Chapter Text
Rain thunders against the building as I shake out my dampened curls. Heavy clouds have been looming over San Francisco for days, but it wasn’t until this morning that they decided to come down on the Bay Area—and my hair is paying the price. I sigh. At least my pay isn’t contingent upon frizz management.
The lady behind the front desk glances up as I step into the administration office. “8th-grade science again, Miss Lensing,” she says, holding out a spare key.
I let out a low whistle. “Three days in a row,” I say, taking the key. “Dr. Grace is still out sick, huh?”
“Him and half of the rest of the faculty,” she mutters. “Who knew an outbreak of head colds could be this disastrous?” She shakes her head with an exasperated sigh. “And you’re not even supposed to be here until … what? March? April?”
“Whenever the 8th-grade English teacher goes on maternity leave, so sometime in late March.”
“That’s right—you’re Mrs. William’s long-term replacement.” She hums. “Do you normally teach English?”
I nod.
“How’s science been going for you?”
“Well … if I’m being honest, Dr. Grace’s notes might be a bit too scatterbrained for my taste, but on the bright side, I’m only filling in for him until he’s well enough to get back to teaching.” I shrug. “Besides, whether I hold a grudge or not depends on how nice of a guy he is.”
Rita smirks like I just referenced an inside joke of hers. “Oh, believe me, you’ll forgive him.”
My brow furrows. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She snorts. “Oh, nothing, hon. Mr. Grace is just … very likable.”
Something about her tone doesn’t sit right with me, but I smile nonetheless. “I’ll take your word for it. Thanks again, Rita.” And with that, I step out into the hall, thoughts already reeling.
What was that about?
I’ve yet to meet Dr. Grace, but his students are some of the best I’ve ever worked with. Bright, enthusiastic, respectful, ready to learn—every substitute teacher’s dream. They’re also strangely determined to play this game they called “lightning round” that involves hacky-sacks. Unfortunately, I can’t wrap my head around the game to save my life, and after my sixth failed attempt to follow their instructions, I decided that study hall would be a better way to spend the rest of the period.
What stands out the most, however, is their deep-rooted curiosity—the kind you only ever see in students whose teachers are passionate about what they teach and want to share that passion with their students. And given how intensely fascinated the students are about what they’re learning, I figure it’s safe to say that Dr. Grace is one of the most passionate teachers out there.
I enter the stairwell at the end of the hall.
I can already tell that Dr. Grace had achieved what you would call “cool teacher status” just by looking at how he’s arranged his classroom. Every inch of wall is covered with posters ranging from detailed atom diagrams to inspirational quotes to cheesy science puns (my personal favorite is the “you cannot b. cereus” poster with a smiley cartoon bacteria on it), all of which give the room a nice pop of color. There’s also a massive collection of drawings, thank-you letters, and grad party invites stacked (yes, stacked) on the wall behind his desk—he’s clearly been a popular teacher for a long time.
Counters stretch across the left, front, and right walls of the classroom, and while most of the space is used to store lab equipment, there are several items that Dr. Grace appears to have brought in himself: a small animal skeleton on display in a glass box, jars filled with various animal parts (I’d rather not go into detail about those), a fancy-looking solar system model hanging from the ceiling, and a strange device in the back corner labeled “Jacob’s Ladder - DO NOT TOUCH” (though I have no idea who Jacob was or how the thing qualifies as a ladder, given the blatant lack of rungs). Oh, and a jar filled with what appears to be cooked spaghetti and a singular hard-boiled egg (???).
There are several other instruments, models, and trinkets that the students promise me they’re allowed to use during free time and in-between classes (I let them, but only after double checking with one of the other teachers to be safe), including—but not limited to—a plasma ball, a box of fidget toys, and a collection of seashells with a small booklet listing the different types and names.
In other words, the room practically screams: “Hey, school is fun!”
It’s pretty dang cool.
The 8th-grade English classroom is right across the hall from the science classroom, so I’ll be seeing a lot of Dr. Grace once I start filling in for Mrs. Williams. If Dr. Grace is anywhere near as bright and enthusiastic as his classroom is (and that’s usually a very reliable way to gauge a teacher’s personality), I have a feeling that he and I are going to get along nicely. Honestly, I’m looking forward to meeting him.
