#with time

You are exceptionally early for school. 

Like, earlier than even the earliest of teachers. Earlier than the bird that gets the worm.

The only person you’d seen in the hallway on the walk up to your classroom was the Janitor (who’s name you’ve learned is Pat) and he looked like he’d seen a ghost. Maybe he had? Has anyone told him there was a new teacher? Did he think you were a ghost? Does Pat even keep track of the teachers here?

You shake your head and unlock the door to your classroom, flicking the lightswitch with your elbow as you juggle a cup of coffee in one hand and your stack of lessons in the other. 

A stop hasn't been made to the teacher's lounge yet, but you’re banking on them having a coffee machine because there’s not a chance this cup is going to last you all morning.

“Doubt I’m going to be doing much teaching on day one,” you speak out loud to no one in particular. Maybe speaking it out loud will manifest it.

Your classroom is clean and incredibly empty of all students (duh, it had been locked), and you come to realize that you have no idea why you came so early. There is quite literally nothing to do on the very first day.

You spend a few minutes organizing some papers for no particular reason, just shuffling and stacking papers and poking at empty files. You’ve basically made glorified coloring sheets that you’re going to have the students fill out so you can get to know them - busy work as some might call it.

…

Ok, this is boring. 

You have about an hour until school starts, and according to a ‘warning’ sent to you by Avery, kids would show up as soon as 40 minutes early. That gave you 20 minutes to fuck around. Maybe you should make an introductory kahoot? Do kids like kahoots? Your prior students in college did.

This was admittedly nothing like being a professor. If you were back at the university, you usually would’ve sat back in your office and graded homework, or stared longingly at the outside world, or even played shitty mobile games on your phone until there was class - and even then, you’d show up five minutes before starting time. 

What to do, what to do…

You end up settling for some revisions of your planner, though there isn’t much to change. You mostly just highlight things unnecessarily and appreciate the cute stickers on the front of it. It was from a bargain store and just the perfect amount of gaudy and bright for you not to lose it as you tend to do.

A rapping at your door makes you jump practically out of your skin. You can’t even see who it is because you forgot to open the tiny blinds on the window. Would it be weird to replace those with a cute tiny curtain?

You close your planner and shuffle to the door, opening it just a crack to see who made your soul leave your body. It’s Grace.

Wait what?

It’s Grace?

It takes everything in you not to make a face at him out of pure confusion. He’s kind of not what you were expecting to see this early. Maybe a student who’d gotten dropped off early, or Pat the janitor coming to investigate you, sure - but not the 8th grade science teacher.

You open the door all the way and hold it open with your foot. The man in front of you is wearing a yellow rain jacket that still has drops of precipitation on it. Under it is a cozy looking beige sweater. He has one arm raised up on the doorframe and the other cradling a bike helmet that’s equally as wet.

“Hi?” You offer.

He blinks like he forgot what he’d been planning to say in the first place. “Oh - good morning!”  His blue gaze shifts from your face to the classroom behind you, trying to peek at the interior. You move to the side and motion for him to come in.

“Wipe your feet on the way in?” You suggest.

He glances down and sure enough, there’s a tiny doormat inside of the classroom that reads ‘mi casa es su casa’ (it had been funny when you bought it, but now it just seems kind of corny). 

“You have a doormat.” Grace states, raising his eyebrows.

“Very astute of you Dr. Grace. Anything else you’d like to point out about my classroom while you’re visiting?” 

He doesn’t put his helmet down, rather he stands near your desk and looks around the classroom. “Sorry, I wasn’t planning on intruding, it's just - your classroom is very colorful.” He sounds mildly astonished. 

It is colorful, thanks to your inclination for kitschy decor and thrifting. 

Between what embellishments you had packed (originally meant for your home), and what you could find last minute at the thrift yesterday - you had scrounged together multicolored  tapestries and scarves for the ceiling, overlapping rugs to hide the tile ground, some string lights for above the windows and white-board, and finally a framed photo on your desk. 

You give him a smile and follow over to your desk where he’s investigating your decorations, poking at the framed picture of Australopithecus afarensis. The most famous Aus. afarensis specimen is arguably Lucy, and you’re sure anyone that’s ever had to take a life history class would recognize her. 

“That’s Lucy,” you offer. 

“I’m familiar,” Ryland muses, looking at you curiously. “What’s she doing in here?”

You sigh. “I’m hoping she’ll scare the kids into listening to me,” you admit, rubbing sheepishly at the back of your head. It’s kind of a joke. Not really. You’re really praying that your pupils will listen to you.

