sugar Tits,’” Luke reads out loud. “Well… that’s…”
“That’s Han,” she groans. “Go put that in the fridge before it goes bad.”
“Right,” he says, disappearing into the hallway behind her. As soon as he’s gone, the other secretary comes barreling into the office.
“Principal!” he says, panting. “Principal, so sorry I’m late. We were out of-”
“Coffee filters, I heard,” she says, eyes flicking to the package of filters tucked under his arm. “Go put that in the kitchen. And then you’re supposed to do the announcements!”
“Right away! Will do!” he says, heading for the hallway Luke just went down.
As soon as he’s gone, Leia sighs and leans against Deetoo’s desk. “He is going to fuck up the announcements,” she agrees. Steve Threepio’s an anxious man. He speaks clearly enough, when his nerves don’t get the best of him. He once mangled the announcements so poorly that he told the entire school that the meeting of the Future Farmers of America would be held at the Hilton, and that the prom was taking place in the Lars’ barn.
When Threepio gets back to the desk, he immediately notices the snapped rubber band that ended up in his chair. Deetoo mumbles something apologetic and swipes it to the floor. When his husband remains standing, Deetoo rolls his eyes, picks up the rubber band, and drops it in the wastebasket.
Threepio takes his seat finally and pulls the sheet of the day’s announcements toward him, flattening out the somewhat wrinkled paper. He pulls the mic toward himself, straightens his tie, clears his throat, and begins.
“Good morning, students! Today is Friday, September 2nd. Lacrosse tryouts will begin— I’m forgetting something, aren’t I?” He glances toward Deetoo, brow furrowed. Arthur Deetoo just shakes his head and taps the mic— the light’s off. “The intercom! Oh my! I forgot I turned it off.”
Remedying this, he begins the day’s announcements.
“Hey,” Poe says to Rey, with their teacher’s attention diverted now that announcements have begun. “Can I copy your Classics notes?”
“Why?” she says, attention divvied up between Threepio, Poe, and the dragon she’s been extensively doodling on her notebook. “You actually made it on time to that class.”
“You know I can’t understand a word Chewie says.”
“His name is Dr. Chewbacca,” she replies, mock-indignant, “and he’s brilliant.”
“I’m sure he is,” Poe says, “but he sounds like a garbage disposal when he talks.”
Rey shakes her head. “You know what, you would sound funny too if you came from… wherever the hell it is he’s from.”
“You only know what he’s saying because you’ve known him since you were, like, five.”
She shrugs and adds a spine to her dragon drawing. “I can’t change my own history.”
“Yeah, and you can’t name one member of the faculty that you’re not at least tangentially related to,” he says, poking her in the arm with the tip of his eraser.
She aims an elbow at him and misses. “Okay, first of all, that’s small town syndrome. Second of all, hello, adopted, technically I’m related to no one.”
“It still counts.”
“And third of all,” she says, the slight British lilt leftover from when she was five years old coming out as she tries to emphasize her point, “Phasma!”
“Oh, yeah, you’re not related to her,” Poe says, grinning. “Good thing, too, considering your gross crush on her.”
“Oh, shut up,” she says. “I don’t have a gross crush on her.”
“It’s disgusting, Rey. She’s a math teacher. Math.”
“Fine, math is gross, but I don’t have a crush on her,” Rey says, though the blush beginning to creep across her face says otherwise. “I just… really like her. And respect her. And sometimes I think it would be sorta cool if I stayed afterschool with her for math help and our hands touched and then she was like ‘no, you’re a student, it’s wrong,’ but then when I’m old enough we run away together to Canada and live in a tiny log cabin and eat maple syrup and spoon a lot.” Poe snorts. “Whatever! Everyone has teacher crushes.”
“I don’t have a teacher crush.”
“You do so.”
“Nope.”
“Everyone does, Poe. Who is it?” Poe shakes his head. “C’mon, please? Pretty please? Tell me? Pretty please with cherries on top?”
“I hate cherries.”
“Pretty please with Kahlua on top?”
Poe keeps shaking his head, but Rey’s puppy-dog-eyes and lip-stuck-out look can topple stronger men than him. “I hate you.”
“Ooh, who is it?” Poe just nods, and she squints in confusion. He jerks his head again, and she turns to look in the direction he’s nodding. Toward the front of the classroom. “NO. No. Ew. Eww.”
“You asked!”
“He’s my uncle.”
“Oh, but you’re adopted, remember?” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “You said—”
“I know what I said! I know! Shut up!” She’s flapping her hands in annoyance. Over the intercom, Threepio stumbles over the proper pronunciation of the neighboring high school’s name. “You’re not allowed to have a teacher crush on my uncle.”
At that moment, her uncle pops up behind them. “What are you two yammering about?”
“Geography!”
“Yeah, geography,” Rey squeaks.
“Isn’t it amazing,” Poe says, “how all those countries are just… there? And they just stay there all the time?”
“Sure,” Han Solo says, glancing between the two of them. “You two are gonna study this weekend, right?”
“Totally,” Rey says. “Studying’s my favorite.”
“Sure,” Solo says. “Nice dragon.”