yesterday was hell
Title: Good Intentions [7/?]
Author: Molly
Pairing: Billie/Jason White
Rating: R
Summary: I was wondering if you'd like to get dinner tonight.
Previous parts: found here
When Billie Joe walked into Pinole to begin his second day as a high school English teacher, he felt noticeably more nervous than his first. Because while the unknown is quite scary, walking in knowing what you're meant to do and unsure of how to execute is an entirely different ballpark. Flashbacks of his days as a student teacher resonated in his mind. The anxiety had been similar.
But, he reminded himself, his student teaching had gone well. With a little bit of luck, and To Kill a Mockingbird for reassurance, he just might be able to pull this job off.
Actually, Billie was surprised at how naturally he assumed his role. To his eleventh grade classes, he introduced his favorite book, and made no mystery that the old, battered copy he clutched in hand was one of his prized possessions. Billie also threw all shame aside let it slip that his cat was named after the narrator. The remark had earned him several raised eyebrows and scoffs, but a few appreciative giggles as well, mostly from students of the female persuasion.
Since his boyfriend had pointed it out to him, he was able to notice the attention he was getting. Some were dreamy with silly smiles, but others were hungry and startlingly so. The ones that eyed him with lust were usually girls with low cut blouses and jeans for too tight to be comfortable. It amazed him. Billie Joe had never been ogled in the past, as far as he knew. Of course it was somewhat unnerving, but could he be blamed for feeling flattered?
As he had admitted to Jason the previous afternoon, his teen years had been spent mostly in solitude. He wasn't interested in the things the other boys were, and even the nerds weren't particularly fond of him. While he did very well in all classes, he didn't meet another that owned a passion for literature equal to his on. Yes, there was a kindly group of girls, who allowed him a space at their lunch table and that he partnered with in gym class when necessary, but did they say hello to him in the hallway? Help him pick up the books sneering athletes shoved out of his hands? Invite him along on their weekly Friday night trip to the mall? No.
So when Billie wasn't in the library doing homework, he was reading the books he checked out, usually late into the night, due to the terrible trouble he had with sleeping. His mother worried about him. She regularly encouraged her son to leave the house, to get out and have fun. It proved how strange Billie was; how different compared to the average teenager. How many sixteen year old boys need to be pushed out of the nest. Most flew out, raising hell as they went.
There were rare moments, though, when he chose to break free. When he couldn't stand the silence anymore, he would go to the only club in town that permitted entry to minors. It was called Gilman, and though he left it behind when he went away to college and never looked back, it had always felt more like home than any other place he'd been. Every time he went, the loud and fast music sank into the marrow of his bones. In the crowd of sweaty men and women, he would dispense his energy in violent dance movements, and then - and only then - did he feel a part of something. He hadn't gone but a handful of nights, but he treasured them.
It was also the place where Billie Joe had come to a realization about his sexuality. Or, rather, in Gilman's unisex bathroom. And that he would never forget.
Recalling his high school days was so easy when he once again had to spend five out of seven days within Pinole's walls. However, being a teacher was much different from being a student, and for that he was grateful.
For example, students take exams and teachers grade them. And because Mrs. Waps left a key, Billie began to mark the ones the junior class had completed the day before. He needed something constructive to do while the twelfth graders continued to analyze poets like Langston Hughes and Robert Frost.
There was something empowering about using a red pen. Although he was disappointed he needed to use it so much. The results of The Great Gatsby test were nearly frightening. But when he read over the questions, he really couldn't be surprised. Mrs. Waps had called for extreme detail, thorough analysis of symbols, and explanations of the emotional connections between characters. It was the kind of test he would expect from an advanced class rather than one at the average level. The highest grade he calculated was a 91, but the majority of the papers received failing grades.
A particular paper caught his eyes. In the grueling short answer section, the student had filled the provided lines with strong words that seethed, specifically towards Jay Gatsby himself and his mistress Daisy Buchannan. His hatred for the novel was plan, but his reasons were not so simple as the ones most would provide: 'It's just dumb.' he was against all of the meaningless, soap opera-like drama that the story contained, and how it sickened him that he was required to read about their petty lives.
Billie knew, as a teacher, it was his professional duty to mark those wrong. But it was so hard to do when he agreed with the student - Mike Pritchard. And Billie Joe had to admire his boldness, to risk a failing grade by expressing his opinion.
He was rereading Mike Pritchard's exam for the third time, during his lunch period, when Jason walked in. It wasn't until he standing right before the desk, smiling, that he noticed him.
"Holing yourself up in your classroom, Mr. Armstrong?"
Returning the smile, Billie set down the red pen. "No, I've just been grading some tests."