He barks out a laugh and the sound of it makes a tingling feeling of fuzzy warmth run over your skin. “Ruling with fear? How totalitarian of you.” He turns to face you and you have trouble trying to maintain eye contact for more than two seconds. 

“I’ve been told I rule with an iron fist.” (No one has ever said that to you in your entire life).

He raises his one free hand in a “woah!” motion and you giggle. “Remind me not to get on your bad side then.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You start to corral him out of your room and towards the hallway. 

You can hear the squeaking of shoes, the early students are starting to come down the halls.  “Thanks for visiting. You’ll have to teach me how to be hip with the kids some time - Patil says you’re a ‘cool teacher’, whatever that means.”

He doesn’t go to his class just yet, lingering in the hallway in front of you before finally speaking up. 

“I just stopped by to say good luck on your first day,” and there’s the explanation you were looking for. You appreciate it, even if he’s kind of awkward. That’s okay, you’re awkward too.

“I appreciate that,” you smile up at him. “Now shoo! I need to find some music to play before class!” 

In the many anthropology classes you’d taken throughout your life, the concept of “culture shock” has been an important topic.

 Any good ethnographer is familiar with the feeling. Anxiety, confusion, distress; all normal reactions to immersing yourself into a new culture and losing all familiar social signs and symbols. 

You felt as if you were experiencing this phenomenon during your first day as a middle school teacher. 

It’s third period now, the first two having gone by incredibly fast. Your first two classes are beginning Spanish, then third, fifth, and sixth period are intermediate Spanish. You’re a lucky duck that has planning during 4th period, meaning your lunch break lines up perfectly in the middle of the day. 

You are a confident teacher, a damn good one too, but you weren’t prepared for how one-on-one this experience was going to be. This wasn’t anything like lecturing in a hall where you could just imagine all of the students in the rafters as scene extras. 

No, these kids wanted to get to know you and wanted to share everything about themselves. You’ve been exposed to so many new memes you’ve never heard of before in your life. During the time that they’re supposed to be coloring and filling out their sheets, multiple of them have come up to your desk to ask personal questions.

In a way it was incredibly endearing. During such a pivotal time of their lives (puberty eugh), all they want is to be listened to and understood. Your only comparison was your experience with college students, mostly adults in the 300-400 levels trying to make connections and network within your field - these kids just genuinely want to talk.

Now, you aren’t exactly on the same brain wavelength as a 12 year old, but you are a good listener - which is how you get dragged into listening to a girl group’s summer drama. 

You’re leaning on a counter behind one of the tables that houses a handful of young girls, all gossiping and occasionally turning to you for your input.

“Chicas, I’m not allowed to talk about your personal life,” you shake your head fondly. “But, I will say that no real friend would do that to you.” You answer their queries vaguely. 

The council of girls nod their heads, piping up with a few “On god!”s and “For real”s. 

Your stomach growls and you hold back an embarrassed noise. Luckily no one seems to have noticed with the music you have playing through the smartboard speakers. Eyes drift to the clock above the door and you note that third period will be over in ten minutes. 

Yay, almost lunch time! Almost a break!

You wander over to your desk and plop down in your chair, clicking your laptop away from it’s screensaver to pull up your powerpoint slides. Nothing serious, just a reminder for tomorrow’s class. 

A new problem you’ve discovered is that you have no way to grab the students' attention when they’re all talking. You should be able to just raise your voice and they’ll listen, but it feels….awkward. Maybe you need a xylophone or a kazoo or something. 

You cough awkwardly and shuffle over to the smart board, deciding to just turn the music down for now. Sure enough, the kids turn to look at you and settle down. 

“Ok class, please take a look at the board! Tomorrow we’re going to actually start working in our textbooks. Tonight you need to finish your introduction sheet if you haven’t already, and put it in the 3rd period bin tomorrow morning before class starts.”

A kid, Braden you think, blurts something out without raising his hand. 

“Are you going to speak Spanish?”

Wow, he could definitely work on his delivery. 

“Next time raise your hand, Braden. And yes, starting tomorrow I am speaking Español only. The exceptions are emergencies and clarification, capiche?”

A few kids grimace, but majority of them nod and just go back to chatting. You definitely remember sitting in Spanish class in college without an inkling of understanding when it came to what the professor was saying. But they say the best way to learn is to immerse yourself, and you were determined to teach these kids.

It’s about two minutes before the bell is supposed to ring and kids start packing their backpacks up. A few of them swarm around you by the smartboard and start questioning you on any and everything. 

