Chapter Text
MEEP MEEEP MEEEP.
Alarms. They suck, who thought 'oh yes, let's have a machine to scream off tune sounds in my ear till i inevitably smack it across the room?'
That was Ryland Grace's first thought when he was rudely awoken.
With a groan. He stretched his hands over his head, promptly hitting his hands on the headboard with a 'thunk' ,
"Stupid headboard" he mutters , glaring at his own bed.
Grace isn't a massive fan of mornings. He used to be, catching the last glimpse of the stars before the sun stole the limelight was always his favourite thing to do with his mom and dad on weekend camps. He used to count how long it took, and in his later years, just set an alarm that little bit earlier so he could watch...until he became an achey, half broke version of himself. He's more fond of sun sets now, having a greater appreciation for the stars' moment in the night, the stars are Cooler anyway.
He likes to think of who's up there, watching over him as he sleeps. Someone good, hopefully.
He grabs for the cane leaning by his table, blindly pawing for it as he stares at his ceiling. Time to function. Time to go to school!
Ryland was a teacher, to clarify any confusion, a biology one, and a rather good one if he says so himself.(he isn't some man baby who still attends high school). It was the first day back since spring break at his high school. Which meant the kids would be excitable. They'd be buzzing with stories to tell him, like little critters on a sugar rush.
'Sir I went to a theme park! I was big enough for the rides this time!'
'Dr Grace dr Grace! My family did an Easter hunt!'
'I saw my cousins!'
'Well I did a road trip!!'
Ryland loved the kids, his young classes and his older, more subdued students too, he wouldn't change their excitement for the world. It was endearing how amazing the world was when you are that young. No need to worry about bills or taxes or...blegh, health insurance! Maybe their noise levels is the only thing he'd change ? But even then, only a teeny bit and on sleepy mornings. he couldn't wait to see them again.
That's what made him smack his alarm clock shut and finally find the grip to his stick.
As his train of thought was rocketing of its predicted rails (as per usual), while on his usual small commute to the bathroom after picking his (albeit creased suit) for the day , he feels something fluffy dart around his legs. A rather large scraggly thing, that is.
"Hey rock" is the groggy response the furball is greeted by. He doesn't seem well pleased at his lack of fuss as A beady , teal eye peers up at doctor grace. A small , melodic chirp peeps out. Rocky, as Grace had lovingly named him, was a brown mottled hunk of fur. , his tail coiling around grace's odd sock clad ankle like a fifth arm. The chunker of a cat is built like a rock with angular chisseled ears and legs, perfect alternative for a heated, weighted blanket in the summer. (Much more interesting to look at too), with his mottled earthy fur. A true companion for Grace's quiet life, he liked Rocky, and rocky liked him, it was great, but right now? The cat didn't want just Grace. Food.
Food is what rocky wants.
And, food is a good call. Breakfast is the fuel for the brain! He tells all his kids that anyway. Maybe he should listen to his own advice?? Pshhh! Nahh
"I know I know" he huffs, looking at himself in the mirror, eying up every divot and crease time had blessed him with. Rocky follows, perched on his sink, waiting readily. "Food soon. Food next." Is the treachery scold that comes out, a hand coming out to scruff Rocky's head before starting his morning routine of 'looking presentable and hygienic'.
An angered chirp. A rebellious swat of the soap...
"No rocky."
A swat of his razor...then a swat of his really nice aftershave...which slips onto the floor, and cracks.
I guess food is now.
Chunks of dubiously chunky cat food is pilled onto a saucer. Yuck, how does someone eat this? It looks like space food! Well..I guess when you know no better and like fish, it's not so bad. The furball trundles over, happily mewing at his successfull bribe and waiting patiently for his mountain of mush , it only cost Grace a 40 dollar aftershave!
He loves that cat too damn much.
While rocky the prince chows down, Grace debates crudely mushing a banana into some toast or some porridge for his food...it never looks appetising, the slimy yellow slop in perfectly good oatmeal....but it is nice...even if it looks like reject cat food...but when he sees the time..and the state of himself and his suit, he makes a beeline for his ironing board, stringing a lot of muttered curses from the kitchen to the hallway, With a clumsy trip to the utility cupboard, some muttered 'darns' and 'shoots!' He manages to...well...not really iron his shirt, there are a few less creases...but somehow also new ones? How is that possible?!
