Substitute Teacher || Septiplier

Chapter One

A tired groan slipped from my lips as I closed my locker, arms heavy with tiredness. The slam of the locker, metal rattling and the lock thudding against the metal, caused my lowering eyelids to snap back up in startle. This place sucked; what I would do to be back in my bed. My eyes rolled in frustration from being in school this early and turned from my locker, heading to my first class.

In case no one knew already, four minutes of sleep is definitely not enough. Whether it's a nap or actually sleeping, four minutes will not and will never be enough to give a person energy. And I, like a dumbass, only have myself four minutes to sleep. I was tired. Despite me telling myself no more YouTube videos, I would find yet another video that looked interesting. I would then, regretfully, tell myself that it wouldn't hurt to watch another video. It's a viscous cycle that only seems to repeat no matter how many times I tell myself no.

I'd usually give myself more than four minutes — by that I mean thirty — but last night, sleep never tried to take me. Of course, I wasn't tired when I needed to be. In reality, I probably wouldn't of gotten those four minutes but my eyelids dropped without me realizing. The alarm scaring me was the only way I figured out I fell asleep. I was hopeful that the substitute teacher in first would be chill. Maybe I could get some more sleep.

Mrs. Split, an old hag that was shaped like a melted popsicle, ended up quitting a few days before the year was over. It was Monday of the last week, and Friday she called it quits. She said it was from our rough housing, immaturity, and horseplay, but rumors said otherwise. Word on the street goes when the cops were doing their routine drug-search (gotta love the American school system), they found a shit ton of cocaine in her car. That would, ironically, explain why her nose was always so powdered and her irrational behavior at times. But, her leaving meant we were stuck with a substitute for the last week of school. My senior year was going out with a bang, I suppose. I'm just hoping to God the teacher is less horrible.

My standards were low.

I was happy that we didn't have any work to do. Finals were done and the last week always consisted of watching movies and playing card games. Today, it would be spent getting an extra 50 minutes of sleep. There was no denying that senior-itis had spread through my entire grade, and I think the teachers knew that. If they gave us work, it wouldn't be done. 

Walking into the classroom, ignoring the obnoxiously loud kids that had too much energy for a Monday morning, I slumped into my seat. My backpack went next to my feet and I stretched, kicking it slightly. A yawn escaped me and I closed my eyes. But, I knew I couldn't sleep yet. The substitute would probably do roll-call and introduce themselves, so I had to wait. Unfortunately, I had to wait. Once they were done, though, I'd be out like a light.

The bell rang and the class settled down just barely. My elbow rested on my desk and my jaw rested in my palm, my eyelids struggling to stay open. Why did my head feel so heavy? I kept forcing my eyes open and keeping my head from dropping down, and in the corner of my eye I saw a male walk in. Crisp suit and confident walk, but he was blurry from my tired vision. That's new. Never been someone like that in my class, unless someone really wanted to dress properly. Maybe he's the teacher? An extremely overdressed teacher? Another yawn and I lost interest in the male, sleep yelling at me in the back of my mind.

The door closed loudly and I jumped once again in a startle, though it didn't last long. School made me more tired than anything else in this world. It was a different kind of tired. The male in the suit walked to the center of the classroom and grabbed some papers off of it. My heavy eyes dragged up to him and I squinted, blurred vision barely making out the muscles hidden beneath the suit. He had a nice ass — my vision definitely didn't blur that out.