(no subject)
So. Er. Marching Band AU snippetry. Only, like. Bigger. I don't know. I can't concentrate anymore because I'm thinking of pizza.
Ray gets called into Brian's office one Monday when he's in the middle of taking stock of the meager supplies the district allows him, so he's not really paying attention when Brian lays the news on him.
"I'm sorry, what?" Ray really kind of hopes he's misheard. It's early, he hasn't had coffee, and even though it's only the third week of school he's already struggling to make ends meet. "Matt did what?"
Brian sighs heavily and leans back in his chair, giving Ray an apologetic look. "I'm sorry about this, Ray. I really am. But unless you do this we're going to have shut the band program down. We haven't been able to find anyone else interested in taking over on such short notice, and frankly, I don't blame them. The kids - "
"The kids aren't the problem!" Ray might have a bit of a knee-jerk response to any sentence that automatically lays the blame at the feet of the students, but it's a total cop-out. He hates it when other teachers, adults, never shoulder the blame when they should because the kids always suffer for it. "The band program is the only thing keeping most of them off the streets, doing god know what. You can't just - "
Ray breaks off at the look Brian's giving him. It's a little reminiscent of the cat that got the canary, and Ray's suddenly reminded that there's a reason Brian's in the position he is at such a young age.
"Brian? Brian, I don't think I like that look."
Brian's smile widens. "So you'll take the job?"
There's no doubt in Brian's voice that Ray will, and Ray's a little annoyed that Brian seems to think he knows him that well. "Brian, I don't know anything about marching band." He says slowly, the way he would while talking to an extremely slow individual or any of his asshole friends.
Like Frank. And apparently now he can add Brian to that list.
"Great! I knew I could count on you!" Brian stops smiling. "Now get the hell out of here and go shape young minds or whatever it is you get paid to do. I've got paperwork to deal with."
Stunned doesn't even begin to describe the way Ray feels when he gets to his feet. He's halfway to the door when Brian clears his throat behind him. Ray freezes, hand on the doorknob, and turns to look back at Brian.
"You're going to have to cover the beginning guitar classes for the next couple of days, too. Iero called in with the death-flu."
Ray just sighs wearily. "Again?"
"Yes!" Brian grabs a handful of papers at his elbow and shuffles them, unconcerned that anything printed on neon yellow and pink paper doesn't exactly lend the air of someone who is hard at work. Ray's tempted to ask if Brian wants a glue stick and maybe a box of crayons, but the glare Brian gives him tells him that wouldn't be the wisest move on his part.
"Is he actually dying this time, or just suffering unimaginable agony?" Ray's only vaguely interested in the answer. Either way he's probably going to hear all about it when he gets home and finds his answering machine full of messages from Frank with whiny pleas for death...and soup.
Brian, all too familiar with Frank's habits paws through the coffee cup of pens on his desk for something to write with. "Does it matter? You're going know all about it when you get home anyway."
Ray sighs again, and Brian almost smiles.
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The only thing Ray knows about marching band is that it's a band. That marches.
He's always been one of those people who think that if you're going to be a teacher you should know everything possible there is know about the subject. The fact that he learned that lesson from Star Wars when he was growing up isn't exactly something he goes around advertising, but the basic principle is the same.
Ray's trying to think of someone, anyone, who could offer him some advice beyond hopping in his car and fleeing to another country where Brian will never, ever be able to find him, when he remembers Bob.
Actually, he remembers Frank telling him that Bob used to be in marching band back when he was in high school. Ray doesn't even know how Frank knows that since Bob Bryar is notoriously close-mouthed, but suspects it has something to do with Frank's self-proclaimed stealth ninja ways. Ray just likes to think of it as Frank being a creepy, creepy stalker.
Bob's relatively new, having transferred in from Chicago at the beginning of last year to teach the drum and general percussion classes. Somehow Brian worked his magic and wrangled him into teaching jazz band as well seeing as he seemed to have some form of experience with it. Brian's not really picky about details as long as he gets what he wants in the end.