One haphazardly ironed shirt and suit later, and the dribble of aftershave left of his cracked bottle and a fuss for Rocky, our favourite biology teacher is ready to go. Ready for his first day back, new prizes and topics all in his sachel. He always loved looking after the kids, making sure they are thoughrouly enriched in their learning...nothing worse than a boring teacher right? He wanted people to see the fun in biology, the leafy wonders of the world, even if he'd been a massive help in the wonders of the...other worlds. But he doesn't like to think about that. Not anymore. Being a retired molecular biologist leaves you with a Surprising ammount of baggage, huh...go figure. But rylands favourite way to avoid that ,and forking out hundreds on therapy(again) , is to work. Push it down until it doesn't exist, pop it in the back of his wired mind and boxIt up with brainwaves and good ideas. Like school! Like teaching! Or puzzles.
After a bout of public transport and wishing he'd grin and bared the bike, even with his leg, a disgruntled Grace gets off the bus. He learnt to drive, sure, but the thought of getting a car, during climate change and after he himself did work on research like the now gone Petrova line, it felt very hypocritical to drive a carbon coughing machine. He didn't want to contribute to something the best scientists on earth were trying to stop!! So he tries to bike when he can, though his new addition of his cane in the recent years makes it a little more difficult than it used to be. Whizzing around on the road with a stick on your bike makes you even less popular than the other cyclists, it seems. So in recent years, public transport has been his saving grace, as that way he's not actively emmitting carbons. As he thanks the bus driver, giving him a beaming smile whilst pushing his silver frames up, he trots off the bus, A ray of sunshine in the foggy day with his bright yellow raincoat. The waterproof squeaking and rustling with every step up the concrete of the school. The teachers loved his coat, it meant you could always catch him just as he was going home ; A very easy level of the 'where's wally/Waldo' book series. Be liked it though, it made his day, and it was practical, even if he was a living highlighter on his commute. His colleges told him he was 'youthful' whatever they meant by that. Buzzing in with his card,he's gets in a little bit before the kids, protocol really, but even if he didn't, he would want to, preparation in something he loves. Monday is staff meeting day, so he ambles down the linoleum tunnel of a hall, his soft pads echoing through the corridor. He looks at the other teachers' rooms as he does. He loves when you can recognise a class just from the decorum. Like its own little biosphere of academia. Each teacher lovingly crafting and curating the perfect environment. Mr weir and his physics class, making maths and protons as fun as he can for kids. Lots of funny physics posters, and even a board dedicated to physics in marvel films! Or you have Madame bee's language class, Spanish, french and German memorabilia tucked away in a little glass cabinet by her desk : bull fighting photos, trips to Barcelona, antique china from France, little pockets of wonder in each shelf, along with a plethora of colours and vibrant culture mixed in with grammatical tips and tricks on her boards...not to forget the pinboard of past students' thanks for helping them along their linguistic journey....he loves teaching. Wow. He walks past more and more classrooms, mr reeves, the humanities corridor, even down into the English quarter , deciding a nice scenic route of the concrete jungle was in order as he's a little early, checking and guessing every teacher by their open doors, seeing who's in , check check check- oh!
He's brought to a halt, finger going to his mouth in confusion, a pout brought to the side of his face in confusion.
"Hmm...who's that?" He murmurs against his half smooshed lip.
What on earth is he looking at?
The 'maintenance' door Is open.
Riveting , I know. It's never open! And in there, a red bag. A simple, dark red backpack. No pins, no patches. Just a red rucksack. Perfectly unassuming, most would walk past, (it's not the most stimulating of bags.) but Grace doesn't. Grace is Grace , of course he'd stop. This is an anomaly.
The previous caretaker, Al, left, so he wonders who this could be. Being the scientist he is, he's itching for an investigation , to know who, why , and when this got here. Wanting to know every little thing about the new individual, (or old , the night cleaner could have changed shifts) wanting to give a warm impression. He wants to, but he has a staff meeting to go to...which he's now nearly late for. Glancing at the clock above the cupboard, he gawks, eyes comically bulging out of his face. "Shoot!" He curses, skidaddling to the teacher lounge, rounding the corner akin to a Scooby doo character chasing the ghost. "Gotta go gotta go gotta go!" That bag still raises questions though.
