Oh, and if I could take it all back/Take me back to the night we met

Todd - Looking For America

That evening, Todd joined the poets for study group. He sat by himself at the edge, refamiliarising himself with the material they had dealt with in school today. He had forgotten most of the science, but having understood much more difficult material in the past allowed him to get a good grasp on it fairly easily. The science books he read sometimes and all his students' rants (especially Jet and Ben, they were like the encore to Meeks and Pitts when they wanted to) probably helped, too. Latin and French he barely needed to bother with, being mostly fluent in both, and Music and Art were easier than the first time around. Maybe Welton would be more relaxed with all his experience. He should get Neil to help him with Chemistry, though. 

By the time he was finished, Todd was exhausted. The day had done a number on him, emotionally as well as in general. His daily routine as a teacher was way less stressful - to him, at least, being so passionate about his subject. He wished it was the weekend. 

Resting his chin on his palm, Todd scanned the room. He wondered whether he should call Jeff again. His brother had said he'd be there anytime. Then again, it was monday: Jeff was bound to be busy with homework. The workload of law school was no joke. 

Suddenly, Todd's eyes caught on the little boy from yesterday evening. He seemed to be struggling with something, sitting alone and nervously tapping away with his pen. Todd wrinkled his eyebrows. He had had students like that before. This kid needed a little outside help. 

Fountain pen in hand, Todd sat down opposite of the kid. 
"Need any help?", he asked quietly. 
The boy started and stared at Todd. He was a little scrawny, a redhead with a smattering of violently orange freckles. His hair looked like he'd run his hand through it more than once. There was a smear of ink on his cheek and a dark spot of dirt or bruise peeking out from his shirt collar. 
Todd pointed at the notebook in front of the kid. 
"Is that Latin? I can explain it to you, if you want." 
The boy nodded, and Todd moved to the seat next to him so he could see what the kid had written. 

It was gibberish. It was a whole lot of gibberish. 

They had a long way to go, but Todd had all evening. 

The familiar rhythm of teaching soothed Todd's nerves, and the tension drained from his shoulders as time blurred and he zeroed in on the notebook and his new student. 

📖

The next day in English class, Mr Keating began by having Neil read the introduction of their schoolbook. Todd, familiar with this moment and tired from a bad nightmare the night before, didn't bother to pay attention. Instead, he scribbled the rough outline of a poem into the pages that were about to be ripped out, just a little something about falling leaves. 

"Excrement", announced Mr Keating, and Todd turned his attention back to the lesson. 

"That's what I think of Mr J. Evans Pritchard. We're not laying pipe, we're talking about poetry. How can you describe poetry like American band stan? Well I like Byron, I'll give him a 42, but I can't dance to it? Now, I want you to rip out that page." 

Amusement turned to disbelief. 

"Go on", Mr Keating encouraged the class, "Rip out the entire page. You heard me, rip it out!" 

There was a ripping sound from two seats over. Charlie triumphantly waved a sheet of paper in the air and Todd smiled, gently beginning to detach the introduction from the rest of the book. Next to him, he could hear Neil doing the same as Mr Keating thanked Charlie. 

"Gentlemen, tell you what, don't just tear out that page, tear out the entire introduction! I want it gone, history. Leave nothing of it. Rip it out, rip! Begone, J. Evans Pritchard PHD! Rip! Spread his hair, rip it out! I want to hear nothing but ripping of Mr Pritchard! We'll perforate it, put it on a roll! It's not the Bible, you're not gonna go to hell for this. Go on, make a clean tear, I want nothing left of it!"