Fic: Decaydance Academy (Everything Ties Together) (1/3)
Title: Decaydance Academy (Everything Ties Together)
Summary: Everyone's a teacher at this crazy school called Decaydance Academy. When someone wants to shut down the school, can they all pull together and save everything they love? Let's hope so.
Author's Notes: So, really, this fic wouldn't exist if it weren't for panicatthecobra or eddis64. A while ago, I just started ignoring it but then eddis64 wanted part of it for her birthday present and it just spiraled out of control from there and eventually I completed it and here we are! I want to thank eddis64 for not only pushing me to complete it, but for the AMAZING art, included in a seperate post at the end. I asked for something and she gave me a moderation that was even better than what I wanted! ILU! Also, panicatthecobra was my freakin' beta like always, and I love you too, Ali! This fic has been a long time coming, so hold your breath as you step through the doors of Decaydance Academy!
Decaydance Academy
(Everything Ties Together)
"We're not telling anyone about this 'til the last moment, William. Got it? We're going to try to avoid this, if possible."
William nodded meekly and receded from the office. Spencer watched him go and then stared at the paper on his desk. He crumpled it up; it included a date and the message:
Date of inspection and possible closure
Reason(s) for inspection:
Inside Source, First Hand Account
***
6 Months Earlier
There were only about one or two things Spencer hated about his job. One of them being: the fact that it was in the middle of a field in East Jesus No Fuck. Aside from that, he loved all the crazy shit that went down and all the people who worked for him.
Spencer had a nice office that was air-conditioned in the warmer months and heated in the winter. He had a microwave and a mini-fridge and a plush carpet. That was definitely the other thing he hated. He stayed away from his office as much as possible.
Spencer liked to be out and about in the hallways. He liked to see what the students and teachers saw, he liked to freeze when the school was badly heated or to burn up when it was scorching inside. Spencer wanted to be more than just Mr. Smith, Their Principal, The Authority Figure. He wanted to be someone kids liked just as much as the teachers, someone they thought was fun. He felt like if he kept a strict hand combined with a half-smile, nothing could go wrong.
Spencer worked with his best friend, Ryan Ross. Ryan had actually been the one to get Spencer his position. Ryan had some special influence with their superintendent. Everyone in the school knew of their superintendent, but no one talked to him in person. They talked to him through emails or through his secretary. He was just simply spoken of, in a God-like way, regarded to as "Superintendent Pete."
Ryan was the school's English and creative writing teacher. He had this rant about not teaching state-required books, which Spencer had heard so many times now, that he knew it word for word, but he didn't really listen after the first few minutes.
That was the weird thing about Decaydance Academy. No one was right up to the state's standards or requirements. The art teacher talked to his students about zombies and they made comic books, the choir director spent his time teaching his students about The Beatles and Disney music, the gym teacher had a way of always finding himself in the nurse's office, no one really knew the names of The Janitors and the librarian spent more time telling the kids that their choice of music was kind of shitty than recommending books. And somehow, their school seemed to fair just fine with kids always scoring top-notch on their final exams and state tests.
Basically, Spencer's school was an enigma wrapped in a conundrum.
***
Frank remembered the first time he met Gerard.
Last year had been Frank's very first year at Decaydance Academy. He remembered thinking it was weird, what he'd gotten himself into. The first thing all the teachers had asked him was if he'd actually met their superintendent, - who was apparently some mysterious dude, Frank learned later - and Frank had had to say no every time.
Frank taught gym and he thought it was probably the sweetest gig anyone could get. You get to play games for the rest of your life, and get paid? Amazing.
Frank just had a little problem. He managed to hurt himself in almost every class, almost every period. The nurse, a sweet chick named Greta, had a special box that she called her "Frank Kit" and it was full of special band-aids and his own icepack. Frank was covered in new bruises, bumps and band-aids at the end of every workday.
Only two months into the year, Frank had taken a special liking to one student - who was basically his favorite still to this day. The kid's name was Teddy and he also had a tendency to hurt himself.
That particular day they were playing baseball and Teddy took a slide into third base. Except, yeah. He did it wrong and broke his leg.
Frank remembered being in a rush of hysterics, calling first an ambulance and then the school office. They said that Mr. Smith wasn't in his office (per usual) and they couldn't find anyone to send down to watch his classes.
In his rush of crazy, Frank ran to the nearest hallway, the art and photography hallway. He ran into the nearest classroom and right into the art teacher. Frank ended up bumping the art teacher into a palette of paint, which splattered onto the art teacher's shirt and arms.
Frank had coughed uncertainly, flustered and a little awestruck at the eccentricity of the man before him. He remembered looking at his feet, apologizing and pleading the teacher to watch his class because he had to escort one of his students to the hospital.
He remembers the art teacher asking who it was and when Frank said it was Teddy, the art teacher had said, "Oh, Teddy Kersey? Poor kid. Name's Gerard, by the way."
Frank had nodded and his mouth might've been a little bit agape. The Emergency Room and the rest of the afternoon was a wonderful blur of Gerard's voice and general self in Frank's mind. He was semi-entranced by the painting Gerard had been working on. It was, like, a black parade of zombies and it looked totally cool and menacing.
Frank had been a little bit in love ever since.
***
Brendon absolutely loved two things about his job: lunchtime and the first day of school.
Brendon liked seeing the kids come through the main entrance on their first day back in September. He liked seeing (some) smiling faces and backpacks slung over shoulders. He especially liked when he got up to choir class and he saw his kids. He didn't really like the General Music students or the band kids, but he loved his singers.
