I must be brighter than the sun
Title: Good Intentions [2/?]
Author: Molly
Pairing: Billie/Jason White
Rating: R
Summary: This is your classroom, Mr. Armstrong.
Previous part: found here
Notes: Thanks so much for all your feedback on the first part <3 You guys rock.
Two
Billie met Jason White last October, when he substituted his class for him. Although it was the first time they had spoken, when they met the first day so Jason could have over the lesson plans, it wasn't the first time they had seen each other. Before Jason left for the conference he was missing his classes for, he had asked Billie Joe if he had gone to Berkeley. They realized they had spotted one another at some parties on campus. Parties where Billie had done things he wasn't necessarily proud of. . .
But in a way, that made him feel comfortable with Jason. And now Jason had gotten him a job that, quite frankly, he desperately needed.
So the butterflies that occupied his stomach as Billie eased into one of the staff parking spaces in Pinhole High School's lot were nervous ones. But seeing the guy who - despite having watched him commit unspeakable acts - vouched for him was only one reason for his nerves. Subbing for a few days was quite different from subbing a few months. The most he had done so far in his teaching career was oversee kids doing homework. This was his first real chance to teach. The thought was has frightening as it was exhilarating.
Walking into a high school was an experience that continuously floored him. Attending himself hadn't been a winning experience, and while it was a different one to walk through the crowded halls as faculty, the memories of his teenage days swept over him like a soft sheet. Because it hadn't changed. The jocks crowed to each other obnoxiously, couples all but groped each other, and loners tried to look busy at their lockers as they killed useless time before first period began. He sympathized with the singles. He had been one of them.
Billie Joe's reminiscing came to an end when he reached the main office. Between juggling the phone and writing for the students waiting idly by, the frizzy haired secretary glanced up at him. She appeared frazzled, so he decided to cut to the chase. "Hi, I'm Billie Joe Armstrong. I'm here to see Principle Waches?"
"Yes, yes," she waved carelessly to the half opened door on the right. "He's waiting for you in his office."
Principal Waches - pronounced 'wakes' - had a lot of school spirit, and that was evident with a look around his room. The school colors of red and white were everywhere, and numerous banners with the word Raised stitched proudly across the front were tacked to the walls. It wasn't surprising to see that the ring finger of his left hand was bare.
Billie knocked tentatively on the glass window of the door, trying his usual small smile. "Principal Waches?"
The head of the school had been skimming over a stack of papers, but he raised his balding head at the sound of a voice. He smiled back at Billie and stood, swiping his glasses from his nose and reaching out his hand in greeting all in the same motion. "You must be Mr. Armstrong. How are you dong?"
"Very well, sir." He shook the proffered hand with enthusiasm. "And how are you?"
"No complaints. Please, have a seat."
Doing as he was instructed, Billie Joe sat himself properly in one of the two leather chairs in front of the wide desk, first sliding the strap of his messenger bag off his shoulder to place it on the floor at his feet. The nerves were in abundance as he watched Waches return to his seat and reach for a skimpy manilla folder. "I really appreciate you choosing me for the job," Billie said to fill the small span of silence.
"Well, aside from how qualified you are - the recommendations from your professors at Berkeley are quite impressive - Mr. White all but insisted you were right for the job. You must have done a splendid job when you subbed his class."
Although Mr. Waches did not appear suspicious, he still had to fight the blush from creeping up his neck, and he was sure his smile was visibly apprehensive. "Yes, well, we both attended Berkeley. He knew how much I've wanted to teach English."
Don't ask, don't tell. Simple as that.
"Well, it looks like you're finally going to get your chance," the principal smiled. "It's terrific that you can commit to teaching for the remainder of the year on such short notice. Really helps us out."
"Believe me, sir, it's my pleasure."
"You'll be paid on a monthly basis, and you will receive seventy-five percent of what Mrs. Waps is paid. We don't have substitutes participate in certain things, such as staying after to give extra help or attend board meetings. Since you taught here before, I take it you know where the majority of things are? The cafeteria, teacher's lounge, the guidance office?" At Billie's nod, he stood and came out from behind his desk. "Then I suppose the only thing left is to show you Mrs. Waps room."
It wasn't surprising that not one student so much as glanced their way as they passed through the busy corridors. Billie Joe could remember what it was like to be a teenager. Your only concern was your own world, in your own moment. The rest of the planet be damned. He both envied them, and pitied them.
Mrs. Waps' room was typical in appearance, but it made the twenty-six year old nearly gag in front of his new employer. The walls were littered with the posters that advertised pieces of literature that he hated - Romeo and Juliet, The Great Gatsby, and The Giver. But the one thing that made him smile was the quote painted in an elegant scrawl above the chalkboard. "Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing." At least him and Mrs. Waps agreed on something.
"This is your classroom, Mr. Armstrong. First period begins in-" Waches paused to check the clock nailed above The Great Gatsby poster - "about ten minutes. What will be your schedule is on the desk, along with the email she sent to let you know what her lesson plans were. If you have any questions-" he gestured to the phone that hung beside the doorframe "-feel free to call down to the office."
"Great. Thanks so much, Principal Waches."
"Good luck," he smiled, and disappeared into the sea of students.
He took a moment to take it all in. The empty seats, and the fact that very shortly, they would be occupied with all types of young men and women. And with a boldness he didn't know he had, he erased the cursive script written in chalk at the board in front of the room - Mrs. Waps - and printed Mr. B Armstrong in its place.
--
How am I doing with this?
