Chapter Text
“Settle dow- I said, settle. Down.”
Johnny groans as he looks at the small gathering of wide-eyed, pimply 15-year-olds. There are about 15 of them total, with varying styles of clothing, posture, and all the little things that set them apart. He could pick them out easily now. Which ones were trouble makers, which ones were shy, which ones had an eye for colour, or texture, or lines and which had absolutely nothing to bring to this class aside from maybe a pencil if they were lucky.
“My name is Robert John Linder. You’ll call me Johnny. None of that Mister crap. Call me Bobby, and I will find a way to make your life a misery. Don’t test me. Now - this is Art100. You chose it because you either have a tolerable skill level in the subject or think it’s an easy pass to fuck around and draw for a couple of hours.”
The silence is palpable as Johnny lets his gaze sweep across the classroom. Should he be swearing in a classroom environment? Definitely not. But chances are, nobody’s got the balls to do anything about such a small issue - the kids probably find it cool or funny, anyway. But he bets at least six of these kids will switch classes as soon as this one’s over, based on the few pairs of wide eyes. After the brief pause, he continues.
“You guys are sophomores, which means shit is about to get real for a lot of you. I expect you all to take this class seriously. Now, art - especially my class - isn’t taught the way your other classes are. I don’t stand up and read from a textbook and let you guys figure it out on your own. Nah.”
He strides over to his desk. It’s not the cleanest thing in the room, though it is in a far more presentable state than it was last year. He picks up a whiteboard marker and moves back to the whiteboard. He scribbles his name in blocky letters and turns back around to face the students.
“This lesson is the introduction to the year. So don’t wet yourselves if it all looks like a lot. You haven’t seen the seniors’ workload. Most of those who are serious about the subject already know most of the painting conventions. If not, I’ll still give a crash course, but I won’t spend much time covering it. Your time needs to be spent on The Project.”
He stalks to the back of the classroom and nods at the displayed boards on the wall.
“These here are some exceptional pieces spanning the past five-ish years. These students put their hearts and souls into their work and got the recognition they deserved. This is what you guys will be working towards. One board with about roughly 6 to 9 - don’t laugh at the joke - pieces of art. More or less, depending on the sizes. And you, sophomore kids, also have to do some printmaking. It’s part of the curriculum or whatever. The fine print of the standard you’re being assessed for is that you have to use a range of media types. Printmaking’s fun - I get to watch the students cry.”
He grins viciously. The reason he chose print making isn’t just for the fun of watching a kid start snivelling in the middle of class - it was to weed out the ones that stressed too much, the ones who struggled to manage their time, the ones who were too perfect and the ones that weren’t perfect enough. Printmaking was a painful process, it’s a lot of trial and error and having to live with things not working out. Johnny reckoned it was a great build of character!
He does another visual sweep to gauge the students' enthusiasm. One particularly put-together kid looks far too excited for this challenge - a try hard. There’s always at least one in every class. The stereotypical quiet kid in the back has a stereotypical bored face. The trio of bubbly girls don’t seem to have grasped the importance of the class yet. One’s still braiding another one’s hair. The rest of the class doesn’t seem very fazed, either. Except for two students. One freckled kid with dark hair and a green-eyed girl with mousy brown locks both have a look of focus on them as they inspect the boards on the wall. Aha. There are the star pupils. He’ll keep an eye on those two.
“Right. Now to explain the conventions that’ll be covered. If you still suck at ‘em by the end of the week, don’t expect to be in this class much longer. This is art on an academic level, not drawing cute lil’ stick figures for Momma and Poppa.”
He scribbles on the boards - it’s easy stuff, honestly. Color theory, 3D forms, observational journalling. If the kids can’t do this even half decently, then Johnny wouldn’t waste time teaching them.
“This here’s your foundation. Let’s roll.”
Johnny spends the next hour going over all the basics of sketching showing the kids the ropes. They seemed less scared shitless of him now that they’ve realised he’s not a hardass, just someone who doesn’t take shit. And he’s grateful he didn’t get any class clowns this year or any asshole students. The only kids that got on his nerves was Try-Hard - some douche name Tim - and the trio he’s lovingly (derogatory) going to call the PowerPuff Girls. The girls were only interested in drawing pink things and girly things like ribbons and hearts, and getting them to do the exercise was like pulling teeth. Oh well, they’re at least better than the kid last year who only drew various guns and rifles. They weren’t even good sketches either - they were two dimensional, and drawn with lines so wobbly he thought a toddler drew them.