Brendon had boiled it down to that, basically, there were three types of kids enrolled in choir. The ones who could sing, knew they could sing, and loved it, would be the first type. The second were the delinquents forced into his class to get an arts credit - these were kind of some of Brendon's favorites to watch, just because they hated it so much. He was a bit of a sadistic bastard like that - and lastly there were the kids who weren't all too good at singing but loved music enough to want to take chorus anyways.
Lunchtime was another of Brendon's favorite times. The kids were all released into the courtyard for lunch, left to their own accords and trusted to do the right thing, and the teachers all gathered around a gigantic table in the teachers' room for lunch. It was kind of the highlight of everyone's day.
At lunch, Brendon got to see people he normally didn't see. Like the school counselor, Gabe, the librarian, Mikey and the Spanish teacher, Alex Suarez.
And then there was Spencer.
Brendon found Spencer both fascinating and pretty much freaking beautiful. Spencer had a way of commanding a room. He liked to randomly pop into classrooms and start talking over the teacher, interrupting what was going on to rant about whatever he felt at the moment. Sometimes he'd jump in and try to pick up where the lesson had left off and it was always very amusing. Spencer always seemed to glow a little bit when he came into choir and talked about music. And when Spencer glowed, it made Brendon glow. He used ended class after Spencer left by playing a Beatles album or humming Disney songs under his breath while the students talked amoungst themselves.
The main talk at the lunch table though, was of the students. Even though the teachers had claims of loving all the students equally, they all had their favorites and they talked about them constantly. They did, of course, love their other students too, they just happened to love one more than the others.
So when his General Music class was let out, Brendon grabbed his Tupperware off his desk, pushed his glasses up his nose and walked to the teachers' lunchroom. When he got there, he sat at his usual spot between Ryan and Jon, the photography teacher, and across from Gabe and Brent, the math teacher.
Brendon popped open his container and looked around. "What're we talking about?"
Frank cocked a yellow band-aided thumb at the teacher beside him. "Gerard's blatant favoritism."
It was only about three weeks into school, but Gerard had already picked out his favorite for the year.
"Oh, Laura, right?" Brendon asked, gathering up a forkful of salad.
Gerard nodded warily. Laura was a total doll. She was delicate-looking and downright adorable. She had amazing artistic abilities and her hair practically illuminated from its golden color. And she was totally freaked out by Gerard.
Frank patted Gerard's shoulder a bit. "It's okay, she'll come around."
"I'm not so sure," Gerard protested. "Me and all my zombie shit totally creeps her out, and I can't just change my whole curriculum for one student."
On Gerard's other side, Mikey said, "Maybe you should just be really nice to her, Gee."
"What?"
"You know, kill her with kindness." Mikey shrugged and turned the volume up on his iPod, disappearing back into the music.
Mikey was kind of silent, which was Brendon reasoning for why Mikey'd become a librarian. Because, aside from that, he didn't seem to like books at all. Mikey spent most of his time, leaning across the counter and looking at his students with a scrutinizing eye, talking to them more about their taste in music than the book they were asking him to check out for them. Mikey only had a favorite every few years because music appreciators were hard to come by in high school.
Gabe reached across the table and grabbed Brendon's Red Bull. He took a swig and replaced it, leering at Brendon.
"Guess what, everybody?" Gabe asked with a wide cat-like smirk.
"You have a new project," everyone chorused back monotonously.
Gabe pulled a school photo out of the pocket of his purple hoodie and slid it across the smooth tabletop. There was a girl with perfectly flipped white-blonde hair and a shirt hanging way too low, with barely anything to support said hanging low shirt.
Gabe pointed. "So, this is Heather. She's not a hipster, and she's not emo, and she's recently dyed her hair to some conformist color, and she's kind of a slut and she just needs me."
Brendon slid the picture back, nodding, and messily swallowed more of his lunch.
***
Gabe didn't have students, he had projects.
Gabe's goal was to fulfill the Cobra's wishes, which was to make sure that hipsters stopped taking themselves so seriously and that emo kids stopped being such pussies. Gabe had been doing his best to pass on - sometimes a little forcefully and creepily - this knowledge to the youth of Decaydance Academy.
Gabe also had an apprentice. Gabe had been told by the Cobra in one of their most recent encounters that he would not be on this Earth forever, as much as he liked to think of himself as the exception to natural law. Gabe had been advised to find someone to mentor, so he did.
Gabe had found David. David was totally Gabe's favorite. ('Cause, everybody else in the school secretly had one, so. Why not Gabe, too?) David was little and Hispanic, and wore lightly framed glasses. He had big, brown eyes and had this way of always blinking up at Gabe in a way that showed both excitement and a bit of unsureness.
Currently David and Gabe were hiding in a bush just outside the front steps. Heather left school everyday at precisely 2:30, on the back of her "boyfriend's" - Boyfriend, meaning fuckbuddy - motorcycle off to go do dirty deeds, and that's when Gabe and David were going to pounce. Except, well, David didn't really pounce; he kind of jumping-bean-hopped along behind Gabe a little bit tentatively.
A moment later, Heather flew down the steps, high heels clacking with every brisk step. Steve or whoever - Gabe hadn't done enough research (stalking) yet to know his real name - was revving the engine of his motorcycle, waiting in a fashion that showed utmost impatience.
Gabe shrugged, figuring what the heck, this could wait another day, 'cause Gabe was never one to get in the way of someone impatient to get off.