Scrambling into the teacher meeting with a cushy 22 seconds to spare, Grace falls into the stiff , wood chair.
"Grace , hi, you look...well, like you've been running ?" The head miss and head of senior centred teachers , Ava stratt comments, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips, she smooshes it down, ( I don't think anyone has seen her smile) , tucking her clipboard into her arm instead.
"Yes, was nearly late, but hey! I'm not!" He grins, relaxing and giving his face a scrub. He's not wrong. He isn’t late.
"You are easily distracted" she comments, scribbling something down with her pen, the paper making a satisfying 'scritch-scratch' noise with every note.
"What- hey! How do you know I was distracted?"
"Your bus pulled up ten minutes ago. It is a five minute walk to the teacher lounge"
Ah.
Yep.
It also doesn't help that stratts office views the front of the school, therefore the bus stop , right outside of the school.
His colleague Andy, he's, physics Andy, lunches Grace. "I'd shut up now. Don't give her more ammunition" he grins, a glint in his blue eyes. Ryland nods , crossing his arms, waiting for the debrief. He knows it's mostly regarding examinations, of which his kids either don't have this term, or did last term, so he phases most of it out.
Yada yada yada...marking in by next Friday....database needs it....go over the new cafeteria changes...blah blah blah....new member of the school team... uh huh..
Hold that phone!
New member of the team!?
It's as if someone has zapped Grace back to life, sitting up in his seat, ears practically perked up like a cat. He knew it! Somewhere, a little mink Grace in his brain adds himself a tally on a table titled 'Grace was right!' And 'Grace overthought'.
"A new teacher?" Is the next thing to spill out of his mouth, clearly his brain can't contain the questions. Too much. He hopes his time housed some of the professionalism he did harbour, but the excitement of someone to befriend was too much, maybe another science teacher, they were low on numbers, only having three as opposed to the English teams massive 6 (if you include the two that also teach humanity subjects)
"New member , mr Grace" stratt corrects, her eyes smiling softly, she strains 'member' making it clear he's not to teach.
Quiet murmurs terminate small teacher lounge. Clearly every other teacher thought they'd have another..you know , teacher, in a school.
The team lead seems to pick up on people's slight confusion, clearing her throat. "As you know, our caretaker , Alex , departed with us after the spring break to retire, so, I stayed in during the break, interviewing potential fill ins. And we have one" she nods, picking invisible lint off of her blazer.
"Our new caretaker, Simon Fisher , takes over today, any problems with computers, classroom furniture, or reports of outside maintenance now goes to him, his email has been added to all the teachers shortlist, give him a message if anything goes wrong."
Huh. Simon. Simon the caretaker , he's the one with the red bag.
Connections : made.
Grace feels a hint of pride at his observational tendencies.
"He starts today?" Mindy, an English teacher asks, muttering something about how her room is in need of a blind replacement.
"Yes, he starts today. He's meant to be in this
meeting." She comments, her eyes darting to an empty chair. An empty chair next to Grace. "He already has his keys, lanyard and email setup on the schools system , so I suppose it's not detrimental he's not here."
Her tone makes it out that it is detrimental, stratt is quite the control freak around st Adrian's high school, after all, her timetables looking more like a government itinerary than a loose staff get together.
Hopefully he doesn't get fired the same day, Grace thinks. Stratt isn't that strict though. She seems it, but she's actually a softie. A softie who signs kareoke at Christmas parties. She snaps herself out of her rant with a huff , tucking her coppery hair behind her ear. "If you see him" she starts, drumming her manicured nails on her clipboard, "be sure to say hello, make him welcome"
That's all Grace wants to do.
That, and maybe make a new friend, a new friend would be ideal...that way he can stop counting his cat as one.
He might be a maintenance guy with a bit of a love for the planet, hey? That would be something fun, I mean, any guy that does...electrics, has to like an ounce of science , right? Grace tucks his chair into the table, a familiar screech echoing the room as other teachers do the same. All of them going back into their little subject specific bubbles for the morning until break time.
Ugh. Why does everything have to be working!? The one day he welcomes classroom malfunctions. The one day. Everything in his room is ship shape.
Curtains and blinds ? Not tangled or broken.
Computer ? Running smoothly
Projector? Projecting.