Ray's a little desperate because he originally signed up to teach guitar classes. He loves teaching guitar - it's something he knows, something he's good at. Marching band? Not so much. He figures that it can't possibly hurt to go to Bob for help since, they're on the same team and everything, right? Bob probably cares about things like school spirit and Ray's always associated marching bands with being all, "Rah, rah, rah!" and "Go team!" and all of the other things involved with having insane amounts of school pride.
Unfortunately, Ray's never been that guy. He was the guy that hid behind the music room during lunch and played his guitar, trying to get this or that guitar solo down just right and hoped everyone else ignored him, and now... Now he's pretty much doomed because he has no idea how to be that guy.
"I'm going to get fired." he mutters, and pushes the door to the band room open hoping to find Bob there getting ready for his next class.
The two of them haven't really spoken outside of staff meetings and polite greetings in passing, even though they share the band room and a music library. Ray tends to think of that as a personal tragedy since Bob is -
Bob is sitting behind the drum kit on the top tier at the back of the band room.
He looks up from what he's doing, tuning the snare drum or whatever it is drummers do, when the band room door slams shut behind Ray. "Toro?"
Ray goes up to Bob and grabs his arm. "You've got to help me, Bob. I'm in trouble."
Bob looks down at where Ray's hand fingers are wrapped around his arm and back up at Ray, eyebrows lifted. Ray laughs nervously and lets him go, backing up a few steps with his hands raised in a conciliatory manner.
"You were in marching band, right?" Ray asks, before Bob can say anything. "You know how it works?"
Bob stares at him.
"I mean. It's not that complicated, right? They just march around and play, right?" Ray's voice kind of rises towards the end. A little.
Bob's expression rearranges itself into a scowl, and Ray takes another hasty step back. Bob's bigger than he is and looks like he could snap Ray in half if he were so inclined. Ray's doing his best to see that that never happens. He's not so sure he's succeeding at the moment if the look on Bob's face is any indication.
"Matt quit, and somehow Brian thought it would make sense to make me the new marching band teacher, and I don't know what the hell I'm doing."
Ray tries for a hopeful smile, and cocks his head to side while he waits for Bob's answer.
And waits.
"Good luck with that." Bob finally says after a long moment, and sits back down behind the drum kit. He fiddles with the snare drum again before looking back up at Ray, and if it were anyone else Ray would swear that he was smirking at him. "It's a lot more complicated than marching around and playing."
Ray considers asking Bob what the hell that means, but Bob bends down to do something with the bass drum, and Ray admits defeat. He hooks a thumb over his shoulder and mumbles an excuse before scuttling away.
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Ray sneaks back into the band room during fourth period when Bob is usually long gone and spends it going through the desk in Matt's - his office, now - looking for anything resembling a Marching Band for Dummies guide. He feels only the slightest twinge of guilt for being so uncharitable towards Matt, but since Matt is the reason he's in the mess to start with he doesn't let it bother him too much. He comes up with half a dozen phone messages written down in Matt's nearly indecipherable writing, a few newspaper clippings about the school's football team from last season, a half-eaten salami sandwich and a Tupperware container with something inside that makes a horrible squelching noise when Ray holds it up to get a better look.
Fifteen minutes to class Ray breaks down and calls Frank to freak out for as long as the answering machine will let him even though he knows Frank's either dead or sleeping. Frank won't bother to check his messages until he can sit up without wanting to throw up, and Ray knows he'll be over there before then to get rid of any incriminating evidence of his complete and total mental breakdown.
When the bell rings, Ray watches through the sliver of glass not covered in flyers and rock band posters as students filter into the band room in clumps of two and more. Most of them mill around talking and laughing for a few minutes before settling down in their usual spots. He's tempted to just stay in the office and hide until class is over, but even if they can't actually see him from where they're sitting the office light is on. He doubts that they're stupid enough to buy that the office is empty, even though he really kid of wishes they were.