"You must feel pretty important, huh?" Jason asked teasingly, leaning over the desk. "Using a red pen and everything. I mean, I know how you feel. When I first started this job, I'm pretty sure I abused my red pen privileges."
"I wouldn't say I'm doing that. I kind of have no choice." He sighed, tapping the stack of tests beside him with his knuckles. "The test these guys took was a killer."
"And you wonder why these kids talk shit about poor, old Mrs. Waps."
"I admit, I'm beginning to understand. The exam this woman created for eleventh grade English is ridiculous. On The Great Gatsby, no less. Of course I understand its significance in American literature, with the Harlem Renaissance and all that, but the damned thing lacks viable substance. . ." Billie Joe stopped. He could see how little it meant to Jason by the dull, yet indulgent stare he was being given, and he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Sometimes I forget I'm the only one who cares."
"Hey, I've ranted about parabolas before, haven't I? Listen, I had an agenda in coming down here. I was wondering if you'd like to get dinner tonight."
"Oh, yeah? Where?"
"Grazianos. We went there about two months ago. You raved about the chicken parm."
He grinned. "I'm in then."
"Awesome." Jason winked as he began to back up towards the door. "I'll pick you up at six thirty."
As his seventh period class trickled in, student by student, Mr. Armstrong took roll. Mike Pritchard was in that period, and his curiosity was burning. And when he filed in, he couldn't help feeling surprised. Billie Joe wasn't even sure why, but he guessed it was because he been all but unnoticeable the first day. Quiet. Much like he himself had been in high school.
Out of the corner of his eyes, as he waited for the bell to ring, he watched Mike Pritchard. His seat was in the far corner of the room, as close to the door as he could be while still keeping his distance from the front. A girl sat in front of him, but the seat to his left was vacant. The boy slumped in his seat with arms folded across his chest. He had to quickly glance away when his sullen eyes flickered in his direction.
Billie cleared his throat when the bell had sounded. He exchanged Mrs. Waps' ragged green attendance book for his equally marred copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. As Billie paced in front of the desk, he already realized the looks he was getting. He smiled. "Who of you here has heard of this book? To Kill a Mockingbird."
It took a moment of hesitance for the packed classroom, but eventually, a boy with wiry hair at the front took the initiative. "Sure. Hasn't everybody?"
"I hope so. Can anybody toll me anything about it?"
"It was written by Harper Lee," a girl said. Flashes of her braces could be seen as she spoke. "It was the only book she wrote."
"Very good. Anything else?'
"Wasn't it written about black family?" Another student offered, and it was one Billie Joe believed he would remember. It was hard to forget the ones with spacers. "In the 1800s or something?"
Chuckling a little, he shook his head. "No, but you're getting there. The book was set during the Great Depression, so it traces a few years through the 1930s. And, actually, there is an African-American family involved, but the family we learn about is the Finches. This is because our narrator is the young Jean Louise Finch, better known as Scout.
"This novel - it covers some serious topics. Racism, rape. Neither of which you studied in depth for Gatsby. Of course you had the murders at the end, of Myrtle and Gatsby, and Mr. Wilson's suicide. The consequences of the dramatic human emotions. Mockingbird. . . well, Gatsby has nothing on it. It's a real story. Not a soap opera."
"Isn't life sort of a soap opera?" The boy with wiry hair piped up again. "I mean, look at high school. It's drama, drama, drama, just like Gatsby."
Billie's stomach flipped in excitement. This is what he had craved, in his desire to be an English teacher. These discussions. "Valid point, yes. Murders, suicides, affairs - they've become a part of everyday life. So what if the Gatsby deaths are tragedies? What of it? Sounds like the front page of any given newspaper. Tell me the point of reading a novel about these things, when we get a daily dose of it in the New York Times?"
"Well, if there's no good reason to read Gatsby, why should we read Mockingbird?" The boy retorted.
"Because the issues tackled in Mockingbird aren't about who's in love with who. Who's sleeping with who. It's the prejudice against a black man. The way our government, and society, functioned just a handful of decades ago. What is right, and what is easy, pitted against one another. To Kill a Mockingbird is here to illustrate the state of our country in the 1930s and the persecution people just like you and me went through during this time. It sheds light on things that are important, rather than proving what we already know - that love and money make us stupid."
--
Whoa, that was long, haha. Comments? Much appreciated <3
Author: Molly
Pairing: Billie/Jason White
Rating: R
Summary: I was wondering if you'd like to get dinner tonight.
Previous parts: found here
When Billie Joe walked into Pinole to begin his second day as a high school English teacher, he felt noticeably more nervous than his first. Because while the unknown is quite scary, walking in knowing what you're meant to do and unsure of how to execute is an entirely different ballpark. Flashbacks of his days as a student teacher resonated in his mind. The anxiety had been similar.
