Chapter Text
The alarm clock screamed like a wounded animal at 6:00 AM. Woody's arm shot out from under the thin blanket, hand slapping blindly at the nightstand until his fingers found the snooze button. He hit it once, twice, three times before his brain registered that the third press had actually turned the damn thing off.
Silence. Thank God.
Three seconds later, the phone vibrated again.
Woody groaned into his pillow.
"You're lucky I need money."
The alarm, unfortunately, remained unconcerned.
Outside his apartment window, California was only beginning to wake up. The sky still looked washed in gray-blue. Somewhere in the parking lot below, a car engine coughed to life. Woody dragged himself upright. His brown hair pointed in several directions at once. His back cracked loudly as he stretched.
The cheap apartment complex in Emeryville had character, if you defined character as peeling paint and a landlord who took three weeks to fix a leaky faucet.
"Shoot."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor. The springs in his mattress groaned in protest, and he groaned right back at them. His back cracked as he stretched, arms reaching toward the ceiling until his knuckles brushed the popcorn texture.
The coffee maker was already set up last night. He'd learned that lesson the hard way after showing up to school with his shirt buttoned wrong and his eyes half-closed. He stumbled into the kitchen, flipped the switch, and the machine began its wet, gurgling death rattle that meant caffeine was on its way.
While it brewed, he checked his phone. Three messages from Jessie, all sent between midnight and 2 AM.
[JESSIE] Woody I think I failed my bio midterm kill me now
[JESSIE] I don’t deserve your sponsorship
[JESSIE] No wait I looked up the answers I think I actually passed
He snorted, typing back with one thumb while the other hand grabbed a chipped mug from the dish rack. "If you pass, I might treat you a burger for dinner".
He hit send before taking his first sip of coffee. It was too hot, too bitter.
Perfect.
The shower was a gamble every morning. Sometimes the water was scalding, sometimes it was lukewarm, and sometimes it was a cruel joke that hovered somewhere between cold and freezing. Today, it was lukewarm. He counted it as a win.
By 7:15, he was dressed: brown slacks, a yellow button-up with red strips, and his favorite pair of boots. They were scuffed, worn, but they were comfortable. The drive to Sunnyside Public Elementary took twenty minutes in light traffic. His old pickup truck rattled and coughed, the check engine light glowing like a stubborn firefly on the dashboard. He'd named her Betty, and she'd been with him since his senior year of high school.
He pulled into the staff parking lot at 7:45, fifteen minutes before the first bell. The school was quiet, the hallways empty except for the janitor, Mr. Pete, who was mopping the floor near the main office.
"Mornin', Woody," Mr. Pete said, not looking up from his work.
"Mornin', Pete. How's the knee?"
"Complaining about the weather. Says it's gonna rain."
Woody glanced out the window at the clear blue sky. "Your knee's a liar."
"That means they’re tired."
He laughed and headed to the teachers’ lounge.
The teachers' lounge smelled like microwaved leftovers. Woody pushed through the door, lesson plan tucked under his arm, and found Mr. Heinrich already planted in his usual spot, the cracked leather armchair by the window, a newspaper spread across his lap and a mug of black coffee steaming on the side table.
"Morning, Mr. Heinrich."
The principal grunted, not looking up from his paper. His face was round, jowly, with a nose that sat square in the middle like a potato someone had forgotten to wash. The kids had been calling him Mr. Potatohead since September, and despite his red-faced yelling every time he heard it, Woody had caught him once checking his reflection in the hallway mirror with a thoughtful expression.
"Did you see the article about the school board budget cuts?" Mr. Heinrich asked, finally lowering the paper.
"Saw it. They're talkin' about cutting art programs again."
"Art programs, music programs, half the extracurriculars." The principal took a long sip of his coffee, then made an angry-disappointed face. "Bunch of suits in Sacramento who've never stepped foot in a classroom, telling us how to do our jobs."
Woody pulled out a chair and sat down, the legs scraping against the floor. "Trust me. Once they face the students for a day, they will beg on their knees and immediately give a bonus fee.”
Mr. Heinrich shook his head, but Woody caught the ghost of a smile before he turned and shuffled out of the lounge.
The door had barely closed when it swung open again, and Trixie burst in like a whirlwind wrapped in a tie-dye shirt. Her hair was a mess of braids and beads, and she was carrying what looked like a paper-mâché octopus under one arm.
"Woody! Perfect! I need a second opinion."
