Untouchable

The Bennington Twins

Mike Shinoda glanced down at the Apple watch on his wrist, checking the time as he chugged back the remaining half mug of cold coffee on his desk. The fucking bells are late again. How hard is it to set the damn computer to ring the bells on time? He heard his assistant fussing at the kids lined up outside the office door as they waited for the class change, and he looked up from his disastrous desk in time to see Rob squeeze his way around backpacks and instrument cases to come into the office.

"Wait! Mr. Bourdon! My mom told me to give you this!" A seventh grade trumpet player thrust his hand across the threshold to the office and waved a piece of paper around.

"Zac, you know this is late. Mr. Shinoda doesn't take late paperwork," Rob said, looking over the late solo contest entry form and receipt.

Mike sighed as he stood up from his unbalanced desk chair and crossed the three small steps from his desk to the office door. "Zachary," he said sternly, "where was this paperwork when we asked for it every day last week?"

Zac froze, looking up at his band directors. He knew that Mr. Shinoda, the head director, was particularly strict about paperwork, assignments, and money being turned in on time. His shaggy blonde hair was almost covering his green eyes as he tried his best apologetic look. "It was in my backpack?" he said timidly.

"That look might work on your mom, but not on me," Mike said as he snatched the paperwork out of Rob's hand to look at it. "Seriously. I just got done with all this paperwork. Like, just now." He sighed in exasperation. "I guess I'll take it, since your parents paid the fees on time. You know, in the real world, this is how your electricity gets turned off. By paying your bills late." Mike stared down at the fourth band kid as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. The bell rang and Mike waved his hand in the air. "Go to class. I'm not writing you a pass."

"Bye, Mr. Bourdon!" Zac chirped before he looked at Mike. "Bye, Mr. Shinoda," he said somberly, turning away from the door with his backpack - covered in pepperonis on a background of melted cheese - halfway unzipped.

"Zip up your bag, Zac!" Rob yelled as he closed the office door behind their student. "You're such a hard ass," he said, a brief smile crossing his face. He pushed his square, wire rimmed glasses up his nose and dropped down into his office chair. "Fuck. They wore me out. You've got it so easy," Rob complained for at least the hundredth time this semester. His longer brown hair was falling into his eyes, and he reached to tuck it behind his ear.

"You need to get a haircut before Mr. Hahn comes down here and tells you to do it. And I'm not a hard ass. They have to learn to meet deadlines," Mike responded, adding the late paperwork to the pile on his desk. He looked down, then shifted it to a different pile. There were three piles of paperwork on his desk, none of which were completed, and all of which couldn't get mixed up or he'd lose his mind. "And I did my time teaching non-varsity bands. When you get your head director gig, you can pass off the babies to your assistant, too."

He shoved a hand through his black hair as he glanced out the office windows, watching their next class come in. It was one of their beginner classes, all sixth graders, and he and Rob split it up woodwinds and brass every day to make the most of their forty-five minutes with the students. "God bless, this class wears me out," he said with a sigh before he opened his thermos and poured a new cup of coffee. He knew it would be cold before he even got to drink it all, just like every other cup he'd had at school for the past ten years.

"It's because of the Bennington twins," Rob smirked, then chuckled. "I've never been so happy to see two kids decide to play the flute in my whole life. That was my crowning achievement at last year's instrument drive."

"Yeah, thanks for that," Mike remarked drily, watching the students make their way into the band hall. The Bennington twins were notorious before they ever stepped foot in the halls of McArther Middle School. Two identical exotic beauties who loved to play games on their teachers and pretend to be the other twin, who loved to dress alike, and whose friends sometimes didn't even know which twin was Lily and which was Lila. Their elementary school teachers had been ecstatic to send them off to the middle school after six long kindergarten through fifth grade years.