But there’s nothing that I know about Dr. Grace that could clue me in on what Rita meant by that “likeable” comment. Hmmm. I shake my head and exit the stairwell. Nevermind. I need to focus on not getting lost in this labyrinth of a school.
As I start down the hallway, though, I notice that the door to the 8th-grade science classroom is propped open. It shouldn’t be—I have a spare key for a reason (the reason being that it’s supposed to be locked).
With the slightest bit of hesitance, I walk up to the doorway—and freeze.
Remember how Rita told me that I’m supposed to be filling in for Dr. Grace, since he’s still out sick? Yeah, me too. Which is strange, because unless I’m mistaken, I’m looking at him right now.
At least I think I am … Come to think of it, I have no idea what Dr. Grace looks like. We’ve never met; I’ve never even seen a picture of him.
But the man sitting behind the teacher’s desk is dressed how I’d expect a middle teacher to dress: jeans, a white button-down under a grey blazer, and a red tie—and hanging next to the tie is a lanyard that looks just like the ones I’ve seen faculty wearing. The print’s too small to read from where I stand, but I figure it’s safe to assume that this man is Dr. Grace.
I glance at the white sneakers peeking out from under his desk. Wait, are those …? Hold on, is he seriously wearing Converse?
You know what? Doesn’t matter. I’m more interested in why Dr. Grace is sitting at what’s supposed to be my desk for the day, unless Rita lied about him being out sick. However, glancing at the several used tissues littered across his desk and the small mountain of tissues filling the trashcan next to it, I figure that isn’t the case.
(I’m not sure whether to be disgusted or impressed that he’s managed to use so many tissues. I glance at the clock on the wall behind him. And by 7:13 AM, no less.)
So why hasn’t he checked into the office? Shouldn’t Rita know that he’s here? Or, wait—no, he had to have called in this morning in order for her to think that he’s out sick for the day.
… What in the world is Dr. Grace doing here?!
Even more shocking to me is the fact that he still hasn’t noticed me standing in the doorway. Either the guy really likes paperwork (highly doubtful), or he’s really out of it, and all his energy—at least, whatever isn’t being used to fight off the illness—is being directed towards said paperwork (very likely).
Dr. Grace sniffles and grabs another tissue, nudging his already-crooked glasses into an even more lopsided angle as he blows his nose. The sound alone is enough to tell me that he’s in no condition to teach.
The clock now reads 7:15 AM, and school starts at 8:00 AM. I don’t have all the time in the world to prepare for my students, and this guy needs to go. With a small clenching and unclenching of my fists, I start towards the desk. “Excuse me?”
Dr. Grace startles with a full-body jolt, and the movement is so abrupt that it startles me—not as drastically, but enough to stop me in my tracks halfway to his desk.
Nearly all the color has drained from his face when he looks up at me, only to return the next moment, a faint pink spreading from his cheeks all the way to the collar of his shirt. His eyes stay locked on me as he fumbles with his glasses, which are dangling against his jaw, having been knocked out of place when he jumped.
It takes him three tries of opening and closing his mouth before he actually says anything.
“I, uh …”
It’s not much.
I stare at him for a moment longer in case he wants to elaborate, and when he doesn’t, it occurs to me that I might be weirding him out, so I glance away.
I’ve been told in the past that I have a staring problem, but I think it’s more of a lack of discomfort when it comes to eye contact. However, this is Dr. Grace’s first impression of me, and I’d rather it not be a weird one.
After a moment, I return my gaze to him with a small smile and try for a lighthearted tone. “Are you usually this jumpy?”
Dr. Grace swallows, skin turning pale again. “Uhm.”
He looks weirdly … guilty? Alright, so the guy’s easily startled. So what? It’s not like it’s something to be ashamed of.
Or maybe he’s doing something he isn’t supposed to be, I think. Hmm. Usually, when someone’s that jumpy, they’re either extremely engrossed in something or doing something they’re not supposed to be—something like sneaking in to teach when he’s clearly sick.
