Mr.Professor

Chapter One; I need to Stop Thinking

Mr.Professor


Chapter One;I need to stop thinking


I ran a hand through my short brown hair exasperatedly, rules, rules and more bloody rules! They called me! They needed me to handle their students! So, I don't really care if 'you can't hit a student' or 'Don't let them call you by your real name' or my personal favourite, 'Don't be mean to the fat ones' honestly! As if I was going to go up to the obese students and yell "WHO ATE ALL THE PIES FATTY! WOOHOO! CHUBBY PERSON IN THE HIZ HOUSE!" I mean, honestly, I do have some decorum.


A little at least. I mean, jeez.


"And to be honest, that outfit is not going to help you in the respect department." The head teacher frowned at me, his wonky nose poking out from the folds of his face.


I glanced down at my outfit, black jeans, white shirt, red tie and black doc martins. I look, fine. Sure, it's not the whole Professor Layton look and I sure as hell don't have a cloak like Snapes. Never mind how cool it is.


I raise one eyebrow at him as he patters about his office, lecturing me. Fuck, I'm 23, I ain't wearing no tweed jacket, I do have some respect.


"Sir, Ill stop you here, I've worked in many cra-schools with students that put in little to no effort. I know what I'm doing." The words roll off my tongue with ease, I'm quite used to these arguments with head teachers. Not usually on my first day before I even have classes yet. Sheesh man! Give me a chance at least!


"Alright then, I guess you do." The old man admitted, "You may go, just Chase?" I looked back, "Be careful."

I snorted before standing up, "Alright. Peace out!" I cried, before ducking out of the pale beige office covered with the photos that come with the frames. I know, I've got the same one in the house.


I clamped a hand on my laptop bag before striding down the hall, trailing dirty feet marks down the polished floor due to the thunderous rain pouring outside.


"Excuse me, sir!" A small shrill voice trilled and I automatically winced, turning on one heel in a smooth motion. Actually, in real life, I tripped and went sprawling into the owner of the shrill voice, sending her books and papers flying.


"Oh dearie me!" The small girl said, at the same time I swore loudly, "Sweet fuck!"


I blindly scrambled for the flying papers and exercise books, as the bell rang. Fuck, ill be late.


I practically chucked the books at the small girl who had made to her feet before shouting "Im sorry! First day!" Before sprinting down the hall, red tie flailing behind.


Good start. A+ Chase. Managing to piss off the headmaster and give a colleague a concussion before the bell rang?


A+

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"Right class! I'm late and fuck if I care." I yelled, slamming the door angrily as I strode to the middle of the room, taking in the surprised and amused glanced.


"Tell me this, was your school always this big or did it hit puberty?" I declared, chucking my laptop bag on the old wooden desk situated at the front of the room.


"Uh sir?" Said a girl, with a pointy nose and a nasally tone. Ugh. A 'Preppy', judging by the pink kit bag underneath her table and her high ponytail, a cheerleader. Heck, I didn't know delinquent schools had cheerleaders.


"Yes?" May as well be polite.


"Schools don't grow."


Fuck she's dim. Sarcasm love. SARCASM! Can you spell that word? S-A-R-C-A-S-M. Is that how spell it? I'm sure it is. Hell, I'm an English teacher.


"Course they don't!" I said optimistically, c'mon Chase, don't be tempted to call your students stupid. Not on the first day anyways.


"So who likes English?"


*Cue tumbleweed*


I looked around at them in disbelief. The 'badasses' (apparently) were sniggering, the 'preppies' were confused, the nerds (did delinquent schools have nerds?) were tempted to put their hands up but didn't want to in case they were beat up. The 'junkies' were asleep and snoring while the ones that were high were giggling.


Brilliant.


"Oi-blondie? Are we s'posed to answer that?" A member of the 'badass' clan called and the class burst into peals of laughter.


Blondie.


Witty.


"Ah ha. Blondie. Amusing." I said dryly, pretending to wipe away a tear.


"Hey, English always was my strong point." Mohawk. Nose piercings. I must say, out of school, I probably would have been friends with this bloke.


"Listen, Ben? Can I call you Ben? I know it's not your name, but to be honest I don't give a fuck. So Ben, no, the question wasn't rhetorical, so in all seriousness, which one of you little fucks actually likes English?" My voice was clear and confident, completely different than inside where my head was screaming "JESUS CHRIST HIDE UNDER THE DESK. HIDE OR RUN. RUN FOR YOUR LIFE. OR HIDE FOR YOUR LIFE." Wait-what?


I should just stop thinking all the time.


"Mr Connors! You cannot use such language in this class!"


I glance over at the owner of the voice. And there stands, the young pretty brunette teacher I ran over in a rush to get here. Her hair was ruffled and her blouse crooked. She was holding a array of unsorted papers, hastily thrown together and shoved at her.


Crap on a crapstick.