Ray tries telling himself that they're just as scared of him as he is of them, although he's sure that only applies to wild animals and not high school students. He doesn't care how many times Frank tries to convince him that there's no difference between the two.
The students don't seem all that enthused to be there when he walks to the front of the room and takes a look around at them. The kids that can afford them are chatting on their phones, others are reading or drawing and one entire corner is apparently dedicated to napping. It's also probably not a good sign that only a third of the kids brought instruments, and of that group, only a handful have taken them out of their cases.
"Okay!" Ray has never been all that fond of the cheerful, chirpy teachers. In his experience that kind of behavior usually hid some kind of addiction or a form of insanity. "So I'm the new marching band teacher."
A couple of kids look his way, and one raises a finger to his lips and actually shushes him.
"They were out late partying last night." He says, pointing at the students curled up in the nap corner. "They need their sleep."
Ray stares at him and the kid shrugs. "They pay me for this shit."
Ray doesn't know what he could possibly say to that, so he just nods and looks around the room again.
"So." He lowers his voice when that kid shushes him again. "So, what theme did Mr. Pelissier choose for the year?"
The kids - the ones that are paying attention - look at him blankly.
"For...for the field show? Don't you usually have a theme for that?"
More blank stares.
"Most of us signed up for marching band because we get out of having to take a P.E. class if we stick with it through graduation." Someone pipes up with from the nap corner. "It's an easy grade, and we don't have to deal with stupid shit in the locker room showers."
That actually gets the most reaction from the kids Ray's seen so far. There's a lot of fervent nodding and wide-eyed looks of horror, and Ray has to stifle a sigh. He knows exactly what they're thinking since he had to go through it himself.
"Okay. So he didn't pick a theme, then?"
One of the flute players raises a hand. "I think he mentioned something about Scheherazade."
Another kid sitting at back of the room snorts and looks over at her, lip curled in a sneer. "Yeah, because the school that won the big competition last year used that as their theme. All he ever does is pick the winning band's theme. Guy's a complete hack."
Ray frowns at that. As far as he knows there's an unwritten law somewhere that the teachers are supposed to present a unified front to the student body, but the kid has a point.
"Okay, so..." Ray clears his throat and tries out a stern look when that one kid tries to shush him again. "It looks like the first order of business is going to be picking out a theme for the field show. What do you think about - "
Ray's suggestion for a classic rock theme is drowned out by at least a dozen voices talking at once, and he blinks in surprise. A moment later and half of the room is calling out movie soundtracks, while a few random voices offer pop and rock bands. He can see movement over in the nap corner, and complete silence coming from the back of the room.
Clearly, Bob was right when he said things were more complicated than he'd thought.
It takes several tries but Ray eventually manages to get everyone's attention again. They look at him expectantly and he smiles. "When you go home today why don't you sit down and come up with an idea for this year's field show theme? We can make a list of everyone's ideas to talk over and vote on it tomorrow in class."
Ray's a little taken aback at the response that gets because it had sounded like a reasonable enough solution in his head. But the way the kids are looking at him make him a little nervous. "Is that going to be a problem?"
The kids stare some more and then the kid sitting at the back of the room, and he's definitely a ringleader if Ray's ever seen one, nods slowly. He's watching Ray with a thoughtful frown, almost like he's not sure what to make of him. "No, yeah. We can do that."
He's echoed by the rest of the kids in the room, even those in the nap corner.
Ray smiles, feeling strangely like he's won some sort of victory. "All right then."
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Ray has his intermediate and advanced guitar kids at the end of the day and he feels more at home with them because at least he knows they want to be there and actually care about what he's teaching them. Most of them have dreams of being in in bands one day and getting out of Jersey, making it big. Ray does what he can to help them along, teaching them how to rock and have fun, and they love him for it.
He likes to brings in classic rock music and encourages them to bring in music of their favorite bands to compare styles and techniques in order to help them find which fits them best. It's a little outside of his actual job description, but he doesn't mind and Frank loves coming in to play with the kids who lean more towards the punk side of things even though he doesn't get paid to do that. They both do more than they need to, which is probably why Brian lets them get away with half the things they pull.