Eventually, the bell rings and the kids scurry away to lunch. Thank. God.
“Fucking hell.” He needed a Tylenol and a coffee already.
“That bad already? Jeez, Johnny it’s only the first day!”
Kerry, as usual, is leaning on the doorframe of his classroom. It was their routine – every day, first lunch, they went out to Caliente’s for coffee. Then the second lunch, they ate in Johnny’s office that was attached to his classroom. It was his domain, his part of the school - and also conveniently the closest to the staff carpark. And Kerry usually bent the rules and let his kids out five minutes early to make it to Johnny’s class just as the bell goes. No wonder the brats loved Mr. Eurodyne.
“Nah, these kids aren’t as bad as AK-47.” Johnny grunts. Kerry cackles as he pushes off the doorframe and waits for Johnny to grab his gear.
“Hah! That kid was hilarious — how many times d’you send him to the principal’s office?”
“Too many.”
“Well in any case, it’s a good thing this year’s lot aren’t as bad, right?”
Johnny locks his classroom and tucks his keys into his pocket - he isn’t gonna wear no dorky lanyard - and shrugs. The two start making their way to the carpark.
“It’s only the first day. Time will tell. My car or yours?”
“Mine, smartass. Last time we took the Porsche, we almost got swarmed by kids. Lucky you wore a long sleeve that day.”
“It was the only clean shirt I had, fuck off.” Johnny scoffs. “But fine. My prosthetic's pretty noticeable.”
“It’s chrome, Johnny. It’s practically a beacon. And you need to upgrade it yesterday - I read in this article you can get ones that interact with your nerves like a real arm!”
Johnny rolls his eyes as Kerry unlocks his car. It’s not much better - a real kitschy, flashy as hell gold Rayfield.
“On a teacher’s salary? You’re on something, Ker.”
“Psh - says the guy with a Porsche.”
“Says the guy with a Rayfield.”
“Oh piss off, I got it second hand!"
Johnny smirks and slips into the right seat. “Still worth a pretty eddie. And of course you get a gold paintjob. What teacher has a gold Rayfield?”
“May I remind you of your Porsche that Samurai vomited on?”
The two of them bicker and banter the entire drive to Caliente’s, even after they park and go inside, sitting at their typical table they still shoot the shit. A waitress nods at them as she passes.
“The usual, you two?”
Johnny barely nods in acknowledgement, but Kerry smiles and waves. “The usual, Irene. Thanks, sweetheart.”
As she leaves, Kerry rolls his eyes at Johnny. “Doesn’t kill you to have manners, asshole.”
“She’s a waitress, not the Queen of England.” Johnny scoffs. “‘Sides, she knows I’m like that. Look at her, she’s got tough skin. She’ll be fine.”
“Not the point, but whatever.” Kerry sighs. “I covered your ass again this morning. Today, your Porsche has a fucked rear axel, got it?”
Johnny grins. “Yup. Speaking of, was that meeting as boring as usual?”
Irene arrives with their usual orders - Kerry always gets some kind of sickeningly sweet matcha latte that he insists is healthier than a typical latte because he gets oat milk. Johnny’s got a plain black coffee. Sometimes he adds a teaspoon of sugar as a treat. Kerry sips his, grunts when he realizes it’s too hot, and opens the lid to try and blow on the coffee. As if that somehow makes it colder.
“Yeah, no. Uh, actually I’m glad you weren’t there. You’d have thrown a fit.”
Johnny frowns as he sips his own scorching coffee. “Why?”
“Cause they’re cutting our funding. They think the showcase is a waste of time, and that the STEM students deserve the cash more.” Kerry sneers the word STEM with scathing mockery. “They want to send their little team of mathletes to fucking Japan. Which under normal circumstances, they gotta win some Arasaka funded competition to get there. School wants to circumvent that and just straight up send them.”
Johnny stares at Kerry, flabbergasted. “Come again?”
“This is our last showcase, Johnny. Not unless we can tell the board why it’s so important that students play their silly little instruments and do their silly little dances in front of their mommies and daddies. I’ll be honest - I can’t come up with shit.”