“Are you new here?”

“Are you married?”

“What’s that creepy picture on your desk?”

“Why are there so many carpets in here?”

All very good questions! A few of them are really not their business at all. You pointedly ignore any personal-life questions and spend the last two minutes of class doing an impromptu Q and A for the students who are eager to socialize. 

When the bell finally rings and your students file out of the room, they leave behind an empty, quiet room. One that’s a little messy.

By the time your fourth period planning/lunch/relaxation time has come around, all you want to do is snack on the yummy sandwich you packed and relax. You figure that while you’re in the teacher’s lounge grabbing your lunch, you can also make yourself a new cup of coffee.

You’re not sure if it's just because it’s the first day of school or what, but the teacher’s lounge is crawling with people when you get there. Front office faculty and school nurses eager to catch up, a couple teachers that you don’t recognize, the list goes on. You don’t recognize any of your new teacher acquaintances. 

You stand in the open doorway, hyping yourself up to brave the crowd and grab your lunch. Maybe you can just take it back to your classroom and sit in silence. That sounds nice. No students, no adults, just you and your sandwich. 

“Hi _____!” A woman pipes up. 

You shuffle out of the doorway and meet the eyes of the woman speaking. You recognize her as one of the front office ladies, Misty. The kind blonde woman had been the first to greet you when you picked up your badge for the first time and got a tour of the school. 

You sigh in relief and wave at her. “It’s so nice to see a familiar face.”

The 50 year old giggles and pops the gum in her mouth. “Oh, I bet! How’s the first day treating you, hun?”

You shrug. “Not all that bad.” You must look tired because she gives you a pout - a look of sympathy, and waves you over to where she’s standing at a sliver of counter by the fridge. 

There’s a plate in front of her with those soft, chewy sugar cookies on it. Your mouth waters. 

“It’ll get easier as the week continues,” she smiles at you and slides the plate towards you in offering. 

“Did you make these?” You question, sheepishly taking two of them and putting them on top of a paper towel.

“Oh yeah! I figured you lot would need a first day pick-me-up, a little Misty special.” 

The two of you make some more teacher’s lounge small talk before she gets pulled away by one of the school nurses. You take this break to sneak past a few teachers and grab your lunchbox from the fridge.

With your sandwich and two cookies in tow, you scramble on back to the 8th grade hallway to escape to the confines of your classroom. Home sweet home. You’re looking forward to propping your feet up and biting into the comforting taste of soft white bread cut into triangles. 

As you’re approaching your classroom door, you notice that one of the classroom doors is open and empty. Curiously, you tiptoe over and glance at the door. 

Oh, it’s Grace’s. 

There’s decorative paper over the door that reads “Mr. G’s Domain” in green construction paper lettering. Cute.

 Under it reads “think like a proton - stay positive!” and you can’t help the snort that escapes you. The thought of Grace taking time out of his day to cut out each individual letter and tape this up on his door is a little endearing. 

“I really need to up my door game.” You mumble to yourself. You’d decorated the inside of your class, but hadn’t even considered sprucing up the door.

Peering around the half open door, you see that there’s not a single soul inside. Not even the teacher himself. It feels wrong to snoop around, but you’re immediately intrigued by all of his science-y decorations and posters. Plus, he got to peek around your classroom earlier.

The room is almost reminiscent of a science classroom you would’ve seen in the 90s. Black and dark aqua construction paper on the walls, big windows, various solar system models on the walls and ceiling. There was even a giant rainbow newton’s cradle on the front desk by the whiteboard. All it was missing was some funky arcade carpet and an old school projector. 

You place your lunchbox (and wrapped cookies) down on an empty desk and approach the window where there’s a small shelf housing jars of wet specimens. 

“Oh wow,” your fingers trace the edge of one of the jars. Your prior specialty was in bones, no wet stuff included , eugh. You had handled hundreds of fossil casts, even a real skeletal remain very rarely, but never anything perfectly preserved in formaldehyde. 

A particular jar catches your attention. Rather than any sort of animal, it resembles spaghetti. You gingerly pick up the jar and turn it in your hands. It’s kind of gross. 

You’re about to return the jar to its rightful place when a quiet noise - a cough - makes you practically jump out of your skin. You shriek and stumble to catch the jar, pulling it safely to your chest. 

Ryland Grace is standing behind you with a slightly concerned smile on his face, with his arms crossed and a little bag of takeout hanging from one of his hands. 

Your eyes drift to his arms, unintentionally ogling them - he has the sleeves of his sweater rolled up and his jacket from before is nowhere to be seen. 