***
Brent sighed and erased his chalkboard as his fourth period class filed out, because now it was fifth period.
Brent hated his fifth period class. He had a group of five boys who called their little club - frickin' goon squad - "The Cab" and more than half were named Alex. Brent refrained from calling on any of them because, well, he didn't really know who was who and he didn't want to say just Alex, because then he'd get like 3 (Maybe 4?) replies. And Brent just couldn't deal with that kind of headache; he already took four aspirin a morning because of working at this freakshow of a joint.
Brent hated his whole job too, besides just fifth period. He was a sort of friend of Spencer Smith's and this was how he'd acquired his job. Didn't mean he liked it though, because Brent could not express how distanced he felt from everyone. His planet, fucking Earth (y'know? Ever heard of it?), was so far from whatever galaxy the rest of the teachers came from.
Brent wanted out.
***
Jon Walker was not your typical teacher by any standards whatsoever. Granted, there wasn't a normal teacher working at Decaydance Academy, but Jon thought of himself as exceptionally special.
Jon wore flip-flops to work because he had to drive and the rigid feeling of the pattern on the pedals against his feet was uncomfortable. As soon as he got to his classroom though, he sat down at his desk and kicked them off with satisfaction.
He also preferred to take his classes outdoors to photograph, so they could find something interesting to shoot, rather than just being like, "Okay, students! We're going to take a picture of the fruit bowl today!" and rubbing his hands together with fake enthusiasm.
There were only seconds left until the final bell for the day would ring, and his students were hovering near the doorway, excited for school's end.
As the bell rang, the class rushed out and threatened to trample Mica, who was conversely fighting her way into the room. Mica was a senior, who was doing a Student/Teacher Study program with him, someone who had taken Photography since her first year in high school. She was, of course, his favorite.
Jon had picked Mica out during her freshman year. She wore Old Navy flip-flops every day of the year, through snow, sleet and hail, solely because the rules required students to have footwear on at all times.
Mica's backpack hung loosely from her shoulders as she elbowed through the door. She had a baby face, and a sweet smile that she flashed Jon as she flung off her flip-flops. She ran a hand through her hair and plopped down beside Jon on the patched-up couch that Jon liked to keep in his room for ambience. She tucked one foot under her other knee, Frank Sinatra was crooning softly in the background.
Jon looked at her and said carefully, "It's raining, y'know."
Mica's eyes twinkled. "So?"
She was Jon's favorite for a reason.
They headed outside, barefooted, each wearing one of Jon's hoodies that he liked to keep around. It was big and dark on Mica and hung loosely from her arms and torso. Mica mentioned that she really wanted to capture the way rain fell around a tree; the way droplets pooled and plummeted from leaves. The only place around Decaydance Academy to get pictures of a tree though, was along the border of the staff parking lot behind the school.
When they got around back of the school, Mica called out, "I'll race you!"
She took off with a chuckle, throwing down her hood, raining pouring onto her light brown hair. Jon jogged after her even though it was a total lost cause. Mica obviously beat him there. She stuck out her tongue frivolously and did some victory dance that looked like that of an African Tribe's, feet stomping and arms flailing. Jon breathed deeply, hitching his shoulders up, then letting them fall with his out-going breath.
She smirked at him lopsidedly. "Is your Santa Belly growing too big, Granddaddy Walker?"
"I guess so, Little Ms. Mica," Jon said, clapping a hand to his stomach and jiggling it a little for effect.
Mica waved her hand at him dismissively. She hated the nickname Jon had given her way back when God was a child and he could still use it to get at her every now-and-again. The other teachers swore she secretly adored it and Jon figured that they were probably right. Not that he'd tell Mica that to her face, for fear of being slapped.
Mica turned non-committally, pushed up her sleeves and raised her camera to her eye. She looked through the scope at the tree branch in front of her for a moment more, before snapping a picture.
"No, see, you don't-"
Jon turned around to see Brent Wilson standing by his car. He had his phone pressed up to his ear with his shoulder, briefcase in one hand and his other hand fumbling with his keys. Rain, meanwhile, slipping down his face. Whatever the person had said to him seemed to down his mood more than it usually was.
Jon eavesdropped a little, hearing Brent say:
"No, but. Yes, I work there right now. …I'm. Yes, I'm trying to get out as soon as possible. You need to check- …Yes. The state needs to kn- Yeah, I tried to follow state regs. No, no one else really does. …You'll? You will? You'll come check it out, great. Thank-Yes, Elisa. Thank you."
"Jon!" (Decaydance Academy was different about that sort of thing too. Whether the students called their teachers by first or last name, or either, was to the teacher's discretion, not Mr. Smith's or Superintendent Pete's.) Jon turned around to see Mica's tiny, pale fists balled on her hips, camera hanging heavily from her neck.
Jon tried his best not to blink cluelessly and kind of failed. "Yeah, Mica?"
She rolled her eyes, but there was a big grin on her face. Jon knew that she was so used to dealing with him, it was more amusing to her now then anything. Damn, he'd miss her come graduation. She huffed, "I said, I think that rain's doing something funky to the lens and I think these pictures'll come out pretty sick."
"Well, then let's go develop them," Jon said. "I'll race you."
He took off sprinting, shooting Mica a smirk over his shoulder.
