Chapter Text
The thumping coming from the room directly above yours was a standard thing at this point. You had grown used to the noise, not even noticing through explaining the basics of multiplication, and correcting the scribbly handwriting of your beloved nine-year-old students. The rhythmic drumming on desks had become another sound in the background of the Fridays, one that no one questioned unless it interrupted the lecture in a funny way. It began at the start of the school year, and has been a constant every Friday since.
The drumming never bothered you, as it meant the class above you, one of the middle school classes, was engaged in whatever the teacher had set out– however, today is different. It is the first spelling test of the school year, and as a newly fledged teacher, that meant a direct reflection of your skills as an educator. For the first time, your initial fondness of excited students turned to annoyance of disturbing your silent classroom. Still, your students are being good sports, and dutifully taking their spelling exam, eyes focused on their single sheet of paper as the computer reads out the basic words they’ve been practicing all week.
You wander around your class room, patiently waiting for any of the children to ask for help, when the thumping starts again, followed by the cheer of the class overhead. At any other point in time, the joyful laughter would be a welcome break from the monotony, but today is just too important. A few beats pass, as you lightly chew your cheek in consideration. Should you say anything? You would hate to be that teacher that ruins all the fun, but on the other hand, this day is too important to just let it be. Another round of banging goes by, and your patience is slowly wearing thin. The noise is undermining all the hard work your students are putting in for their very first spelling test, and they need to be given their best chance of it as possible.
A small sigh escapes you as you check your watch, ten minutes until the test is over, leaving plenty of time for the noise to continue to be a nuisance, and impede on the quiet atmosphere of a test.
Running a hand over your hair, you quietly open the door, and hurry your way to the room across, where the preschool classroom is. You knock on the painted metal doorframe, to grab the attention of your colleague, Ms. Roberts, still biting your cheek in thought.
“Hello, Mrs. Ro– um, Connie,” Even after graduating high school, and going through your college years, you still struggled with calling your co-workers by their first name. All you could sum it up to is intimidation making old habits dying hard.
“Would you mind watching my class for a moment?” You ask softly, glancing back to the door, where you can still see the manila folders set up as a divider on the children's desks. They seem to be fine on their own, but one could never be too sure. Children are far more sneaky, and creative, than many adults give them credit for. “The classroom above me is being really loud, and my students are taking their first spelling test.”
“Of course, dear. I’ll be over in a moment.” The older woman begins to organize the papers on her desk, and you hurry across the hall to stand in your doorway once more. Connie follows only a few steps behind, and you give her a thankful nod as she takes your place temporarily.
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The upstairs hallway is devoid of all student life, save for the random kid wandering around after being given permission to go to the bathroom. It’s not surprising, however the empty stretch of concrete, and carpet made you uncomfortable. There’s no artwork quite like the explosions of color that decorated the elementary halls, even if some projects are taped to the boring brick walls. Still, you trudged on, determined to remedy the disturbance in your classroom.
As you approach the room directly above yours, a bout of anxiety washes over you. Only a few weeks in, and you’re already becoming the mean teacher. It’s not like it actually matters, since you will never fully teach these older students, however there’s a decent chance that you are teaching, or will be teaching their younger siblings going forward, and you’d hate to have that reputation carry into your learning environment. Still, it’s better to nip this issue in the bud, than allow the noise to continue to screw up the carefully crafted classroom you’ve spent the better time of four years learning to manage.
The door comes sooner than you’d hoped it would, and you have to take a moment to gather yourself.
“It’s okay, this isn’t that scary, just another co-worker.” You mutter to yourself, taking in deep breaths to soothe your slightly racing heart. You take a step forward, then another, until you’re close enough to feel the slight bit of cool breeze coming from under the door. Your eyes glance to the nameplate on the door, and a slight jolt of panic runs through you at the name. Dr. Grace.
‘I’m screwed’ you think to yourself, wincing at the title. What kind of middle school teacher has a doctorate? This one, it seems. ‘Surely this teacher wouldn’t be someone stuck up. I mean, the students are cheering for heaven’s sake!’
You take another deep breath, and slowly raise your hand. Cool metal brushes your knuckles as you gingerly ‘tap, tap tap’ on the door. Silence falls on the other side, and once more a bit of panic runs through you like someone poured cold water on your head. Footsteps approach the door, and you fidget with one of the rings on your finger to quell your nerves.
The door opens, and your figure is illuminated with the morning sun pouring in through the windows. You squint, and look down to the child standing in front of you, a confused expression written on her face. Your hands unclench a little as you relax. Speaking to a middle schooler, the meanest age range in school, is somehow less intimidating than speaking to an actual teacher. Maybe being in school traumatized you more than you thought it did.
“Excuse me,” You murmur, resisting the urge to call this pre-teen girl ‘little one’ as you do with some of the younger kids you teach. “I would like to speak with your teacher, um, Doctor…” You glance at the name plate again, taking in the teacher’s name: Dr. Ryland Grace. “Grace.”