He blinked. "On what?"
She held up the octopus. It had eight tentacles, each painted a different color, and its eyes were googly and slightly crossed. "Is this terrifying or whimsical? I can't tell anymore. I've been staring at it for three hours."
Woody leaned forward, studying the creature with the seriousness of an art critic. "I think it's a little bit of both. Like if a nightmare and a carnival had a baby."
"Perfect! That's exactly what I was going for!" She beamed, hugging the octopus to her chest. "It's for the third-grade oceanography project. They're learning about marine life, and I wanted to make something that would get them excited."
"Mission accomplished. I'd be real excited to see that thing comin' at me."
Trixie laughed, a bright, bubbling sound, and set the octopus on the counter next to the coffee machine. "You're the best, Woody. Hey, are you coming to the staff meeting after school? I heard Rex is going to do a presentation on the new playground equipment."
"Wouldn't miss it. Someone's gotta keep Rex from hyperventilating into the microphone."
"True. Last time he tried to explain the new dodgeball rules, he passed out."
The morning bell would ring in five minutes, so Woody grabbed his coffee and headed for the door, pausing to look back at Trixie. "Save me a seat. Preferably one far away from the octopus."
"No promises!"
He laughed and headed to his classroom, Room 204. The door creaked when he pushed it open, and the familiar smell of chalk dust, crayons, and slightly stale air hit him. It smelled like a second home.
He flicked on the lights and started his morning routine. Chairs down from the desks. The whiteboard was wiped clean. The attendance sheet laid out on his desk. He checked the lesson plan he'd written last week. Math in the morning, reading after lunch, and a special science project in the afternoon involving baking soda and vinegar volcanoes.
The kids loved the volcanoes.
At 8:00, the first student arrived. Darla, a tiny girl with pigtails and a brace-toothed smile, burst through the door like she'd been shot out of a cannon.
"Mr. Woody! Mr. Woody! Guess what!"
He crouched down to her level, a grin spreading across his face. "What's that, Darla?"
"My hamster had babies! Seven of them! They're so tiny and pink and they don't have any fur yet and they look like little beans!"
"Seven baby hamsters? That's a whole lot of beans." He held up his hand for a high-five, and she slapped it with enough force to sting. "You bringin' pictures?"
"I'll draw them for you!"
"I'd like that a lot."
More students trickled in over the next fifteen minutes. Backpacks thudded to the floor, chairs scraped against the floor, and the room filled with the chaotic symphony of twenty-three second-graders. Marcus was showing off a new action figure. Molly was crying because she'd lost her favorite hair clip. Two boys were already arguing over who got to sit by the window.
Woody clapped his hands twice, a sharp sound that cut through the noise. "Alright, alright. Settle down. Let's start the day with our morning pledge, yeah?"
The class stood, hands over hearts, and recited the Pledge of Allegiance in a chorus of mismatched voices. Some were too fast, some were too slow, and little Timmy always said "and to the republic for which it stands" like it was one long word.
After the pledge, Woody launched into the math lesson. Fractions. He'd drawn a pizza on the board, sliced into eight pieces, and was trying to explain that four slices was the same as half when the classroom door swung open.
It was Mrs. Dolly. She was the Sunnyside Kindergarten teacher and one of the senior teachers there. She's very kind, and she was the one who can keep the other teachers, including Woody, sane.
"Mr. Pride. Can I have a word?"
The class went quiet. Twenty-three pairs of eyes swiveled between Woody and Mrs. Dolly.
He set down the marker. "Class, draw the pizza from the whiteboard as pretty as you can, okay? I'll be right back."
He stepped into the hallway, pulling the door mostly closed behind him. "What can I do for you, Mrs. Dolly?"
“It’s about Mr. Rex.” She said with a small voice. “I saw him quite anxious on the playground. Can you check him for me? I want to but I have to take care of my student who caught a cold.”
Woody gave the nod.
He spotted Rex standing by the jungle gym, his hands wringing together and his face pale.
"Rex? You alright?"
The PE teacher jumped like he'd been electrocuted. "Woody! Yeah! Fine! Totally fine! Why wouldn't I be fine?"
"Because you look like you haven’t eaten since yesterday."
Rex swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "It's the new parachute. For the parachute game. I ordered it online, and it came, but it's the wrong color. It's supposed to be red and yellow, but it's blue and green, and I don't know if the kids will like it, and what if they hate it, and what if they refuse to play, and the presentation will be ruined—"
"Rex." Woody put a hand on his shoulder, firm but gentle. "Breathe."
