Teachers USUK

Chapter 1

"Oh, Angelterre, did you hear?"

I turn my attention from the sheets of music in front of me to the rather annoying Frenchman across from me. I don't think they allow smoking in the teacher's lounge, but he does it anyway. 

"Hear what?" I ask, not being able to stop myself from asking. I'm much too curious. 

He grins mischievously at me, flicking the cigarette that rests delicately between his fingers. "There's been drama with the football team and cheerleaders," he says slowly, watching my face for a reaction. Propping his face up on his hand, Francis -- the son of a bitch -- knows that I'm interested, judging from the way a smile spreads across his lips.

"What about?" I ask, trying my best to seem indifferent about the topic. I'm not sure why I try. Francis has this annoying gift of being able to see right through people.

"They sneaked into the gymnasium last weekend, and they vandalized all of the other sports teams' equipment," he says, gushing out the facts as if he's been dying to tell someone. Of course, he's probably being over-dramatic, as is his calling card. There's a reason he's the teacher for theatre and drama. "It was all caught on tape, too!"

This has me laughing in surprise. "Bloody hell, it must stink to be them," I mutter, laughing as I lift my travel mug, taking a swig of lukewarm tea that's been sweetened to perfection.

"Oh, yes." The Frenchman laughs along with me before shaking his head. "The principal will surely have some dire consequences in store for them, no?" He grins at me. 

"It's probably that bloody coach's fault," I state, feeling rather dangerous at the moment. "He's not the best influence on those students."

Francis grins and raises his eyebrows at me suggestively. "You mean the coach that gets you hot and bothered every time you see him?" he asks, sipping at a beverage that smells suspiciously like wine.

"Jones does not get me 'hot and bothered', you bloody frog," I return, doing my best to butcher his french accent in my mockery.

"I don't know, mon ami," Francis says, looking doubtful. "You seem to have a taste for annoying Americans." He grins at me, and I have to resist the urge to pull out some of that shining blonde hair of his right out of his scalp. No wonder I'm still single. I'm really rather violent sometimes, aren't I?

"That wouldn't happen if we were the last two people on Earth," I state, poking the table with my finger to emphasize my point.

"You can deny it all you want, but everyone knows that you're madly in love with him," he tells me, smiling like the sick bastard he is.

Okay, I deny it, but he actually isn't wrong. I've liked Alfred F. Jones since my Freshman year of high school. I became friends with his older brother, Mathew first, but for some reason unbeknownst to Mathew and me, he ignored me all throughout high school. The times we were forced to interact, such as partner projects or activities, he ended up being a douche-bag. I thought that he might have had some sort of reasoning for being so mean to me, but as the interactions went on, I realized that he is actually just a huge jerk. Yet, despite all of that knowledge, I found myself still smitten with the man. Tragic, isn't it?

I roll my eyes, and organize my sheets, making sure to have music for all kinds of various instruments. "I don't have time for this. I have class in a few minutes," I state, getting up and gathering my things.

"Have fun," he calls out after me.

As I make my way out of the lounge, I find myself in the long hall of lockers. The floor is sky blue tiling, and the lockers are a matching color. It's really pretty much the classic, cliche high school that you see in movies, though it's nothing like the movies when it comes to the actual people.