After the last bell rings Ray spends a little time tuning one of the school's old guitars, listening to the strings and trying to get a feel for how much life is left in them before they break. When he tries a high note, Ray winces and makes a mental note to stop by the music store on his way home. He leans over to reach for the guitar case and that's when he notices Bob watching him.
"Er."
One side of Bob's mouth twitches and he holds up a manila folder. "Schechter sent these down earlier. They'll probably help you out with the marching band, but you can never tell with him."
Ray can't help but laugh at that because it's so true it's not even funny. He's half convinced Brian sits in his office devising ways to make Ray's life more difficult than it needs to be out of a twisted sense of revenge.
"Oh, wow. Thanks." Ray says, setting the guitar aside to take the folder.
Bob smiles at him, and Ray almost drops the damn thing.
"Good luck." Bob tells him, and oh, yeah. Ray's absolutely certain Bob's smirking at him this time. "You're going to need it with these kids."
Ray opens his mouth to protest, to say that the kids aren't the problem, but Bob raises an eyebrow at him, and...okay. Bob actually has a point.
"Schechter wouldn't have dumped this on you if he didn't think you could handle it, you know."
Ray shrugs a little helplessly. He doesn't want to let the kids down, but he knows his good intentions aren't going to be enough. Not with what he saw earlier, and certainly not when he barely knows what he's doing.
"You'll be fine." There's something about the way Bob says it that makes Ray think he honestly means it.
"Thanks." Ray doesn't know what else to say, and he feels more than a little lame with what he does come up with.
Bob snorts and and gives Ray a wave goodbye as he walks out the door, leaving Ray staring after him like the idiot he is.
"Smooth, Ray." He mutters, looking down at the folder in his hands.
He's tempted to start flipping through it on the spot, but it's starting to get late and he still needs to stop by the music store and check in on Frank to make sure he hasn't actually died. With a resigned sigh Ray sets the folder down and carefully puts the guitar away. He does one final visual check of the band room before flipping the the lights off and locking up for the night.
Ray gets called into Brian's office one Monday when he's in the middle of taking stock of the meager supplies the district allows him, so he's not really paying attention when Brian lays the news on him.
"I'm sorry, what?" Ray really kind of hopes he's misheard. It's early, he hasn't had coffee, and even though it's only the third week of school he's already struggling to make ends meet. "Matt did what?"
Brian sighs heavily and leans back in his chair, giving Ray an apologetic look. "I'm sorry about this, Ray. I really am. But unless you do this we're going to have shut the band program down. We haven't been able to find anyone else interested in taking over on such short notice, and frankly, I don't blame them. The kids - "
"The kids aren't the problem!" Ray might have a bit of a knee-jerk response to any sentence that automatically lays the blame at the feet of the students, but it's a total cop-out. He hates it when other teachers, adults, never shoulder the blame when they should because the kids always suffer for it. "The band program is the only thing keeping most of them off the streets, doing god know what. You can't just - "
Ray breaks off at the look Brian's giving him. It's a little reminiscent of the cat that got the canary, and Ray's suddenly reminded that there's a reason Brian's in the position he is at such a young age.
"Brian? Brian, I don't think I like that look."
Brian's smile widens. "So you'll take the job?"
There's no doubt in Brian's voice that Ray will, and Ray's a little annoyed that Brian seems to think he knows him that well. "Brian, I don't know anything about marching band." He says slowly, the way he would while talking to an extremely slow individual or any of his asshole friends.
Like Frank. And apparently now he can add Brian to that list.
"Great! I knew I could count on you!" Brian stops smiling. "Now get the hell out of here and go shape young minds or whatever it is you get paid to do. I've got paperwork to deal with."
Stunned doesn't even begin to describe the way Ray feels when he gets to his feet. He's halfway to the door when Brian clears his throat behind him. Ray freezes, hand on the doorknob, and turns to look back at Brian.