***
Back four weeks ago, on the first day of school, Ryan had gotten in a fight. Not like a punching-kicking-and-screaming fight, but more of a… verbal squabble. (When Ryan had told Spencer this, he'd just laughed in his face, "Ryan, you really don't need to clarify that kind of thing with me. I mean, come on. You in a fistfight? What would you do, threaten to elbow them to death?" Ryan had just scowled in return.) And, actually, it wasn't even really a fight; Ryan just managed to upset a student. Nothing all that new, really, except how this student had reacted.
It was one of his new freshman students, Bethany. At first glance she'd seemed innocent. She had short, pin-straight hair, held back by a plaid headband with colors to match her outfit and shoes for the day. Everyday. She seemed to Ryan to be dressing like a "Prep," or whatever the students called it these days, and the way she carried herself read, "I? Am Fabulous." These observations were, of course, just first impressions. Ryan came to see that in his class, (creative writing) she had a feisty, spunky side to her. And when he saw her in the halls, she had a curly-haired friend always glued at her side, and when Bethany was with said friend she didn't appear as pretentious as her outfits made her look.
Their argument though, had been quite something to see. Ryan had been calling the roll and when he reached her name, he'd said, simply that, her name, "Bethany Saylor?"
She replied in a boastful voice, loud and authoritative, "I prefer Beth, please, Mr. Ross."
Ryan had shook his head sharply - maybe a little too sharply, but Ryan was the histrionic teacher in this school. He had a reputation to withhold. "No. I call students by their Birth-Given names in my classroom."(It was a bit of a double standard, Spencer liked to say, considering his real name was George and he totally ignored/hated it.)
Bethany had gasped, childlike hazel eyes widening. It kind of seemed like she wasn't used to be told No. She'd stood and gathered up her books and had said, "Well, then maybe I won't be in your classroom anymore!"
She had stomped deliberately, stopping at the door and glaring daggers at Ryan. Ryan had raised his eyebrows at her. "Are you going then?"
Bethany continued to look angry, and then she appeared crestfallen for a second, and then she started to smile at him. It wasn't a sincere smile though; it was a very shady one. She shook her head. "No. But you're going to wish that I had."
Ryan had thought nothing of it at the moment, but now. Now, Ryan kind of did regret it and also kind of didn't. In her poetry, Bethany was amazingly expressive and addressed things that were too mature for her age, and addressed them well. It reminded Ryan a lot of himself, which was just kind of creepy.
And then there was the other side to the situation. Everyday Bethany came into class with that devil's smile, because every day before that, Ryan called her Bethany instead of Beth. She managed to think of increasingly embarrassing and tortuous things to do to Ryan, but he still butted heads with her and called her Bethany. Today she'd thrown a book at him. And Ryan was kind of starting to think she was his favorite.
Ryan banged his on his desk.
***
"So, Spencer." Across from Spencer, a vividly redheaded boy plopped into the chair, kicking his feet onto the desk with a brazen flair. This boy's name was Ben, and he was, in the kindest definition of the word, a bit psychotic.
Ben had this way about him, that you wanted to hate him because he was a bit of a troublemaker but at the same time he could be totally loveable. In his junior year, Ben had come to Spencer was a proposition, a bet. He blatantly told Spencer that he was going to strip down to his swimsuit at the school pep rally. Spencer had taken to his half of the betting, deciding to place his money against Ben's, saying that he didn't think Ben would do it. Low and behold, Ben did.
Ben hadn't won any of their bets since then.
Ben was no longer a student at Decaydance, currently in his sophomore year of college. He was studying to become a bartender and stopped by to see Spencer every once in a while. If it were anyone else, Spencer would have glared until he withdrew his feet from their resting place, but Spencer made the exception because he would always have a special place in his heart for Ben and his audacity.
It was weird that whenever Ben seemed to show up for a visit, Spencer was in his office. Ben liked to prop his feet on the desk though, just because he knew it sort of ticked Spencer off, so Spencer figured he probably planned it that way.
Ben smiled at him toothily. "Man, have I got a wager for you. I'm totally going to pass my permit test this time, care to gamble on it?"
Spencer raised his eyebrow cautiously and thought for a moment. This would be Ben's…sixth time taking the driving test, if Spencer recalled correctly from the last recap he'd received of Ben's life. "How much?"
Ben shrugged apathetically. "Twenty?"
Spencer figured the odds were on his side. He reached across the desk and firmly shook Ben's hand.
Spencer wandered down to the music hallway but the lights were out in both the choir and general music rooms. Next Spencer ambled upstairs to Ryan's classroom, also vacant. Spencer considered going to check in on Jon, but. Dumb idea. He'd be outside.
Spencer's next-best guess would be that they were on break in the teachers' lunchroom. And when he got there, he found (mostly) who he was looking for: Brendon, Ryan and…Gabe.
Spencer plopped down in the chair beside Ryan and said, "So. I won my bet with Ben."
"Man, Ben's a fucking hilarious dude," Gabe said, "but he makes shitty bets."
Spencer nodded. He threw his feet up onto the table because he's the fucking principal and he can, damn it. He leaned back; a twenty-dollar bill tucked smugly into his back pocket, and crossed his arms over his chest.
Brendon whistled a tune as he pushed his chair backwards and stood up. He walked over to the kitchen-style counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. He knocked a napkin off the counter in the process and bent over to pick it up; Spencer tried not to watch.
Ryan elbowed him and raised his eyebrows. Staring, much?
Spencer brushed him off with an eyeroll. Maybe, he was staring a little, 'cause Brendon was hot, okay? But that's all. Spencer had to keep it at that because he was Brendon's boss, plain and simple.