“You are so lucky I didn’t just spill this all over your classroom!” 

Your heart is pounding against your chest and rapidly slowing down back to normal once you realize you didn’t in fact break the “specimen” and the other person in the room with you is Grace himself and not some murderer trying to sneak up on you mid school day.

“What are you doing in here anyway?” He questions you, circling around his desk to put the takeout bag down. You peek into the bag and the smell is heavenly. Mmmm, Vietnamese food. 

When you look back up, his hand is outreached expectantly and you realize he wants his decoration back. 

You ignore him obviously asking for the jar back. “Did you get Vietnamese food? I’d recognize that smell anywhere!” You interrogate. Suddenly your white bread sandwich doesn’t seem nearly as appetizing. 

He barks out a laugh and makes a move to grab the jar from where it’s still cradled to your chest. You let him, and his fingers just barely brush your own. He’s warm and his hands are significantly bigger than yours. 

“Well first of all, you didn’t answer my question,” he points at you accusingly and returns the jar to its place on the shelf.

 “And second of all, yes. Enough for one person because I wasn’t aware I’d have company.” Grace plops down in his chair. 

Stepping away from the desk to give him space, you return to where your lunchbox is waiting on a random desk. “Sorry, I came in because I wanted to get a look at your classroom after you so graciously inspected mine.”

He’s opening a tupperware full of broth, and you realize he bought pho. Curse him!

“Well, is it up to par? I don’t have any nice rugs and curtains like you, but I think that would be a hazard in a science classroom.” He’s scooping noodles into the broth now, and you watch very intently as he handles the chopsticks. 

Stop looking at his hands you weirdo!

“It’s pretty impressive, actually. I can see why you’re considered a cool teacher.” 

The tips of his ears turn red and he shakes his head bashfully. “Nah, it has nothing to do with the decor and all to do with the kids.”

If his demeanor towards you is anything to go by, you see how he could have charmed the rowdy demographic of middle schoolers into liking him as a teacher. A little awkward in an endearing way, clearly passionate about what he teaches - it doesn’t help that he’s attractive. 

“I envy your wet specimens,” you admit. “I used to have a ton of skeletons and stone tool casts and just everything bio-archaeology in my office and lecture hall.” A sigh escapes you. 

“You just left them all there?” Grace asks through a mouthful of noodles and bean sprouts, gingerly covering his mouth from view with a hand. 

“Almost all of them, though I have a few still in a box in my apartment.” It’s true. You left the nicer ones to the rest of the department, but the ones that you’d purchased yourself at conferences and meetings were tucked away in a box labeled “fragile!” under some clothes in your closet. 

“I haven’t put any of them up in my house because I don’t want it to look like a museum in there, and I’m afraid my Nana will mess with them.” You admit. 

He perks up at the word museum and finishes slurping down a noodle, slapping one hand on his desk excitedly. “That reminds me! The 8th graders get to go on a museum field trip at the end of the first semester and we’re looking for chaperones.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “That’s awesome.”

Grace points a chopstick at you. “You should see if you can find a sub and chaperone that day. I’m sure the kids would love to have a fossil aficionado with them.”

You’re leaning back against the desk that houses your lunchbox now, looking at him with both of your brows raised. “Are you serious? I’d love to.”

After that, the air is kind of awkward and silent. Grace is chowing down on his lunch and you realize that you haven’t even touched yours yet - too busy chatting away. 

“Ehr, I should probably go eat lunch now.” You reach for your lunchbox. 

“You’re welcome to sit in here with me,” he suddenly offers. 

You blink. 

“Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I…don’t know.” With a hop, you shimmy yourself to sit on the desk your lunch has been sitting on, rather than sit in the tiny chair. You suppose you can eat in here with him. Why not! Why not. Just don’t look at him or his rolled up sleeves or his hands. 

The two of you quickly realize that the silence paired with the chewing sounds is incredibly unbearable and you start to wonder if you should’ve eaten in your classroom alone. 

“Do you care if I turn on the projector?” Grace asks. 

Before you can respond, he’s booting it up and the youtube homepage is being displayed on the whiteboard across from you. 

You two end up spending the rest of 4th period watching a David Attenborough documentary about African savannah wildlife, chiming in every now and then through bites of food. When you finish your sandwich, you remember the two cookies you have wrapped in a little napkin. 

There are two cookies…and two of you…

“Hey,” you speak up over the sound of the old man narrating cheetah cubs on screen. “Did you get any of Misty’s ‘first day’ cookies?” 

