Chapter Text
Over the years, you’d always had a few students who would come up to you and say that you were their favourite teacher. Mostly it seemed to be followed by them asking you for an extension on an assignment, or something along those lines.
Sometimes you’d hear it at graduation, from students who you’d taught for four years; those were usually your favourite students too, though you’d never admit it. Kids who were going on to study art in post-secondary, who had similar interests to yours… Students who’d sit in your room at lunch and had joined the clubs you sponsored.
So when you got your schedule for the upcoming year at the beginning of June, you did a double take, checking with the department head that it wasn’t a typo.
For the first time, you weren’t teaching Art 9.
“Nope, that’s right.” He assured you. “We’ve had to add extra blocks of Art 11 and 12, since so many students decided to continue next year.”
You’re not quite sure how your classes got so popular. When you started teaching here a decade ago, you didn’t even have a full schedule of art classes. Suddenly, enough students have enrolled in art that they have to hire a part-time teacher to cover the other two classes.
“Do they have someone in mind?” You wondered.
“Half-time with only freshman art isn’t a big seller, surprisingly.” He replied with only a touch of sarcasm. “We’ll probably end up posting it externally over the summer.”
“Well, I just hope it’s someone who actually likes art.” You said with conviction. “I don’t want students scared away before they even get to me.”
“Who knows. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
The posting did indeed go out over the summer, and along with the slew of the standard ‘back to school’ emails, there was one from the department head about the new hire.
We found someone for the art opening. Absolutely no obligation, but he’s planning on coming in a few days the week before we start up so he can get familiar with the curriculum and the building. You don’t mind helping him out a bit, do you? He’s a great artist, but just retired from a very different career, so he’s doing his own courses in the evening to get his full certification.
Let me know! No pressure!
A great artist? Since the department head was in theatre, you weren’t all that sure about his assessment.
The new guy will be teaching the two freshman classes. You could do those in your sleep, so sharing your plans and materials would not be a hardship for you. You had to wonder though— What kind of job would someone retire from just to go through the trouble of becoming a high school teacher? In this economy?
Well, you had planned to go in ahead of time anyway to get supplies ordered and organized for the year, so you figured you could at least meet him and find out just how much he’d been oversold.
You’re doomed. That’s really the only word for it. Any thoughts of being a popular teacher or a student favourite flew out of your head the moment you realized that, yes, in fact, that handsome, muscular blond is indeed the new art teacher.
Oh, and that job he just retired from?
Saving the goddamned world.
Suddenly your brain was scrambled, and you hadn’t even actually met him yet.
In your own little panic mode, you hid in your classroom.
You had gotten a pretty good start on organizing the watercolours when you heard the sound of a key in the lock and realized your mistake.
This was the only dedicated art classroom.
The school was a decent enough size, but there had never been enough interest in art courses to warrant a second room. The specialized arts classes, like graphic design, were in other rooms with the teachers who taught them. But you were the only visual arts teacher in the school that needed the studio space. And you also remembered that you have a prep block this semester, which meant one of the 9th grade classes would probably be scheduled then, and why wouldn’t they use the art room if it was available?
The door opened slowly, and he stepped into the room. He was looking around, when he caught sight of you bent over the drawers, frozen like a deer in the headlights. The corner of his mouth curved up in a little smirk, and as he walked in your direction you stood up straight.
“You must be the other art teacher.” He held out his hand. “Steve Rogers.”
You took his hand, shaking it gingerly as you introduced yourself.
“Glad to meet you. Now, while I did have some paid jobs as an artist while I was younger, I’ve never taught art before. I have some training and teaching experience, but that was with adults in a very different context.” He huffed a little self-deprecating laugh. “I started the teacher training course earlier this year, but since they were having trouble filling this job I was told I could continue online in the program while I work here, but I’ll need to finish my certification if I want to teach after this semester.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.” You replied. “I guess it’s easier since you’ll only be half-time here, but I can’t imagine trying to study while also teaching.”