Rex sucked in a shaky breath.
"Now let it out."
He exhaled, his shoulders dropping an inch.
"It's a parachute. It's blue and green. The kids won't care what color it is. They're gonna run under it, make it billow up, and scream their heads off like they always do. You could bring a garbage bag and they'd still love it. And for the presentation? You can change the report later. It’s not a big deal."
"You think?"
"I know."
Rex's face relaxed, the tension bleeding out of him. "Thanks, Woody. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Probably hyperventilate into a paper bag."
"That's fair."
It seemed like Rex had calmed down, so Woody walked back to his classroom. He took a deep breath, counted to five, and pushed back into the classroom with a smile plastered on his face.
"Alright, who can tell me what half of eight is?"
The day went on. Lunch was a disorganized blur of peanut butter sandwiches, spilled juice boxes, and a mysterious incident involving a container of yogurt that somehow ended up on the ceiling. Woody didn't ask. He didn't want to know.
The final bell rang at 3:15, and Woody spent the next half hour cleaning up his classroom, wiping down desks, and organizing the supply closet. By the time he made it to the art room, the staff meeting was already in full swing.
Trixie had transformed the space. The paper-mâché octopus hung from the ceiling, its tentacles swaying gently in the air conditioning. The walls were covered in student artwork. Bright splashes of color, abstract shapes, and the occasional recognizable figure.
Rex was standing by the whiteboard, a remote clicker in his hand, his face a mask of nervous determination. Mr. Heinrich sat in the front row, his arms crossed, his potato-shaped face looked tired. Mrs. Dolly was next to him, her posture perfect, her hands folded in her lap, the picture of a calm mother.
Woody slipped into a seat next to Slinky (Silas, the IT staff, Woody’s closest work friend in the school). "Did I miss anything?"
"Rex is about to start his presentation. He's been pacing for ten minutes."
"I hope he can manage it."
Rex cleared his throat, and the room quieted. "Alright. So. The new playground equipment. I've been researching, and I think we should go with…”
And the meeting continued for the next thirty minutes before the teachers dissembled to their home, preparing for the next day.
That was Woody's daily life as a teacher at Sunnyside Elementary. It wasn't perfect. The school had its share of problems, and the paycheck was far from impressive. Still, it was a place where Woody felt comfortable. The salary was enough to get by, and whenever he could, he set aside a little money to help with Jessie's tuition fees.
And Woody stood there, in the middle of it all, feeling like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
He loved being a teacher.
The morning started like any other, but today was different.
Woody had spent three weeks in this science subject. Three weeks of cutting out constellations, laminating flashcards, and staying up past midnight to build a working model of the solar system that hung from his classroom ceiling. The kids were going to love it. He could already see their faces lighting up when he dimmed the lights and turned on the little LED stars.
He was arranging the planets in order when his classroom door burst open.
Slinky stood in the doorway, his face pale, his eyes wide. "Woody. You need to come to the main office."
"I'm kinda in the middle of somethin'—"
"Now."
The tone in his voice made Woody stop. He set down Saturn, its little ring wobbling, and followed Slinky down the hallway. The school was still quiet, the morning bell twenty minutes away, but there was a hum of activity in the main office that didn't belong.
Teachers were clustered around the front desk, talking in hushed voices. Mr. Heinrich stood by the window, his phone pressed to his ear, his free hand running through his thinning hair. Mrs. Dolly was reading something on a tablet, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"What's going on?" Woody asked.
Slinky handed him a printout. It was a press release, the kind the district sent out when they wanted to look good for the local news. The headline read:
Sunnyside Public Elementary School Welcomes Dr. Buzz Lightyear as Visiting Science Educator
Woody read it twice. The words didn't change.
"NASA?" he asked, his voice flat.
"NASA," Slinky confirmed.
Woody couldn’t believe it. "He's coming here? To our school?"
"He's already here in Mr. Heinrich's office right now."
Woody felt something hot and tight coil in his chest. He'd spent weeks on this lesson plan. Weeks. He'd called the local planetarium, begged them to lend him a telescope, stayed up until two in the morning painting styrofoam balls to look like Jupiter. And now some astronaut was going to waltz in and steal the show?
The door to Mr. Heinrich's office opened, and the man himself stepped out.
Behind him, ducking to clear the doorframe, was Dr. Buzz Lightyear.