Part 2/3
Summary: Everyone's a teacher at this crazy school called Decaydance Academy. When someone wants to shut down the school, can they all pull together and save everything they love? Let's hope so.
Author's Notes: So, really, this fic wouldn't exist if it weren't for panicatthecobra or eddis64. A while ago, I just started ignoring it but then eddis64 wanted part of it for her birthday present and it just spiraled out of control from there and eventually I completed it and here we are! I want to thank eddis64 for not only pushing me to complete it, but for the AMAZING art, included in a seperate post at the end. I asked for something and she gave me a moderation that was even better than what I wanted! ILU! Also, panicatthecobra was my freakin' beta like always, and I love you too, Ali! This fic has been a long time coming, so hold your breath as you step through the doors of Decaydance Academy!
Decaydance Academy
(Everything Ties Together)
"We're not telling anyone about this 'til the last moment, William. Got it? We're going to try to avoid this, if possible."
William nodded meekly and receded from the office. Spencer watched him go and then stared at the paper on his desk. He crumpled it up; it included a date and the message:
Date of inspection and possible closure
Reason(s) for inspection:
Inside Source, First Hand Account
***
6 Months Earlier
There were only about one or two things Spencer hated about his job. One of them being: the fact that it was in the middle of a field in East Jesus No Fuck. Aside from that, he loved all the crazy shit that went down and all the people who worked for him.
Spencer had a nice office that was air-conditioned in the warmer months and heated in the winter. He had a microwave and a mini-fridge and a plush carpet. That was definitely the other thing he hated. He stayed away from his office as much as possible.
Spencer liked to be out and about in the hallways. He liked to see what the students and teachers saw, he liked to freeze when the school was badly heated or to burn up when it was scorching inside. Spencer wanted to be more than just Mr. Smith, Their Principal, The Authority Figure. He wanted to be someone kids liked just as much as the teachers, someone they thought was fun. He felt like if he kept a strict hand combined with a half-smile, nothing could go wrong.
Spencer worked with his best friend, Ryan Ross. Ryan had actually been the one to get Spencer his position. Ryan had some special influence with their superintendent. Everyone in the school knew of their superintendent, but no one talked to him in person. They talked to him through emails or through his secretary. He was just simply spoken of, in a God-like way, regarded to as "Superintendent Pete."
Ryan was the school's English and creative writing teacher. He had this rant about not teaching state-required books, which Spencer had heard so many times now, that he knew it word for word, but he didn't really listen after the first few minutes.
That was the weird thing about Decaydance Academy. No one was right up to the state's standards or requirements. The art teacher talked to his students about zombies and they made comic books, the choir director spent his time teaching his students about The Beatles and Disney music, the gym teacher had a way of always finding himself in the nurse's office, no one really knew the names of The Janitors and the librarian spent more time telling the kids that their choice of music was kind of shitty than recommending books. And somehow, their school seemed to fair just fine with kids always scoring top-notch on their final exams and state tests.
Basically, Spencer's school was an enigma wrapped in a conundrum.
***
Frank remembered the first time he met Gerard.
Last year had been Frank's very first year at Decaydance Academy. He remembered thinking it was weird, what he'd gotten himself into. The first thing all the teachers had asked him was if he'd actually met their superintendent, - who was apparently some mysterious dude, Frank learned later - and Frank had had to say no every time.
Frank taught gym and he thought it was probably the sweetest gig anyone could get. You get to play games for the rest of your life, and get paid? Amazing.
Frank just had a little problem. He managed to hurt himself in almost every class, almost every period. The nurse, a sweet chick named Greta, had a special box that she called her "Frank Kit" and it was full of special band-aids and his own icepack. Frank was covered in new bruises, bumps and band-aids at the end of every workday.
Only two months into the year, Frank had taken a special liking to one student - who was basically his favorite still to this day. The kid's name was Teddy and he also had a tendency to hurt himself.
That particular day they were playing baseball and Teddy took a slide into third base. Except, yeah. He did it wrong and broke his leg.
Frank remembered being in a rush of hysterics, calling first an ambulance and then the school office. They said that Mr. Smith wasn't in his office (per usual) and they couldn't find anyone to send down to watch his classes.
In his rush of crazy, Frank ran to the nearest hallway, the art and photography hallway. He ran into the nearest classroom and right into the art teacher. Frank ended up bumping the art teacher into a palette of paint, which splattered onto the art teacher's shirt and arms.
Frank had coughed uncertainly, flustered and a little awestruck at the eccentricity of the man before him. He remembered looking at his feet, apologizing and pleading the teacher to watch his class because he had to escort one of his students to the hospital.
He remembers the art teacher asking who it was and when Frank said it was Teddy, the art teacher had said, "Oh, Teddy Kersey? Poor kid. Name's Gerard, by the way."
Frank had nodded and his mouth might've been a little bit agape. The Emergency Room and the rest of the afternoon was a wonderful blur of Gerard's voice and general self in Frank's mind. He was semi-entranced by the painting Gerard had been working on. It was, like, a black parade of zombies and it looked totally cool and menacing.
Frank had been a little bit in love ever since.
***
Brendon absolutely loved two things about his job: lunchtime and the first day of school.
Brendon liked seeing the kids come through the main entrance on their first day back in September. He liked seeing (some) smiling faces and backpacks slung over shoulders. He especially liked when he got up to choir class and he saw his kids. He didn't really like the General Music students or the band kids, but he loved his singers.