“I’ve had to learn to be adaptable.” He shrugged.
I’ll say.
“What made you decide to, uh, switch to teaching?”
His grin faded a little. “I was… I was under a lot of stress. A lot of pressure. I realized I couldn’t really live like that. I was tempted to well and truly just disappear. But a friend of mine talked me out of it, and I guess he was right— It would’ve been just giving up, and that’s not who I am. So I’m finding another way to contribute, because I’m not a guy who can just sit around.”
You chuckled. “I guess I can understand that. I get antsy when the summer starts winding down, I can only indulge in my own hobbies for so long.”
“So do you do art of your own? As a hobby?”
“It’s funny how arts teachers are the ones who are asked that, isn’t it? I’ve never heard someone ask a math teacher if they do math as a hobby outside of school.”
He blushed. “Was that a rude thing to ask?”
“Oh, no, it’s only human. Just making an observation. But to answer you, well, I enjoy urban sketching. I’ll travel a bit with just a sketchbook, some fineliners, and a small watercolour set. I find it more enjoyable than just photographing what I see.”
“I’d love to see it sometime. Uh, if it’s okay with you, that is.”
You smiled at him genuinely for the first time. “Of course! I didn’t bring it with me, but I’ll try to remember for tomorrow, if you’ll be here.”
“I will. I think I’ll need all the help I can get.” He looked down, almost shyly. “If you’re not too busy, that is. I don’t want to make your job any harder.”
You couldn’t help admiring him all the more for that. If only administrators were so considerate of your workload.
“Oh, it’s no bother. Honestly, it’ll be a nice change to have someone who actually understands the subject matter, and doesn’t treat it like a dumping ground for problem children.”
“People do that?”
“You’re going to see some of that, teaching the freshmen. Kids who can’t handle the more rigorous academic courses are often sent here. But that just means behaviour problems when they realize this isn’t like elementary school art; I’m not handing them a box of crayons and telling them to go wild.”
“Seems like I might be in for a bit of a culture shock, then.”
You’d tried to avoid the elephant in the room, namely the fact that he was Captain America. But you just couldn’t resist a jibe.
“Supervillains aren’t nearly as terrifying as teenagers.” You deadpanned, watching his lips curl up into a bright smile.
“Well, I hope I’m up for the challenge.”
You and Steve ended up spending most of the week before school started going over the lesson plans you’d made over the years, and suggesting modifications. He would have one class in the art room, but the other would be in a normal classroom, which would require some alterations as he wouldn’t have easy access to supplies. Of course, you offered an open door should he need to get anything, but the two of you worked out a list of what would be needed for each unit, and together you organized them into large containers. He acquired a rolling cart, and you helped him load it with the supplies he would need for the first unit. It had a flat surface at the top with several levels below, so you took advantage to set up a station that could work both inside and outside of the art room. You placed pencils and markers in drawers, and paper on low shelves. You felt a little thrill as you introduced him to the wonders of a handheld label maker, and he seemed genuinely impressed.
This man had fought aliens, and he was impressed by a label maker? Maybe you were a cool teacher.
Of course, just thinking that sentence meant you definitely weren’t.
A part of you had been a bit sad to think you wouldn’t get the next group of new students for four years. The idea of having another teacher potentially scaring students away was disheartening. But that thought soon vanished as you got to know Steve’s passion for art, and his very cheeky personality. If you weren’t careful, he might charm his way into being the favourite teacher of many students.
He was already on the way to becoming your favourite coworker. But given how some of your colleagues seemed to look down on the arts, there hadn’t been much competition there. It was a good thing too, since you’d be sharing a room and would be seeing a lot of each other.
As the last Friday of summer drew to a close, you were a bit worried that you hadn’t covered everything, that you’d missed something important.
“It’s not your job to teach me, you know.” Steve reassured you. “You’ve already been overly generous with your time.”
“I’m just trying to leave a good impression.” You admitted.
“Don’t worry.” He said with a grin. “You did.”