Also, a thousand brownie points goes to the first person who can tell me where the quote above the chalkboard is from? Aly, my princesa, you are not allowed to play, lol. I know you know <4569
Author: Molly
Pairing: Billie/Jason White
Rating: R
Summary: This is your classroom, Mr. Armstrong.
Previous part: found here
Notes: Thanks so much for all your feedback on the first part <3 You guys rock.
Two
Billie met Jason White last October, when he substituted his class for him. Although it was the first time they had spoken, when they met the first day so Jason could have over the lesson plans, it wasn't the first time they had seen each other. Before Jason left for the conference he was missing his classes for, he had asked Billie Joe if he had gone to Berkeley. They realized they had spotted one another at some parties on campus. Parties where Billie had done things he wasn't necessarily proud of. . .
But in a way, that made him feel comfortable with Jason. And now Jason had gotten him a job that, quite frankly, he desperately needed.
So the butterflies that occupied his stomach as Billie eased into one of the staff parking spaces in Pinhole High School's lot were nervous ones. But seeing the guy who - despite having watched him commit unspeakable acts - vouched for him was only one reason for his nerves. Subbing for a few days was quite different from subbing a few months. The most he had done so far in his teaching career was oversee kids doing homework. This was his first real chance to teach. The thought was has frightening as it was exhilarating.
Walking into a high school was an experience that continuously floored him. Attending himself hadn't been a winning experience, and while it was a different one to walk through the crowded halls as faculty, the memories of his teenage days swept over him like a soft sheet. Because it hadn't changed. The jocks crowed to each other obnoxiously, couples all but groped each other, and loners tried to look busy at their lockers as they killed useless time before first period began. He sympathized with the singles. He had been one of them.
Billie Joe's reminiscing came to an end when he reached the main office. Between juggling the phone and writing for the students waiting idly by, the frizzy haired secretary glanced up at him. She appeared frazzled, so he decided to cut to the chase. "Hi, I'm Billie Joe Armstrong. I'm here to see Principle Waches?"
"Yes, yes," she waved carelessly to the half opened door on the right. "He's waiting for you in his office."
Principal Waches - pronounced 'wakes' - had a lot of school spirit, and that was evident with a look around his room. The school colors of red and white were everywhere, and numerous banners with the word Raised stitched proudly across the front were tacked to the walls. It wasn't surprising to see that the ring finger of his left hand was bare.
Billie knocked tentatively on the glass window of the door, trying his usual small smile. "Principal Waches?"
The head of the school had been skimming over a stack of papers, but he raised his balding head at the sound of a voice. He smiled back at Billie and stood, swiping his glasses from his nose and reaching out his hand in greeting all in the same motion. "You must be Mr. Armstrong. How are you dong?"
"Very well, sir." He shook the proffered hand with enthusiasm. "And how are you?"
"No complaints. Please, have a seat."
Doing as he was instructed, Billie Joe sat himself properly in one of the two leather chairs in front of the wide desk, first sliding the strap of his messenger bag off his shoulder to place it on the floor at his feet. The nerves were in abundance as he watched Waches return to his seat and reach for a skimpy manilla folder. "I really appreciate you choosing me for the job," Billie said to fill the small span of silence.
"Well, aside from how qualified you are - the recommendations from your professors at Berkeley are quite impressive - Mr. White all but insisted you were right for the job. You must have done a splendid job when you subbed his class."
Although Mr. Waches did not appear suspicious, he still had to fight the blush from creeping up his neck, and he was sure his smile was visibly apprehensive. "Yes, well, we both attended Berkeley. He knew how much I've wanted to teach English."
Don't ask, don't tell. Simple as that.
"Well, it looks like you're finally going to get your chance," the principal smiled. "It's terrific that you can commit to teaching for the remainder of the year on such short notice. Really helps us out."
"Believe me, sir, it's my pleasure."
"You'll be paid on a monthly basis, and you will receive seventy-five percent of what Mrs. Waps is paid. We don't have substitutes participate in certain things, such as staying after to give extra help or attend board meetings. Since you taught here before, I take it you know where the majority of things are? The cafeteria, teacher's lounge, the guidance office?" At Billie's nod, he stood and came out from behind his desk. "Then I suppose the only thing left is to show you Mrs. Waps room."
It wasn't surprising that not one student so much as glanced their way as they passed through the busy corridors. Billie Joe could remember what it was like to be a teenager. Your only concern was your own world, in your own moment. The rest of the planet be damned. He both envied them, and pitied them.
Mrs. Waps' room was typical in appearance, but it made the twenty-six year old nearly gag in front of his new employer. The walls were littered with the posters that advertised pieces of literature that he hated - Romeo and Juliet, The Great Gatsby, and The Giver. But the one thing that made him smile was the quote painted in an elegant scrawl above the chalkboard. "Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing." At least him and Mrs. Waps agreed on something.
"This is your classroom, Mr. Armstrong. First period begins in-" Waches paused to check the clock nailed above The Great Gatsby poster - "about ten minutes. What will be your schedule is on the desk, along with the email she sent to let you know what her lesson plans were. If you have any questions-" he gestured to the phone that hung beside the doorframe "-feel free to call down to the office."
"Great. Thanks so much, Principal Waches."
"Good luck," he smiled, and disappeared into the sea of students.
He took a moment to take it all in. The empty seats, and the fact that very shortly, they would be occupied with all types of young men and women. And with a boldness he didn't know he had, he erased the cursive script written in chalk at the board in front of the room - Mrs. Waps - and printed Mr. B Armstrong in its place.
--
How am I doing with this?
Also, a thousand brownie points goes to the first person who can tell me where the quote above the chalkboard is from? Aly, my princesa, you are not allowed to play, lol. I know you know <4569