Brendon had boiled it down to that, basically, there were three types of kids enrolled in choir. The ones who could sing, knew they could sing, and loved it, would be the first type. The second were the delinquents forced into his class to get an arts credit - these were kind of some of Brendon's favorites to watch, just because they hated it so much. He was a bit of a sadistic bastard like that - and lastly there were the kids who weren't all too good at singing but loved music enough to want to take chorus anyways.
Lunchtime was another of Brendon's favorite times. The kids were all released into the courtyard for lunch, left to their own accords and trusted to do the right thing, and the teachers all gathered around a gigantic table in the teachers' room for lunch. It was kind of the highlight of everyone's day.
At lunch, Brendon got to see people he normally didn't see. Like the school counselor, Gabe, the librarian, Mikey and the Spanish teacher, Alex Suarez.
And then there was Spencer.
Brendon found Spencer both fascinating and pretty much freaking beautiful. Spencer had a way of commanding a room. He liked to randomly pop into classrooms and start talking over the teacher, interrupting what was going on to rant about whatever he felt at the moment. Sometimes he'd jump in and try to pick up where the lesson had left off and it was always very amusing. Spencer always seemed to glow a little bit when he came into choir and talked about music. And when Spencer glowed, it made Brendon glow. He used ended class after Spencer left by playing a Beatles album or humming Disney songs under his breath while the students talked amoungst themselves.
The main talk at the lunch table though, was of the students. Even though the teachers had claims of loving all the students equally, they all had their favorites and they talked about them constantly. They did, of course, love their other students too, they just happened to love one more than the others.
So when his General Music class was let out, Brendon grabbed his Tupperware off his desk, pushed his glasses up his nose and walked to the teachers' lunchroom. When he got there, he sat at his usual spot between Ryan and Jon, the photography teacher, and across from Gabe and Brent, the math teacher.
Brendon popped open his container and looked around. "What're we talking about?"
Frank cocked a yellow band-aided thumb at the teacher beside him. "Gerard's blatant favoritism."
It was only about three weeks into school, but Gerard had already picked out his favorite for the year.
"Oh, Laura, right?" Brendon asked, gathering up a forkful of salad.
Gerard nodded warily. Laura was a total doll. She was delicate-looking and downright adorable. She had amazing artistic abilities and her hair practically illuminated from its golden color. And she was totally freaked out by Gerard.
Frank patted Gerard's shoulder a bit. "It's okay, she'll come around."
"I'm not so sure," Gerard protested. "Me and all my zombie shit totally creeps her out, and I can't just change my whole curriculum for one student."
On Gerard's other side, Mikey said, "Maybe you should just be really nice to her, Gee."
"What?"
"You know, kill her with kindness." Mikey shrugged and turned the volume up on his iPod, disappearing back into the music.
Mikey was kind of silent, which was Brendon reasoning for why Mikey'd become a librarian. Because, aside from that, he didn't seem to like books at all. Mikey spent most of his time, leaning across the counter and looking at his students with a scrutinizing eye, talking to them more about their taste in music than the book they were asking him to check out for them. Mikey only had a favorite every few years because music appreciators were hard to come by in high school.
Gabe reached across the table and grabbed Brendon's Red Bull. He took a swig and replaced it, leering at Brendon.
"Guess what, everybody?" Gabe asked with a wide cat-like smirk.
"You have a new project," everyone chorused back monotonously.
Gabe pulled a school photo out of the pocket of his purple hoodie and slid it across the smooth tabletop. There was a girl with perfectly flipped white-blonde hair and a shirt hanging way too low, with barely anything to support said hanging low shirt.
Gabe pointed. "So, this is Heather. She's not a hipster, and she's not emo, and she's recently dyed her hair to some conformist color, and she's kind of a slut and she just needs me."
Brendon slid the picture back, nodding, and messily swallowed more of his lunch.
***
Gabe didn't have students, he had projects.
Gabe's goal was to fulfill the Cobra's wishes, which was to make sure that hipsters stopped taking themselves so seriously and that emo kids stopped being such pussies. Gabe had been doing his best to pass on - sometimes a little forcefully and creepily - this knowledge to the youth of Decaydance Academy.
Gabe also had an apprentice. Gabe had been told by the Cobra in one of their most recent encounters that he would not be on this Earth forever, as much as he liked to think of himself as the exception to natural law. Gabe had been advised to find someone to mentor, so he did.
Gabe had found David. David was totally Gabe's favorite. ('Cause, everybody else in the school secretly had one, so. Why not Gabe, too?) David was little and Hispanic, and wore lightly framed glasses. He had big, brown eyes and had this way of always blinking up at Gabe in a way that showed both excitement and a bit of unsureness.
Currently David and Gabe were hiding in a bush just outside the front steps. Heather left school everyday at precisely 2:30, on the back of her "boyfriend's" - Boyfriend, meaning fuckbuddy - motorcycle off to go do dirty deeds, and that's when Gabe and David were going to pounce. Except, well, David didn't really pounce; he kind of jumping-bean-hopped along behind Gabe a little bit tentatively.
A moment later, Heather flew down the steps, high heels clacking with every brisk step. Steve or whoever - Gabe hadn't done enough research (stalking) yet to know his real name - was revving the engine of his motorcycle, waiting in a fashion that showed utmost impatience.
Gabe shrugged, figuring what the heck, this could wait another day, 'cause Gabe was never one to get in the way of someone impatient to get off.