"You're going to have to cover the beginning guitar classes for the next couple of days, too. Iero called in with the death-flu."
Ray just sighs wearily. "Again?"
"Yes!" Brian grabs a handful of papers at his elbow and shuffles them, unconcerned that anything printed on neon yellow and pink paper doesn't exactly lend the air of someone who is hard at work. Ray's tempted to ask if Brian wants a glue stick and maybe a box of crayons, but the glare Brian gives him tells him that wouldn't be the wisest move on his part.
"Is he actually dying this time, or just suffering unimaginable agony?" Ray's only vaguely interested in the answer. Either way he's probably going to hear all about it when he gets home and finds his answering machine full of messages from Frank with whiny pleas for death...and soup.
Brian, all too familiar with Frank's habits paws through the coffee cup of pens on his desk for something to write with. "Does it matter? You're going know all about it when you get home anyway."
Ray sighs again, and Brian almost smiles.
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The only thing Ray knows about marching band is that it's a band. That marches.
He's always been one of those people who think that if you're going to be a teacher you should know everything possible there is know about the subject. The fact that he learned that lesson from Star Wars when he was growing up isn't exactly something he goes around advertising, but the basic principle is the same.
Ray's trying to think of someone, anyone, who could offer him some advice beyond hopping in his car and fleeing to another country where Brian will never, ever be able to find him, when he remembers Bob.
Actually, he remembers Frank telling him that Bob used to be in marching band back when he was in high school. Ray doesn't even know how Frank knows that since Bob Bryar is notoriously close-mouthed, but suspects it has something to do with Frank's self-proclaimed stealth ninja ways. Ray just likes to think of it as Frank being a creepy, creepy stalker.
Bob's relatively new, having transferred in from Chicago at the beginning of last year to teach the drum and general percussion classes. Somehow Brian worked his magic and wrangled him into teaching jazz band as well seeing as he seemed to have some form of experience with it. Brian's not really picky about details as long as he gets what he wants in the end.
Ray's a little desperate because he originally signed up to teach guitar classes. He loves teaching guitar - it's something he knows, something he's good at. Marching band? Not so much. He figures that it can't possibly hurt to go to Bob for help since, they're on the same team and everything, right? Bob probably cares about things like school spirit and Ray's always associated marching bands with being all, "Rah, rah, rah!" and "Go team!" and all of the other things involved with having insane amounts of school pride.
Unfortunately, Ray's never been that guy. He was the guy that hid behind the music room during lunch and played his guitar, trying to get this or that guitar solo down just right and hoped everyone else ignored him, and now... Now he's pretty much doomed because he has no idea how to be that guy.
"I'm going to get fired." he mutters, and pushes the door to the band room open hoping to find Bob there getting ready for his next class.
The two of them haven't really spoken outside of staff meetings and polite greetings in passing, even though they share the band room and a music library. Ray tends to think of that as a personal tragedy since Bob is -
Bob is sitting behind the drum kit on the top tier at the back of the band room.
He looks up from what he's doing, tuning the snare drum or whatever it is drummers do, when the band room door slams shut behind Ray. "Toro?"
Ray goes up to Bob and grabs his arm. "You've got to help me, Bob. I'm in trouble."
Bob looks down at where Ray's hand fingers are wrapped around his arm and back up at Ray, eyebrows lifted. Ray laughs nervously and lets him go, backing up a few steps with his hands raised in a conciliatory manner.
"You were in marching band, right?" Ray asks, before Bob can say anything. "You know how it works?"
Bob stares at him.
"I mean. It's not that complicated, right? They just march around and play, right?" Ray's voice kind of rises towards the end. A little.
Bob's expression rearranges itself into a scowl, and Ray takes another hasty step back. Bob's bigger than he is and looks like he could snap Ray in half if he were so inclined. Ray's doing his best to see that that never happens. He's not so sure he's succeeding at the moment if the look on Bob's face is any indication.
"Matt quit, and somehow Brian thought it would make sense to make me the new marching band teacher, and I don't know what the hell I'm doing."