He's itching to meet mr fisher. Practically vibrating in his seat. He wants to tinker with something in hopes of breaking it. He's even told his class 'if anything goes wrong, tell me immediately so I can call maintenance to fix it' he clarified it was to improve feedback and teacher communication. Even some of his 14 year olds faces looked like they called 'bullshit'.
Whilst the kids do their independent work for a couple of minutes. He decides, instead of being the reason of his classrooms untimely demise, he will, he thinks with a large sigh, he'll be productive, he'll work on this semesters syllabus a little more, fill in some gaps he intentionally missed during the break. As he opens his spread sheet, he pushes his glasses up his nose bridge again, scrunching his face into 'focus mode' and clicking freeze on his board so that the kids see the lovely thumbnail of the 'productivity radio' he popped on for them. Music helps them concentrate (apparently) and he usually lets them pick, but in the first day back? No chance, no work would get done. The thumbnail is nice though. Pretty meadow , the mottling of the canopy making the digital forest floor look like a blanket. Very calming, perfect for plant cell pop quiz! He thought, very fitting. Anyway, he mashes the freeze button a couple of times for good measure, making sure it's definitely on freeze. Can't have the kids know what he's going to teach them inevitably (it's silly, but the element of surprise is fun, why do you think they have the bean bag game?)
Ik the midst of the sea of clicking, tapping and scribbling in the room, all was running (annoyingly) smoothly. The gentle hum of the melody fading in and out of Ryland's awareness. His students surprisingly took to independent self assessment work very well (given the first day back and all) , and he's sure the teachers walking past did a double take on Ryland's unusually calm classroom. A very smooth day back. There were a couple whispers between friends across desks. It's expected, he doesn't mind. Talking is fine, Ryland loves talking, he loves hearing a snippets of life that's not his. It's interesting to him. After about ten minutes though, chatter starts to build up, he glances up every now and then, pressing a finger to his lips,looking up through his lashes and glasses at the chittering children, giving them a smile. "Hey, talk, but not too loud"
Usually this works, but the mumbles persist.
Maybe it's a work thing? You know, they might be trying to problem solve. At this point, he rolls over to the whiteboard, spinning to grab a pen , knocking over his stapler on his wobbly voyage across the class. (really, such a graceful teacher)
"Hey, what's up? Anything you're struggling with?" He uncaps his marker with his teeth. Looking at his students. They all shake their head, say no, no thank you. So, he cocks his head to the side then. "What's all this then? Gossiping?" He grins as he affectionately makes 'chattering' mouths with his fingers , moving up and away from his thumb like jaws.
"Nah" molly, an auburn haired girl at the front of the class says, smiling as she chews on her pen. "Just wondering what the hell is going on with the screen" she gestures to the board. "Hey language!" Is his first thought, before saying, "wait- what's wrong? I put it on freezeeeOHHH my god, my projector!" He swivels round immediately, jaw comically wide, glasses slipping down his nose. He looks like he's teaching the contorting of an ordinance survey map! Or the geothermal composition of a mountain! His screen, one a serene beautiful scene of a forest, is now a sick acid trip, pinks, greens, and general technological pixel colours smushing around in his screen like contorting lines. Clearly , as molly said 'something 'the hell' is up with his projector'
"Why is it doing that?!" He freaks out, getting up, looking up at the white box that porridges from his ceiling. His first thought is something blocking it, his solar system? His banners, he waves in-front of his bulb like a mad man, making sure no collision with his hand occur. Okay. Not anything reflecting weirdly. "Uhhhh....plug?!" He mutters to himself, flicking it off. The class has promptly , expectedly started to get noisier, noise rising slowly like the heat in a bubbling pan, he lets it happen, it's fine, some even throwing suggestions at Him. "Unplug it!" "Wipe the screen!" "Tap the bulb"
He tries, stupidly listening to 14 year olds who know nothing about projectors.
(Un)Surprisingly, nothing works.
Scrubbing his face, glasses now down to his chin (a suitable panic meter, he thinks) he stares at his now modern looking artwork of a smart screen, groaning. "Oh no...what do I do?" He mutters, more to himself, than anyone. Although, they hear, kids have hearing like bats.
"Call the caretaker!"
Oh..oh yes!
Call the caretaker!