Substitutes Make Everyone Happy

French History: Torture

(Who can find the P!ATD lyric) (lmao I'm garbage) (yes I know the quotations are there just go with it.)

"You know, History is already a horrifying subject. Memorizing dates, remembering names, writing report after report after report about wars and rebellions and rebellious wars. So we didn't need to add the French part. But it was necessary, or at least the French part was. Being a French Immersion student was no vacation. I don't think I've ever used a day of my education.

Either way, our normal teacher, Mrs. Devaul, was tragically strict. Not one student enjoyed her presence. Her French was too fast, so it just sounded like gibberish whenever she spoke. It was already hard enough, me knowing Irish and English, having to learn French too. Besides that, she will point out the tiniest mistakes that really don't matter. If your name wasn't in the top right corner, she handed the paper right back.

It was horrible. The worst class of my day. What a perfect way to end each day. And start, thanks to me having to pick between this homeroom or a Physics homeroom.

I was about to fall asleep during one of the 'movies' she liked to play, (today's selection being "The Red River Rebellion") when the door creaked open. It was too dark for me to see who it was, so I just ignored it and listened to my music in the back row of class. This was how I was spending my fifth year in high school? Horrific.

I heard fast whispering between Devaul and the mystery teacher. My curiosity peaked, so I tried to make him out through the darkness, but all I could make out was that he was short. Maybe 5'8", give or take.

The boring movie torture paused, and the lights flicked on, temporarily blinding the class. Collective groans raised from the class, including mine, as I slunk back into my hoodie. I glanced at the front, just Mrs. Devaul talking to the myst-

Woah, double take. Who is that?? Is that a teacher or, a student or what?

A few seconds of rapid-fire French passed and Devaul introduced this Greek god of a man. My heart skipped a beat.

(I'm putting this in French and English bc I know a lot of people don't know French.)

"Classe! Classe! Attention au moi s'il vous plaît! Nous devons avez un supplie pour quelque semaines, je dois prendre la classe d'une autre prof d'Anglais, avec leçons differentes, sa fils est mal. Monsieur Fischbach est ici pour toi juste que là fils du Mme Trinket est bien."

"Class! Class! Eyes on me please! We're having a supply for a few days, I have to take over for another teacher's class, because it is a different curriculum. Her son is sick. Mr. Fischbach is here just until Ms. Trinket's son is healthy again."

The whole class held, waiting for the cue. The cue that decided if these next few weeks were to be good or great. The three words that decided whether or not we-

"Il parler Français."
"He speaks French."
She said.

The whole class sighed in disappointment, except me. And instead of the routine-like, "Bonjour," I just gaped at him. From what I could see, he was a whole new kind of gorgeous. He had stepped out of the door's shadow. His hair was dyed a fiery red at the top, which was strange for such a profession, but then again why am I talking. The rest of his hair was black, he wore small, rectangle glasses hiding his eyes from me, and a small smile. A clean, cut jaw with frayed ends of a beard perfected all I could see. Just what I could make out.

My god, this man was perfection in itself.

Devaul ranted about good behaviour and what not while she was out, or at least I think she did. I was staring Mr. Fischbach down. What a guy, I thought.