Hazbin High School (Hazbin Hotel high school au)

Part 10

Class two is the untouchable classroom of our school. People go in there to fuck or murder—although that's never been confirmed—or stash drugs, and the 'well behaved' students such as myself avoid it like the plague. Last time I saw it, it was still jam packed with Mr. Val's paraphernalia from sex Ed., and I never wanted to go back again. But the second I step into the room, my fears are blown away. There's still a lot of red, sure, but otherwise everything is different. In the front of the room is a curved desk, red velvet rimmed with what looks like gold edges. On it is an old fashioned radio station set up, with a suspended mic, a couple pairs of headphones, piles of carefully organized papers, and a huge mixer, covered in buttons with labels I don't understand. Immediately I feel excitement bubble up in my chest; I love learning new things!

The new teacher, Mr. Al, smiles widely at us as we trickle in. He's wearing a brown suit vest a couple shades darker than his hazel skin, with a black bow tie over a white shirt and boot-legged black pants, his short brown hair sticking up in a few carefully crafted cowlicks. A small pair of spectacles is nestled comfortably on his nose, which he peers through at the many less of us than were here this morning. It's not unusual for our numbers to dwindle as the day goes on, with kids getting bored or tired of having over plans 'more important' than school, but no one other than me seems very interested in this class, so more than half the students have already left. Anthony and his friends have returned from their activities, but he looks bored enough to do it all again just to get out of here.

"Damn, who crawled out of the 1930s?" someone jeers, and Mr. Al's smile widens in a way that doesn't exactly look friendly.

"Aha, I see I've got quite the lively class!" he jokes, sweeping a brown gloved hand through the air and sliding into a bow. "Alistair, pleasure to be meeting you all! Quite a pleasure! I'm glad some of this generation's youth still has interest in the good old ways, if you'll forgive me for sounding like an old man! Haha! I'm certainly getting there!"

"Jeez, how old are you?" Charles wonders from the back of the group. Mr. Al shakes his head overdramatically, slinking through the students to the boy, who stares up at him, just now seeming to realize their height difference. But the man doesn't lose his bright smile even for a second, placing a hand on Charles' shoulder and guiding him toward the first open seat.

"Why don't you all settle down?" he calls to the rest of us, and we follow the two into the room. A few kids, including Anthony, slip out the door before their cover leaves, and Mr. Al's amber eyes watch them go, even tracking them after they've gone past the wall.

"Charlie, I think we should get out of here..." Vaggie murmurs worriedly, never taking her gaze off the grinning teacher.

"What?" I give her a supportive smile, settling into a seat near the front and gesturing for her to sit next to me. "He seems nice enough. And broadcasting sounds fun! Aren't you excited?"

"You don't know who that is!" she hisses, but before she can say anything more, Mr. Al's gloved hand comes down on her shoulder, making her flinch.

"Now, now, let's not spread rumors about people we've just met," he scolds softly, his accent gently blurring the words. "I'd much prefer you take a good while to build an opinion of me before making any accusations."

She blinks, finally moving as if she was frozen in place, shaking his hand off and sinking into the seat with a groan. Mr. Al tilts his head innocently and I give him an awkward smile.

"She's sorry."

"Aha! Wonderful!" He crosses his arms behind his back, humming lightly as he trots off to the front of the class. Once he reaches his desk, he picks up a stack of paper and adjusts his spectacles, giving the class a dashing smile. "Alright! Now why don't we start off with roll-call? Addison?"

The class is silent.

"Anthony?"

Nothing. The boy is far gone, doing whatever he does in his free time, meaning things I don't like to think about.

"Bryan?"

More silence. His smile doesn't waver, but his eye starts twitching.

"Charlotte?"

"Here!" I call, my hand shooting into the air. His smile almost looks natural for a second as his eyes meet mine.

"Marvelous! Do you prefer Charlotte, or is there a nickname for that now?"

"Charlie is fine." I return his smile brightly, which he seems to appreciate.

"Lovely name, darling."

Vaggie scowls, but the look wavers when I give her a reprimanding look. As Mr. Al continues with "Evan?", she slumps into her seat with a huff. I immediately feel bad for getting annoyed with her; I'm sure she has good intentions, but I can't see anything wrong with the new teacher. He's right—we should get to know him better before making any assumptions. I mean, he's been really nice so far! How bad could he be?