It’s a crazy thought, but something tells me I’m right. My eyes narrow. “Are you supposed to be here?”
He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then sneezes into the crook of his arm so hard that I’m surprised the force doesn’t send him flying backwards.
Silence follows, somehow louder than the sneeze. Dr. Grace stays frozen with half his face buried in his elbow, but what I can see of the look on his face tells me that he’s well aware that his sneeze more or less answered my question. I doubt he’s willing to admit it though.
If he’s stubborn enough to show up to teach with a nasty cold, he’s likely stubborn enough to deny the severity of said cold.
Before the silence turns suffocating, Dr. Grace sloooowly lowers his arm and glances at me. “What, no bless you?” he says, voice heavily congested.
… Or avoid talking about it altogether.
I cross the rest of the distance to his desk. “Doctor Grace.”
“That’s me.” He raises his hands to make a ‘ta-da!’ gesture.
We’ve got a real comedian on our hands.
Two can play that game, though. “Really?” I say, tilting my head with mock thoughtfulness. “I was under the impression that he’s still too sick to teach.”
“Whaaaat?” he says, feigning surprise. “Pshh, where did you hear tha—aah—ah—ah-choo!” This time he doesn’t raise his arm fast enough, and several papers on his desk are sent flying into the air before slowly fluttering to the floor. It’s like something straight out of a cartoon.
I raise a single brow. “Are you sure you’re Dr. Grace? ‘Cause with a nose that red, I was almost certain I was talking to Rudolph.”
He rolls his eyes at the joke. “Alright, alright,” he says defeatedly, grabbing a tissue and blowing his nose. “So maybe I’m not at a hundred percent, so what?” He reaches down to pick up the papers littering the floor.
I cross my arms. “Just maybe?”
“It’s a small maybe.” After collecting the last paper, he sits up, stilling when he meets my disbelieving glare. “… Small-to-medium maybe.”
My eyes flit over to the small avalanche of tissues in the trash can.
He follows my gaze and gulps. “Those are from yesterday,” he blurts.
“Funny. They weren’t there when I left yesterday.”
Dr. Grace sighs, raising his hands in defeat. “Okay, you got me. But what’s a little congestion? I can still teach, no biggie.”
“And get the rest of the school sick while you’re at it?”
He sputters incredulously. “What do you think I have hand sanitizer for?”
You’re a science teacher! I want to scream at him. You should know that hand sanitizer alone isn’t enough to prevent an airborne illness like the common cold!
I suppress the urge, though, and calmly stare him down, leaning forward as I do so. “If I were to call the principal here, would he or would he not send you home?”
That gets him to shut up. Finally.
“Look.” I put my hands on my hips. “I can tell you care a lot about your students. Apparently, you care enough to try to sneak into the school to teach them when you’re supposed to be at home, resting.” I shoot him an accusing glare.
He shrinks under it, looking appropriately embarrassed.
“Unfortunately,” I sigh, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of my nose, “given how you’ve snuck in here once,”—I lower the same hand to gesture vaguely at him—“I have reason to believe that you’d try to do it again if I forced you to leave.”
He lets out an unimpressed scoff, all traces of embarrassment vanishing. “Hold on—you’re making an assumption based on one datum?”
“One incident and sufficient supporting evidence.” I say, crossing my arms.
Another scoff, then a near-inaudible grumble.
“Also,” I continue, shifting my gaze to the mug sitting on his desk, “if the near-empty coffee mug says anything, it’s that you’re not going to be able to rest anytime soon, even if you did go home.”
Dr. Grace glances at said mug with mild surprise, then back to me suspiciously. “Alright, Nancy Drew,” he says, crossing his arms, “where exactly are you going with this?”
“I’m not letting you teach your students—that’s out of the question. However,” I say, letting my lips curve into the slightest smile.
Dr. Grace eyes me warily.
“I’m willing to let you teach me.”
It takes forever (as close to forever as eight minutes can get), but I finally convince Dr. Grace to let me teach his students.