She nods, and steps back into the room, leaving you awkwardly standing in front of a half-cracked door, to wait for Dr. Grace. In the few seconds you get to peer into the room, you take note of a few things. This teacher is messy, to say the least. Not messy as in the classroom is dirty, and full of bugs, but messy like he has stashes of pens and pencils around because he always loses his. It’s an absolute mess, but looks like a classroom you would have loved as a child. Every shelf is full of different things, and knicknacks that relate to what you can only guess is a science class. And the very pinnacle of it all is one of those model mobiles of Earth’s solar system, complete with all the planets, and the approximate distance compared to the Sun, hanging right over the teacher’s desk. It is an awesome classroom to say the least.
Your attention is quickly drawn from the model as a tall figure blocks the light shining on your face. Turning to the man, you steel yourself for the conversation, ready to kindly– but firmly, ask for the noise to be kept at a minimum, when you freeze.
‘Oh. Oh no. Oh, no, no, no, no.’
Soft, blue eyes meet yours, and you know you’re done for. Everything you’ve been planning to say has just gone out the window, now that you’re face-to-face with possibly the most gorgeous man you’ve ever met in your entire life. You swallow thickly as you take a step back to let the man out into the hallway.
You fold your hands neatly in front of you to stop yourself from fidgeting, and do your best to resist the heat threatening to turn your face red by not looking directly in Dr. Grace’s eyes. Instead, you glance slightly upward to his tousled blonde locks, strewn messily around his head. It’s charming, and you feel like you want to be swallowed up by the ground from the overwhelming nature of it all.
Clearing your throat, you begin to greet the man softly.
“Hello,” Your eyes rest on some of the shelves just over his shoulder, that way you don’t have to hold his gaze, but also avoid the possibility of seeming rude. You politely introduce yourself to him as another teacher, and pray that your voice isn’t as shaky as it feels. “I’m in the classroom directly below yours, and I was really hoping you’d keep it down? My kids are taking their first test, and it’s becoming a distraction.”
“Please?” You just barely have the courage to glance at Dr. Grace again, and the amount of concern in his eyes is enough to confuse you out of your slight stupor. Most people would just nod, and move on, but the look on his face says so much more than just ‘Okay, I’ll be quieter.’ He seems genuinely concerned for being a bother to your class.
“Yeah, yeah, of course! No… no problem, we’ll keep it down.” Dr. Grace tries to lean against the doorframe in a casual manner, but ends up slipping just enough to make him stumble to catch himself on the wall. It seems Grace is less than graceful when it comes to social settings. On the brighter side of things though, the near fall is enough for an involuntary giggle to slip from your throat.
“Thank you, I really appreciate it. It’s just that I’m a first-year teacher, and…” You trail off, daring to meet Dr. Grace’s eyes once more, and see the genuine understanding he holds for your situation. He, too, was once in your exact shoes, and anxious about the reflection of his teaching skills.
You chew the inside of your cheek, and take a step back, knowing you should return to your classroom. Even though this little expedition had only been two minutes at best, every second feels like an eternity under Dr. Grace’s attentive gaze. You should go before the butterflies make you lose your breakfast all on his polished dress shoes.
“Thank you again.” You manage to blurt out, before scurrying away fast enough that Dr. Grace is unable to get another word out. You don’t look back, but you can feel the burning blues on your head as you descend the same staircase you took to speak with him.
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Connie is still lingering in the doorway when you get back, keeping a careful watch on your students as the computer slowly reads out their assigned words. You smile gratefully at her, but the red in your cheeks has yet to fade from your interaction with the cute science teacher up above you.
“That was fast. Who’s the teacher above you again?” She asks, feigning innocence at the sight of your fluster. Her teasing only adds to the red, making your face burn with embarrassment.
“His name’s Dr. Grace.” You whisper back, trying to keep quiet for the sake of your students. The noise from his classroom had ceased, so now you would be the distraction if you spoke any louder than this.
“Ah, Yes. I remember when Ryland first came to this school a few years ago. A strange one indeed, but a good person nonetheless.” Connie eyes you closely as you bite your cheek and straighten your jewelry. She’s been around long enough to know when one teacher, almost always the newbie, begins to crush on another. It’s like watching the middle schoolers upstairs all over again. She stays in the doorway for a minute longer, but ultimately hums, and turns around, a smirk on her wrinkled face. “He is a cute one.”
You glance at her, faces still burning, and mouth agape at her words. Just what is she insinuating? That you’d actually date one of your co-workers, something you’re absolutely sure would get you fired for violation of workplace rules? As if! Besides, the two of you teach a completely different age range, there’s little to no reason as to why you’d ever need to interact with Dr. Grace unless the drumming on desks would continue to be an issue.
You sputter back something, but ultimately slump in embarrassment when she enters her own classroom. At least the hallways are empty, so no one can see you calm yourself down enough to save face. Your students ask a lot of questions, and you do not feel like explaining why the teacher above you makes your mind feel like mush.
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