Grace shakes his head no and without thinking you hop down from the desk and bring him one, tearing the napkin in half. 

“Don’t tell me that you’re one of those weirdos who hates lofthouse sugar cookies.” You beg, looking him in the eyes. 

“What do you take me for, a heathen?” He accepts the sweet treat with a smile. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed, but apparently the 4th period is over because the bell is ringing annoyingly throughout the building. You swallow and spin on your heel to turn back to your lunchbox, needing to pack it up. 

“Oh shit! I need to get back to my class!” You yelp. 

“Language,” The blonde chastises. You snap your head around to send him a glare and then realize that he’s right, you need to work on your language if you’re going to be working with middle schoolers.

“Sorry, I meant shoot. Aw shucks! Oh geez! I need to get back to my class.” 

You rush out of his classroom with your lunchbox before he can say anything else, leaving him sitting at his desk with a pink sugar cookie in his hand.

When you get back to your classroom, there’s already a student there. She’s eagerly swinging her feet back and forth and sitting right at the front of the classroom closest to your desk. 

The girl raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Where were you?”

You scoff and put your empty lunchbox in the cabinet next to your desk. “How about, hello I’m so excited to be in your class. Here’s my name because we’ve never met before!”

She folds her hands on her desk. “My name is Abby, and I’m excited to further my Spanish education with intermediate level Spanish. Now what were you doing in Mr. Grace’s classroom?”

You turn your head slowly, and notice more kids are finally starting to come in. 

“It’s nice to meet you Abby. Mr. Grace and I were just sharing our riveting first day experiences here at Grover Cleveland Middle School.”

Apparently that’s enough for this nosey nelly because she shrugs and accepts your answer. 

The rest of the kids fill in the room and you move to stand in the center of the desks, introducing yourself. There’s a little less students than in your previous classes, but hopefully that means it’ll be easier to get them to listen. 

You learn that Abby is very proficient at Spanish - and apparently all subjects (except for physical education which seems to be a sore spot for her).

You also meet a few other kids that stand out to you: Derrick, a ginger boy with a gaggle of jocks hyping up his every move, and Paige, a very quiet and sweet girl who practically drowns in her grey hoodie. 

Despite your insistence that the first day of class is just for introductions and having fun, apparently this 5th period intermediate class is eager to start speaking Spanish because they practically beg you to do a review Kahoot. 

Who are you to deny them?

It ends up being a lot of fun. You get to see everyone’s personalities, and take note of a wicked competitive streak between Abby and Derrick. Paige ends up pulling through to second place in the end, reminding you of the story of the tortoise and the hare. 

The rest of your first week is about the same. You end up having lunch either by yourself or with Indiana most days, not returning back to Grace’s classroom. You don’t want to overstep, though he didn’t seem bothered by your presence. 

You finally start speaking Spanish in all of your classes, to the joy of your fifth period and the dismay of your beginning classes. 

By the end of the week you decide that you need some sort of reward system to get these kids invested in learning. With a trip to the dollar store and your meager salary, your eyes had honed in on a bag of plastic golden doubloons. When you introduced the concept to your classes on Friday, they were ecstatic. 

You decided that there would be a reward system for answering questions. A correct answer would win you some doubloons, and speaking English would get them taken away. You hadn’t thought as far as prizes, but you figure that this weekend you can do some research into what kids these days are interested in. 

At the end of 6th period on Friday you receive a text from Avery in your group chat with her and Indiana. Sneakily, you pull your phone from your pocket and check the text under your desk.

‘We are getting dinner this weekend!! All of us!! The cool ones!! RSVP ASAP!!’ from, Avery.

All of you? Including Grace? You can’t help the fluttering feeling in your chest, feeling a little excited to get to see everyone outside of work. 

“What are you smiling at?” A kid is standing right in front of your desk, trying to peek at your phone. You slam it down and he jumps straight into the air. 

“Lo siento,” you breathe. “¡Me asustase!” (You scared me!)

“I scared you?” He balks. 

“Yes! You’re standing so close to me! Class is almost over anyway, you can have your phones out now.” You call out the last part and watch as all of your students shimmy their phones from their pockets and backpacks. 

“You didn’t say that in Spanish,” the student (still at your desk) nags you. 

You groan and lean back into your chair. Before you’re able to respond, the bell rings and you watch as students hop from their chairs like rabbits to race out of your classroom - eager to get home. 

You’re also incredibly eager to get home. You lean back in your chair even further to see out of your classroom door, peeking at Grace’s doorway from here. 

Dinner with everyone, huh.

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋

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