***
Brent sighed and erased his chalkboard as his fourth period class filed out, because now it was fifth period.
Brent hated his fifth period class. He had a group of five boys who called their little club - frickin' goon squad - "The Cab" and more than half were named Alex. Brent refrained from calling on any of them because, well, he didn't really know who was who and he didn't want to say just Alex, because then he'd get like 3 (Maybe 4?) replies. And Brent just couldn't deal with that kind of headache; he already took four aspirin a morning because of working at this freakshow of a joint.
Brent hated his whole job too, besides just fifth period. He was a sort of friend of Spencer Smith's and this was how he'd acquired his job. Didn't mean he liked it though, because Brent could not express how distanced he felt from everyone. His planet, fucking Earth (y'know? Ever heard of it?), was so far from whatever galaxy the rest of the teachers came from.
Brent wanted out.
***
Jon Walker was not your typical teacher by any standards whatsoever. Granted, there wasn't a normal teacher working at Decaydance Academy, but Jon thought of himself as exceptionally special.
Jon wore flip-flops to work because he had to drive and the rigid feeling of the pattern on the pedals against his feet was uncomfortable. As soon as he got to his classroom though, he sat down at his desk and kicked them off with satisfaction.
He also preferred to take his classes outdoors to photograph, so they could find something interesting to shoot, rather than just being like, "Okay, students! We're going to take a picture of the fruit bowl today!" and rubbing his hands together with fake enthusiasm.
There were only seconds left until the final bell for the day would ring, and his students were hovering near the doorway, excited for school's end.
As the bell rang, the class rushed out and threatened to trample Mica, who was conversely fighting her way into the room. Mica was a senior, who was doing a Student/Teacher Study program with him, someone who had taken Photography since her first year in high school. She was, of course, his favorite.
Jon had picked Mica out during her freshman year. She wore Old Navy flip-flops every day of the year, through snow, sleet and hail, solely because the rules required students to have footwear on at all times.
Mica's backpack hung loosely from her shoulders as she elbowed through the door. She had a baby face, and a sweet smile that she flashed Jon as she flung off her flip-flops. She ran a hand through her hair and plopped down beside Jon on the patched-up couch that Jon liked to keep in his room for ambience. She tucked one foot under her other knee, Frank Sinatra was crooning softly in the background.
Jon looked at her and said carefully, "It's raining, y'know."
Mica's eyes twinkled. "So?"
She was Jon's favorite for a reason.
They headed outside, barefooted, each wearing one of Jon's hoodies that he liked to keep around. It was big and dark on Mica and hung loosely from her arms and torso. Mica mentioned that she really wanted to capture the way rain fell around a tree; the way droplets pooled and plummeted from leaves. The only place around Decaydance Academy to get pictures of a tree though, was along the border of the staff parking lot behind the school.
When they got around back of the school, Mica called out, "I'll race you!"
She took off with a chuckle, throwing down her hood, raining pouring onto her light brown hair. Jon jogged after her even though it was a total lost cause. Mica obviously beat him there. She stuck out her tongue frivolously and did some victory dance that looked like that of an African Tribe's, feet stomping and arms flailing. Jon breathed deeply, hitching his shoulders up, then letting them fall with his out-going breath.
She smirked at him lopsidedly. "Is your Santa Belly growing too big, Granddaddy Walker?"
"I guess so, Little Ms. Mica," Jon said, clapping a hand to his stomach and jiggling it a little for effect.
Mica waved her hand at him dismissively. She hated the nickname Jon had given her way back when God was a child and he could still use it to get at her every now-and-again. The other teachers swore she secretly adored it and Jon figured that they were probably right. Not that he'd tell Mica that to her face, for fear of being slapped.
Mica turned non-committally, pushed up her sleeves and raised her camera to her eye. She looked through the scope at the tree branch in front of her for a moment more, before snapping a picture.
"No, see, you don't-"
Jon turned around to see Brent Wilson standing by his car. He had his phone pressed up to his ear with his shoulder, briefcase in one hand and his other hand fumbling with his keys. Rain, meanwhile, slipping down his face. Whatever the person had said to him seemed to down his mood more than it usually was.
Jon eavesdropped a little, hearing Brent say:
"No, but. Yes, I work there right now. …I'm. Yes, I'm trying to get out as soon as possible. You need to check- …Yes. The state needs to kn- Yeah, I tried to follow state regs. No, no one else really does. …You'll? You will? You'll come check it out, great. Thank-Yes, Elisa. Thank you."
"Jon!" (Decaydance Academy was different about that sort of thing too. Whether the students called their teachers by first or last name, or either, was to the teacher's discretion, not Mr. Smith's or Superintendent Pete's.) Jon turned around to see Mica's tiny, pale fists balled on her hips, camera hanging heavily from her neck.
Jon tried his best not to blink cluelessly and kind of failed. "Yeah, Mica?"
She rolled her eyes, but there was a big grin on her face. Jon knew that she was so used to dealing with him, it was more amusing to her now then anything. Damn, he'd miss her come graduation. She huffed, "I said, I think that rain's doing something funky to the lens and I think these pictures'll come out pretty sick."
"Well, then let's go develop them," Jon said. "I'll race you."
He took off sprinting, shooting Mica a smirk over his shoulder.
