#ethanwill

“Brandt,” he sighs. “What have I told you about violence in the classroom?”

“That it’s a bad idea,” Will answers. “And I told you that I’m just venting, and I’d rather chop my own arm off before actually hit a student. Did you miss that last part? Sir,” he adds as an afterthought.

Ethan hides a snort into his coffee. He’s not very successful, going by the thundercloud forming on Hunley’s face. “Yes, I suppose this is very funny to you, Hunt,” hisses the Principle, “seeing as you are a huge fan of gratuitous and entirely unnecessary violence targeted towards innocent individuals.”

“For the last time,” says Ethan, his mirth rapidly disappearing, “I wasn’t the one that keyed your car.”

“I don’t believe you,” Hunley tells him squarely. “You’re lucky I can’t prove a thing, because if I could you’d be fired faster than you could say ‘vandalism’. All of you,” he adds, eyeing their group with distrust.

“Maybe you can’t prove it because he didn’t do it,” says Benji indignantly. “Ethan would never.”

This time Jane, Will and Luther all cough sarcastically. Ethan glares at them. Hunley pretends not to notice. “One day,” he threatens them, blustering, “one day I will fire you all, and then I will have peace at this school. My hair is turning prematurely gray, and it’s all because of you.”

“Are you sure it’s prematurely gray?” asks Will innocently. “I mean, you’re much closer to sixty than you are to fifty. Sir.”

There is a silence, stretched and apprehensive. A vein is throbbing in Hunley’s temple, and he is red in the face. Just as Ethan’s sure the man is going to explode, Hunley exerts some superhuman control over himself and turns around, stalking out of the room and muttering under his breath.

“Well,” exhales Benji, when he’s sure Hunley is out of earshot. “That went well.”

Will snorts. “Wish I could say the same about my class. Did you know Roberts referred to Alexander the Great as ‘Alex Da Gr9’ in his essay? And she also wrote, and I quote,” the expression on Will’s face is of distaste mixed with grudging respect, “’Alex was super bi and into fucking dudes and chicks, but his main man was Hephaestion aka Sex on Legs. His side hoes didn’t like that, so they killed him. Alex was so sad he died.’”

He looks up from the essay to find everyone in the general vicinity looking at him with identical expressions of stunned disbelief. “Yeah,” he says drily. “I gave her a B for historical accuracy if nothing else.”

Luther is the first to speak. “Amazing,” he says. “Amazing. I’m fucking inspired, I really am.”

“You would be,” sighs Will. “Anyway, it’s still much much better than MacArthur’s essay, which was basically the words ‘ALEX WAS GAY AS FUCK’ written in red sharpie in the middle of the page. That’s it. Literally. Nothing else.”

“Well,” says Jane after a moment. “He’s not wrong, per se.”

“Alex- I mean, Alexander, wasn’t gay,” points out Will. “He was bisexual.”

“Can I confess something?” says Ilsa, speaking for the first time since Will entered the room. When she’s sure they’re all looking at her, she smiles a very pure and innocent smile and says, “I’m the one who keyed Hunley’s car.”