Ray tries for a hopeful smile, and cocks his head to side while he waits for Bob's answer.
And waits.
"Good luck with that." Bob finally says after a long moment, and sits back down behind the drum kit. He fiddles with the snare drum again before looking back up at Ray, and if it were anyone else Ray would swear that he was smirking at him. "It's a lot more complicated than marching around and playing."
Ray considers asking Bob what the hell that means, but Bob bends down to do something with the bass drum, and Ray admits defeat. He hooks a thumb over his shoulder and mumbles an excuse before scuttling away.
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Ray sneaks back into the band room during fourth period when Bob is usually long gone and spends it going through the desk in Matt's - his office, now - looking for anything resembling a Marching Band for Dummies guide. He feels only the slightest twinge of guilt for being so uncharitable towards Matt, but since Matt is the reason he's in the mess to start with he doesn't let it bother him too much. He comes up with half a dozen phone messages written down in Matt's nearly indecipherable writing, a few newspaper clippings about the school's football team from last season, a half-eaten salami sandwich and a Tupperware container with something inside that makes a horrible squelching noise when Ray holds it up to get a better look.
Fifteen minutes to class Ray breaks down and calls Frank to freak out for as long as the answering machine will let him even though he knows Frank's either dead or sleeping. Frank won't bother to check his messages until he can sit up without wanting to throw up, and Ray knows he'll be over there before then to get rid of any incriminating evidence of his complete and total mental breakdown.
When the bell rings, Ray watches through the sliver of glass not covered in flyers and rock band posters as students filter into the band room in clumps of two and more. Most of them mill around talking and laughing for a few minutes before settling down in their usual spots. He's tempted to just stay in the office and hide until class is over, but even if they can't actually see him from where they're sitting the office light is on. He doubts that they're stupid enough to buy that the office is empty, even though he really kid of wishes they were.
Ray tries telling himself that they're just as scared of him as he is of them, although he's sure that only applies to wild animals and not high school students. He doesn't care how many times Frank tries to convince him that there's no difference between the two.
The students don't seem all that enthused to be there when he walks to the front of the room and takes a look around at them. The kids that can afford them are chatting on their phones, others are reading or drawing and one entire corner is apparently dedicated to napping. It's also probably not a good sign that only a third of the kids brought instruments, and of that group, only a handful have taken them out of their cases.
"Okay!" Ray has never been all that fond of the cheerful, chirpy teachers. In his experience that kind of behavior usually hid some kind of addiction or a form of insanity. "So I'm the new marching band teacher."
A couple of kids look his way, and one raises a finger to his lips and actually shushes him.
"They were out late partying last night." He says, pointing at the students curled up in the nap corner. "They need their sleep."
Ray stares at him and the kid shrugs. "They pay me for this shit."
Ray doesn't know what he could possibly say to that, so he just nods and looks around the room again.
"So." He lowers his voice when that kid shushes him again. "So, what theme did Mr. Pelissier choose for the year?"
The kids - the ones that are paying attention - look at him blankly.
"For...for the field show? Don't you usually have a theme for that?"
More blank stares.
"Most of us signed up for marching band because we get out of having to take a P.E. class if we stick with it through graduation." Someone pipes up with from the nap corner. "It's an easy grade, and we don't have to deal with stupid shit in the locker room showers."
That actually gets the most reaction from the kids Ray's seen so far. There's a lot of fervent nodding and wide-eyed looks of horror, and Ray has to stifle a sigh. He knows exactly what they're thinking since he had to go through it himself.
"Okay. So he didn't pick a theme, then?"
One of the flute players raises a hand. "I think he mentioned something about Scheherazade."
Another kid sitting at back of the room snorts and looks over at her, lip curled in a sneer. "Yeah, because the school that won the big competition last year used that as their theme. All he ever does is pick the winning band's theme. Guy's a complete hack."
Ray frowns at that. As far as he knows there's an unwritten law somewhere that the teachers are supposed to present a unified front to the student body, but the kid has a point.
