8 Pencils 1 Sharpener

Chapter Six

Harry scooped a handful of rosy pomegranate seeds from his handy Tupperware box and threw them into his mouth, his brow furrowed. He sat on a moldy wooden picnic bench behind the immense main building, in a small area of grassland used for lunching students. The courtyard wasn't too busy, with just the odd pack of students occupying other benches or grouped lazily under trees.

Scanning the area, Harry's mind drifted back to the class he just had.

He'd made his way to room 271 with a gaggle of fellow classmates who were also taking a teaching course. The room itself was the exact same layout as 302, the only exception being the words "Teaching 101" being scrawled on a blackboard (which seemed unnecessary, seeing as it was beside a rather large whiteboard complete with projector.) He seated himself in the second row, as not to be told to move forwards to the front. He gave a stretch and adjusted his cap, sighing.

When he had finally mustered up the courage to tell his parents that he didn't want to bend to their will and become a doctor, his parents gave him the reaction he expected. Loud voices, gibbering excuses, flailing of hands to emphasise points, and of course, dramatic sighs. All the while he bit his tongue to stop himself from spiraling into a rage filled with exasperated whining. He knew that whining would only ruin his cause. The expression on his parents faces as they stood in the doorway watching him hop on the bus to take him to Hope University still burns within his mind: a mixture of disappointment, confusion and a hint of desperation.

The mere memory causes a scowl to suddenly appear on his face. He held this expression as he placed his laptop onto his desk (a tad too roughly for his liking). In his annoyed trance he hadn't even noticed the many students who, intimidated by his stare, sat elsewhere, avoiding being those unlucky late few who had to sit beside "that angry Muslim dude". Neither did he notice the man who entered the room and quietly closed the door behind him, making his way to the blackboard. It was only when he noticed the sudden silence in the room that he looked up.

The man appeared to be in his late fifties, with greying almond-coloured  hair and thin rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his beaked nose. His small stature was wrapped in a thick, woollen cardigan with large pockets that were filled with multicolored white board markers. Most of his features were soft, nothing that brought much uniqueness to him.

He was merely vanilla.

" Good morning all!" he said in such a way that seemed soft yet stern. "My name is Professor McNeeling and I would love it if all of you had your laptops in front of you right now."

A low mumble filled the room as those who had empty desks retrieved their laptops from their backpacks. After a few moments, Professor McNeeling smiled and nodded once happy that all were prepared.
"Good. I'd like this every morning from now on thank you very much."

Harry listening in curiosity. It seemed that this teacher had some sort of inexplicable control over the class. Barely a whisper was exchanged between friends during then or the entirety of the lesson itself. All were quiet.

"I do hope I see all of your faces by the time of graduation," he signed, taking off his glasses momentarily to clean them with the hem of his cardigan. "Nothing upsets me more when bright minds leave my class due to laziness."
A sense of unease swept through the students. His was a silent threat, attempting to shame those into staying. The irony was, it was working.

"Speaking of bright minds," he continues, putting his glasses back on "this is what I hope to teach. Teaching you to teach. Teaching our future. Teaching the younger generation facts and values. Shaping them into bright minds, into intelligent young men and women and whatever those young hip kids call themselves if they're not one of those I don't understand that much."

A few exhales of amusement followed, with the exception of one or two who grumbled some sort of insult of ignorance towards the professor (all of those, Harry noticed, having either a strange piercing or some sort of flour in their hair, knowing well that none of them were non-binary yet probably owned a tumblr complaining about people not knowing what that was).

"With that, let us begin the basics in the remaining time we have. Please turn on your laptops and prepare to take notes."

The rest of the lesson passed uneventfully, just learning a few definitions and do's/don'ts of teaching. All the while, however, a minute thought echoed constantly in the back of Harry's mind. A string sense of stubbornness: to prove to his parents that he can still succeed. At this stage,    it wasn't a need to make them     proud—

It was a need to prove them wrong.

Editor's note: sorry for the very long hiatus. It was a mixture of not having time to write and writers block. Expect a new chapter soon!!!