***
Back four weeks ago, on the first day of school, Ryan had gotten in a fight. Not like a punching-kicking-and-screaming fight, but more of a… verbal squabble. (When Ryan had told Spencer this, he'd just laughed in his face, "Ryan, you really don't need to clarify that kind of thing with me. I mean, come on. You in a fistfight? What would you do, threaten to elbow them to death?" Ryan had just scowled in return.) And, actually, it wasn't even really a fight; Ryan just managed to upset a student. Nothing all that new, really, except how this student had reacted.
It was one of his new freshman students, Bethany. At first glance she'd seemed innocent. She had short, pin-straight hair, held back by a plaid headband with colors to match her outfit and shoes for the day. Everyday. She seemed to Ryan to be dressing like a "Prep," or whatever the students called it these days, and the way she carried herself read, "I? Am Fabulous." These observations were, of course, just first impressions. Ryan came to see that in his class, (creative writing) she had a feisty, spunky side to her. And when he saw her in the halls, she had a curly-haired friend always glued at her side, and when Bethany was with said friend she didn't appear as pretentious as her outfits made her look.
Their argument though, had been quite something to see. Ryan had been calling the roll and when he reached her name, he'd said, simply that, her name, "Bethany Saylor?"
She replied in a boastful voice, loud and authoritative, "I prefer Beth, please, Mr. Ross."
Ryan had shook his head sharply - maybe a little too sharply, but Ryan was the histrionic teacher in this school. He had a reputation to withhold. "No. I call students by their Birth-Given names in my classroom."(It was a bit of a double standard, Spencer liked to say, considering his real name was George and he totally ignored/hated it.)
Bethany had gasped, childlike hazel eyes widening. It kind of seemed like she wasn't used to be told No. She'd stood and gathered up her books and had said, "Well, then maybe I won't be in your classroom anymore!"
She had stomped deliberately, stopping at the door and glaring daggers at Ryan. Ryan had raised his eyebrows at her. "Are you going then?"
Bethany continued to look angry, and then she appeared crestfallen for a second, and then she started to smile at him. It wasn't a sincere smile though; it was a very shady one. She shook her head. "No. But you're going to wish that I had."
Ryan had thought nothing of it at the moment, but now. Now, Ryan kind of did regret it and also kind of didn't. In her poetry, Bethany was amazingly expressive and addressed things that were too mature for her age, and addressed them well. It reminded Ryan a lot of himself, which was just kind of creepy.
And then there was the other side to the situation. Everyday Bethany came into class with that devil's smile, because every day before that, Ryan called her Bethany instead of Beth. She managed to think of increasingly embarrassing and tortuous things to do to Ryan, but he still butted heads with her and called her Bethany. Today she'd thrown a book at him. And Ryan was kind of starting to think she was his favorite.
Ryan banged his on his desk.
***
"So, Spencer." Across from Spencer, a vividly redheaded boy plopped into the chair, kicking his feet onto the desk with a brazen flair. This boy's name was Ben, and he was, in the kindest definition of the word, a bit psychotic.
Ben had this way about him, that you wanted to hate him because he was a bit of a troublemaker but at the same time he could be totally loveable. In his junior year, Ben had come to Spencer was a proposition, a bet. He blatantly told Spencer that he was going to strip down to his swimsuit at the school pep rally. Spencer had taken to his half of the betting, deciding to place his money against Ben's, saying that he didn't think Ben would do it. Low and behold, Ben did.
Ben hadn't won any of their bets since then.
Ben was no longer a student at Decaydance, currently in his sophomore year of college. He was studying to become a bartender and stopped by to see Spencer every once in a while. If it were anyone else, Spencer would have glared until he withdrew his feet from their resting place, but Spencer made the exception because he would always have a special place in his heart for Ben and his audacity.
It was weird that whenever Ben seemed to show up for a visit, Spencer was in his office. Ben liked to prop his feet on the desk though, just because he knew it sort of ticked Spencer off, so Spencer figured he probably planned it that way.
Ben smiled at him toothily. "Man, have I got a wager for you. I'm totally going to pass my permit test this time, care to gamble on it?"
Spencer raised his eyebrow cautiously and thought for a moment. This would be Ben's…sixth time taking the driving test, if Spencer recalled correctly from the last recap he'd received of Ben's life. "How much?"
Ben shrugged apathetically. "Twenty?"
Spencer figured the odds were on his side. He reached across the desk and firmly shook Ben's hand.
Spencer wandered down to the music hallway but the lights were out in both the choir and general music rooms. Next Spencer ambled upstairs to Ryan's classroom, also vacant. Spencer considered going to check in on Jon, but. Dumb idea. He'd be outside.
Spencer's next-best guess would be that they were on break in the teachers' lunchroom. And when he got there, he found (mostly) who he was looking for: Brendon, Ryan and…Gabe.
Spencer plopped down in the chair beside Ryan and said, "So. I won my bet with Ben."
"Man, Ben's a fucking hilarious dude," Gabe said, "but he makes shitty bets."
Spencer nodded. He threw his feet up onto the table because he's the fucking principal and he can, damn it. He leaned back; a twenty-dollar bill tucked smugly into his back pocket, and crossed his arms over his chest.
Brendon whistled a tune as he pushed his chair backwards and stood up. He walked over to the kitchen-style counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. He knocked a napkin off the counter in the process and bent over to pick it up; Spencer tried not to watch.
Ryan elbowed him and raised his eyebrows. Staring, much?
Spencer brushed him off with an eyeroll. Maybe, he was staring a little, 'cause Brendon was hot, okay? But that's all. Spencer had to keep it at that because he was Brendon's boss, plain and simple.
Part 2/3