"Okay, so..." Ray clears his throat and tries out a stern look when that one kid tries to shush him again. "It looks like the first order of business is going to be picking out a theme for the field show. What do you think about - "
Ray's suggestion for a classic rock theme is drowned out by at least a dozen voices talking at once, and he blinks in surprise. A moment later and half of the room is calling out movie soundtracks, while a few random voices offer pop and rock bands. He can see movement over in the nap corner, and complete silence coming from the back of the room.
Clearly, Bob was right when he said things were more complicated than he'd thought.
It takes several tries but Ray eventually manages to get everyone's attention again. They look at him expectantly and he smiles. "When you go home today why don't you sit down and come up with an idea for this year's field show theme? We can make a list of everyone's ideas to talk over and vote on it tomorrow in class."
Ray's a little taken aback at the response that gets because it had sounded like a reasonable enough solution in his head. But the way the kids are looking at him make him a little nervous. "Is that going to be a problem?"
The kids stare some more and then the kid sitting at the back of the room, and he's definitely a ringleader if Ray's ever seen one, nods slowly. He's watching Ray with a thoughtful frown, almost like he's not sure what to make of him. "No, yeah. We can do that."
He's echoed by the rest of the kids in the room, even those in the nap corner.
Ray smiles, feeling strangely like he's won some sort of victory. "All right then."
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Ray has his intermediate and advanced guitar kids at the end of the day and he feels more at home with them because at least he knows they want to be there and actually care about what he's teaching them. Most of them have dreams of being in in bands one day and getting out of Jersey, making it big. Ray does what he can to help them along, teaching them how to rock and have fun, and they love him for it.
He likes to brings in classic rock music and encourages them to bring in music of their favorite bands to compare styles and techniques in order to help them find which fits them best. It's a little outside of his actual job description, but he doesn't mind and Frank loves coming in to play with the kids who lean more towards the punk side of things even though he doesn't get paid to do that. They both do more than they need to, which is probably why Brian lets them get away with half the things they pull.
After the last bell rings Ray spends a little time tuning one of the school's old guitars, listening to the strings and trying to get a feel for how much life is left in them before they break. When he tries a high note, Ray winces and makes a mental note to stop by the music store on his way home. He leans over to reach for the guitar case and that's when he notices Bob watching him.
"Er."
One side of Bob's mouth twitches and he holds up a manila folder. "Schechter sent these down earlier. They'll probably help you out with the marching band, but you can never tell with him."
Ray can't help but laugh at that because it's so true it's not even funny. He's half convinced Brian sits in his office devising ways to make Ray's life more difficult than it needs to be out of a twisted sense of revenge.
"Oh, wow. Thanks." Ray says, setting the guitar aside to take the folder.
Bob smiles at him, and Ray almost drops the damn thing.
"Good luck." Bob tells him, and oh, yeah. Ray's absolutely certain Bob's smirking at him this time. "You're going to need it with these kids."
Ray opens his mouth to protest, to say that the kids aren't the problem, but Bob raises an eyebrow at him, and...okay. Bob actually has a point.
"Schechter wouldn't have dumped this on you if he didn't think you could handle it, you know."
Ray shrugs a little helplessly. He doesn't want to let the kids down, but he knows his good intentions aren't going to be enough. Not with what he saw earlier, and certainly not when he barely knows what he's doing.
"You'll be fine." There's something about the way Bob says it that makes Ray think he honestly means it.
"Thanks." Ray doesn't know what else to say, and he feels more than a little lame with what he does come up with.
Bob snorts and and gives Ray a wave goodbye as he walks out the door, leaving Ray staring after him like the idiot he is.
"Smooth, Ray." He mutters, looking down at the folder in his hands.
He's tempted to start flipping through it on the spot, but it's starting to get late and he still needs to stop by the music store and check in on Frank to make sure he hasn't actually died. With a resigned sigh Ray sets the folder down and carefully puts the guitar away. He does one final visual check of the band room before flipping the the lights off and locking up for the night.