Jake X Jane Homestuck Fanfiction

Gulag High

Chapter Eleven : Gulag High

Jackson High wasn't the Gulag type nor was it as entertaining as the Fountain School, it was pretty much just like all the other high schools I'd attended : big, anonymous, and smelling of antiseptic. After filling out the typical mountain of paperwork and having  a rushed meeting with a clearly overworked guidance counselor, I was handed a schedule and pointed toward my homeroom.

"Okay, people, quiet down," the teacher, a very tall guy in his early twenties wearing leather sneakers and a dress shirt was saying as I approached the door. "Typically, we've got twenty minutes' worth of stuff to do in five minutes. So help me out, all right?"

No one appeared to be listening, although there was a barely discernable reduction in volume as people made their way half a circle of tables and desks, some pulling out chairs, others hopping up on tables or plopping on the floor below. A cell phone was ringing; someone in the back had a hacking cough.

By the door, there was a TV showing two students, a brunette girl and a guy with short dreads, sitting in a makeshift news desk, with a sign behind them that said JACKSON FLASH!

The teacher was still talking.

"...Today is the last day in your yearbook orders," he was saying, reading off various pieces of paper that were on the desk in front of him as a few more people straggled in.

"There will be a table in the courtyard during all three lunches. Also, doors will be open early for the basketball game tonight, so the earlier you get there, the better seat you'll get. And where's Jane?"

I jumped, hearing this, then raised my hand. "Here," I said, although it came out sounding entirely too much like a question.

"Welcome to Jackson High," he said, as everyone, en masse, turned to look at me. On the TV screen, the student reporters were signing off, waving as the picture went black.

"Any questions, feel free to ask me or anyone else here. We are a friendly bunch!"

"Actually," I said, reflexively going to correct him, "It's. . ."

"Moving on," he continued, not hearing me, "I've been instructed to tell you again that you are not to touch the wet paint outside the cafeteria. Most people would know this without being told, but apparently some of you are not like most people. So : keep your dirty mitts off the wet paint. Thank you."

The bell sounded, drowning out various responses to this message. The teacher sighed, looking down at his papers he obviously hadn't gotten to, then shuffled them into a stack as everyone got up again.

"Make it a good day!" he shouted halfheartedly, as people started spilling into the hallway. I hung back, standing to the side of his desk until he glanced up and saw me.

"Yes? What can I do for you?"

"I just," I began, as a pack of girls in Japanese schoogirl uniforms filed in, gabbing, "I wanted to say my name isn't-"

"Damara!" he called out suddenly.

His eyes narrowed.

"Didn't we just have a conversation about dressing appropriately for school?"

"Mr. Strider," a girl groaned from behind me, "get off my case, okay? I'm having a bad day."

Yes, Bro fucking Strider.

Jane's fucking homeroom teacher.

What do you mean he's too hot to be a teacher?!

"Probably because it's January and you're half naked. Go change," he replied.