Teachers USUK

Chapter 2

Alfred's POV 

"This is bullshit!"

I sigh and nod along. "I know it is, but if a certain few people hadn't vandalized some fucking sports' equipment we wouldn't be in this mess!" I yell, making most of the team lower their heads in shame. "I can't fucking believe you guys!" I say, throwing my hands up in the air. "Why the fuck would you let yourselves get caught?"

A few of them smile at the last comment, but they should not make any mistakes. I am angry. "We're sorry, coach," the captain, a nice kid named Eric says. He's frowning and one of the few kids that didn't participate in the vandalism.

I wave his comment off. "We can't change what happened. Just know that the reason we can't play this season is because of what you idiots did." I give them all a very serious stare, making them feel guilty, as they should. They're idiots for doing what they did.

"So, we have to go straight to the auditorium tomorrow?" one asks, and I nod, sighing and rubbing my eyes in frustration and pain. I hate contacts, but they look better than my stupid glasses.

"Yeah, we have to sit through a class with those losers," I complain, and few of the players nod in agreement. Sighing and managing to get the contacts back into a comfortable position in my eyes, I look at them all and gesture towards the football field. I know it's cold out, but it's still football season. This is what we get for causing climate change. "Now go run three miles as part of your punishment," I state. "I have to go tell the cheerleaders the shitty news."

The team groans collectively, but they all file out of the locker room obediently anyway. They're good kids, but they don't really have much responsibility. I want the best for them, but I don't want to have to deal with that piece of shit, Arthur. He has the audacity to think that he's done nothing, but he's really an arrogant prick, and I'm sick of him acting like he's better than me.

I leave the locker room and use the exit that leads to the gym. The janitors mangaed to clean up the spray paint that littered the walls before any students got to the school, but the equipment isn't so easily fixed. Uniforms were shredded, balls popped and blown up, and the carts were bent in odd angles -- completely unusable. It may seem pretty petty, in comparison to what could've been done, but my students have been on a long list of second chance receivers. This was the straw that broke the camal's back.

The cheerleaders are practicing in the middle of the gym, the two captains standing in the bleachers watching the team and weeding out any mistakes being performed. They're sisters from somewhere around Russia, and I can't be bothered to remember their names. Frankly, they're a little too cooky for my tastes.

"I've got news, bitches," I state, causing all the girls to stop what they're doing and break formation. They can probably tell by my menacing tone of voice that I'm not happy with them, at all. "I hope y'all had fun vandalizing the equipment," I start off, pacing with tense, aggravated muscles. "And I hope it was worth the consequences."

One of the girls shifts uncomfortably before pushing to the front. "What's going to happen?" she asks, obviously scared.

I chuckle bitterly, shaking my head. "Not only are all practices from tomorrow on canceled, you will be disqualified from every competition, and you have to start taking the music class in place of your practice time."

The start to bicker amongst themselves, complaining loudly about the consequences. "This is so unfair!" one of the girls shouts, and I laugh loudly in mockery.

"Unfair?" I ask in bewilderment. "How stupid can you get? Vandalizing something is against the law! You're lucky that's not going on your record! Do you know how hard it is to get by in this world with a criminal record?" I practically scream at them. I can feel the vein in my neck throbbing with anger, and I rake deep breaths to calm down. They've all shrunken back in shame, their heads hanging low. Even the bows in their hair seem to droop with shame. Rubbing at my temples in stress, I step back and collapse onto the bleachers. "Go run the track until the end of class," I state, and they follow my orders without making any sounds, donning sweatpants over their skirts and tights.

As they leave, another figure enters the gym. "I heard about the punishment," Francis says, his heeled boots clicking on the floor as he crosses over to me. He has a teasing smile on his face. 

"I'm not in the mood, Francypants," I return dryly.

His nose scrunches in distaste at the nickname, and I'm tempted to laugh at it. He makes some of the weirdest expressions one can find. "What? I can't come see how a dear friend of mine is doing?" he asks, acting offended.

I scoff at that, laughing bitterly. "That's bullshit, and we both know it. Why are you really here?" I ask, giving him a skeptical look that has him grinning for some odd reason.

"I want to help you realize your true feelings for that lovely little music teacher, Arthur," he sighs dreamily, staring off into space.

"If you think he's so great, you date him," I complain, making him chuckle. 

"While I do admit that he has a fantastic body," he says, making me raise a curious brow. "His personality isn't quite right. I'm not really into the sexually innocent. I like my partners...experienced," he states, making me gag. 

"That's disgusting," I murmur, standing up and starting towards my office. The Frenchman easily follows me.

"Anyway, why don't you just admit to yourself that you're smitten with that black sheep of teachers?" he says, sitting on my desk and crossing his legs poshly.

"Francis, I've told you, like, a billion times. I don't like him. I've never liked him, and I never will like him. He's a huge asshole," I complain, spinning around in my swivel chair like a child.

Francis laughs at what I say like an adult laughs when a child says something stupid that they're too young to really know. It's like when a kid explains to you what they think causes something, when they couldn't be farther from the truth. "You have so much to learn about love, my friend," he tells me, patting my shoulder gently before hopping up from my desk. He starts strutting to the door, but he stops and looks over my shoulder. "You should go after him while you can. I'm pretty sure that the weird, Russian world history teacher is into him," he calls, and then he disappears from the locker room, the only sounds being the clicking of his boots against the floors.

"I don't like him, Francis," I yell, growling in aggravation at the pervert. He's always insisted that I have feelings for Arthur, feelings of the romantic kind. Though, that couldn't be farther from the truth. I absolutely hate the jerk!

"Coach!" 

I snap out of my inner monologue and turn around, seeing a panting, sweaty Eric standing in the doorway to my office. "What's up?"

"Two players have gotten into a fight."

"God dammit. Again?" I ask, feeling my brows raise again. There was a fight just yesterday. This is ridiculous!

He nods and rushes out the door as shouting makes itself heard. I rush after him with a dreading sigh.

Here we go again...

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Heylo, my lovely little nuggets! I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! Don't forget to leave any comments or suggestions that you may have! I love to read them! They totally make my day. Anyway, I'll see y'all nuggety readers in the next update! Until then, have an absolutely fantastic and fabulous day! Bai!!! >:3

-IggyScones