Or rather, I blackmail him into retreating to the teachers’ lounge for the day with the threat of ratting him out to the principal.
I’m not heartless, though—I agree to let him guide me through the lessons for the day. That way, I get a better grasp of the material and he still gets to do a bit of teaching, even if I’m not one of his students. It’s a win-win.
There’s just one thing that Dr. Grace wants me to include in the lesson that I’m not totally on board with, which happens to be the corniest plant joke I’ve ever heard in my life. Something about how succulents answer the phone, I think? I don’t remember the whole joke, which is why Dr. Grace made sure to tell me about the entire list of jokes he had printed out. In the top drawer of his desk. Right next to the space-themed stickers. Can’t miss it.
The rest of the morning goes on without a hitch. Dr. Grace’s instructions turn out to be pretty useful. Compared to the last two days’, today’s lessons go much more smoothly—instead of feeling like I’m reading from a textbook word-for-word, I feel like I actually understand what I’m talking about. I mention this to Dr. Grace when I visit the teacher’s lounge for lunch hour.
“You know,” he says with an innocent pout, idly spinning around in an office chair, “if you, uh …” He waves a hand through the air absent-mindedly. “If you really wanted to improve the lessons, you could always—”
“—I’m not letting you teach your students,” I say flatly as I sit down across the table from him with my tupperware bowl of spaghetti fresh out of the microwave.
The spinning comes to an abrupt stop with a remarkable amount of sass (yes, you read that right—sass). “Come ooooooon,” Dr. Grace whines.
I drop my eyes to my spaghetti as I stir it around with a fork. “No.”
“Pleeeeeaaase?” I’m not even looking at him, and I can tell he’s making puppy eyes.
“No.”
“Pretty please.”
“No.”
“… What if I added a cherry on top?”
I look up with a deadpan stare. “No.”
“Sprinkles then.”
“The physical appearance of the please makes no difference,” I say, taking a bite of my food.
There’s a long pause. I see Dr. Grace raise a pointer finger out of the corner of my eye.
“If you keep pushing, I’m going to call the principal and tell him to send you home.”
The hand drops. He doesn’t give any pushback after that.
Honestly, I’m not sure what Rita was talking about when she called Dr. Grace “likeable.” “Pain in my rear” is more accurate. Hmm. Maybe he’s just like this when he’s under the weather. Being sick can make people act funny.
On the plus side, once he gives up on trying to change my mind, Dr. Grace wastes no time diving into the rest of the day’s lessons. On the downside, though, he does so as he’s eating, rambling near-incoherently through mouthfuls of the instant ramen he brought for lunch.
Between that and his congested voice, I only understand about half of what he’s saying. However, I fear that if I tell him that, he’ll go back to insisting that I just let him teach. So I don’t. Besides, what I do understand is helpful enough that I figure it’s alright if I don’t.
The bell announcing the end of lunch hour rings and I start packing up to leave. I’m almost out the door when I suddenly turn around, making Dr. Grace look up.
“I almost forgot to ask. What is …?” I snap my fingers, trying to find the right words. “What’s that game the students keep trying to play? The one with the beanbags?”
His eyes light up with recognition, and a glint of amusement. “The ‘lightning round’?”
“Yes, that’s the one. How do you play it? The students keep trying to teach me and I … well.” I shrug, making a circular motion with my hand. “I can’t make sense of their directions.”
He sits forward in his chair, suddenly very serious. “So. Basically …”
Then he launches into an explanation that’s somehow even more confusing than what the students gave me. Once he’s finished, he beams at me, completely oblivious of my severe puzzlement.
Yeah, it has to be the cold that’s making him act this way. There’s no way that he’s a middle school teacher if that’s how he teaches his classes on a regular basis … Or maybe it’s just game instructions.
Oh well. I figure I should try to be polite, even if I don’t understand any of what he just said. “Thanks, Dr. Grace,” I say, standing up to leave.
Dr. Grace gives me a double thumbs-up. “No problemo, Miss …”
“Lensing,” I finish for him with a small smile. “Marie Lensing.” And with that, I step out and close the door behind me.