But, he reminded himself, his student teaching had gone well. With a little bit of luck, and To Kill a Mockingbird for reassurance, he just might be able to pull this job off.
Actually, Billie was surprised at how naturally he assumed his role. To his eleventh grade classes, he introduced his favorite book, and made no mystery that the old, battered copy he clutched in hand was one of his prized possessions. Billie also threw all shame aside let it slip that his cat was named after the narrator. The remark had earned him several raised eyebrows and scoffs, but a few appreciative giggles as well, mostly from students of the female persuasion.
Since his boyfriend had pointed it out to him, he was able to notice the attention he was getting. Some were dreamy with silly smiles, but others were hungry and startlingly so. The ones that eyed him with lust were usually girls with low cut blouses and jeans for too tight to be comfortable. It amazed him. Billie Joe had never been ogled in the past, as far as he knew. Of course it was somewhat unnerving, but could he be blamed for feeling flattered?
As he had admitted to Jason the previous afternoon, his teen years had been spent mostly in solitude. He wasn't interested in the things the other boys were, and even the nerds weren't particularly fond of him. While he did very well in all classes, he didn't meet another that owned a passion for literature equal to his on. Yes, there was a kindly group of girls, who allowed him a space at their lunch table and that he partnered with in gym class when necessary, but did they say hello to him in the hallway? Help him pick up the books sneering athletes shoved out of his hands? Invite him along on their weekly Friday night trip to the mall? No.
So when Billie wasn't in the library doing homework, he was reading the books he checked out, usually late into the night, due to the terrible trouble he had with sleeping. His mother worried about him. She regularly encouraged her son to leave the house, to get out and have fun. It proved how strange Billie was; how different compared to the average teenager. How many sixteen year old boys need to be pushed out of the nest. Most flew out, raising hell as they went.
There were rare moments, though, when he chose to break free. When he couldn't stand the silence anymore, he would go to the only club in town that permitted entry to minors. It was called Gilman, and though he left it behind when he went away to college and never looked back, it had always felt more like home than any other place he'd been. Every time he went, the loud and fast music sank into the marrow of his bones. In the crowd of sweaty men and women, he would dispense his energy in violent dance movements, and then - and only then - did he feel a part of something. He hadn't gone but a handful of nights, but he treasured them.
It was also the place where Billie Joe had come to a realization about his sexuality. Or, rather, in Gilman's unisex bathroom. And that he would never forget.
Recalling his high school days was so easy when he once again had to spend five out of seven days within Pinole's walls. However, being a teacher was much different from being a student, and for that he was grateful.
For example, students take exams and teachers grade them. And because Mrs. Waps left a key, Billie began to mark the ones the junior class had completed the day before. He needed something constructive to do while the twelfth graders continued to analyze poets like Langston Hughes and Robert Frost.
There was something empowering about using a red pen. Although he was disappointed he needed to use it so much. The results of The Great Gatsby test were nearly frightening. But when he read over the questions, he really couldn't be surprised. Mrs. Waps had called for extreme detail, thorough analysis of symbols, and explanations of the emotional connections between characters. It was the kind of test he would expect from an advanced class rather than one at the average level. The highest grade he calculated was a 91, but the majority of the papers received failing grades.
A particular paper caught his eyes. In the grueling short answer section, the student had filled the provided lines with strong words that seethed, specifically towards Jay Gatsby himself and his mistress Daisy Buchannan. His hatred for the novel was plan, but his reasons were not so simple as the ones most would provide: 'It's just dumb.' he was against all of the meaningless, soap opera-like drama that the story contained, and how it sickened him that he was required to read about their petty lives.
Billie knew, as a teacher, it was his professional duty to mark those wrong. But it was so hard to do when he agreed with the student - Mike Pritchard. And Billie Joe had to admire his boldness, to risk a failing grade by expressing his opinion.
He was rereading Mike Pritchard's exam for the third time, during his lunch period, when Jason walked in. It wasn't until he standing right before the desk, smiling, that he noticed him.
"Holing yourself up in your classroom, Mr. Armstrong?"
Returning the smile, Billie set down the red pen. "No, I've just been grading some tests."
"You must feel pretty important, huh?" Jason asked teasingly, leaning over the desk. "Using a red pen and everything. I mean, I know how you feel. When I first started this job, I'm pretty sure I abused my red pen privileges."
"I wouldn't say I'm doing that. I kind of have no choice." He sighed, tapping the stack of tests beside him with his knuckles. "The test these guys took was a killer."
"And you wonder why these kids talk shit about poor, old Mrs. Waps."
"I admit, I'm beginning to understand. The exam this woman created for eleventh grade English is ridiculous. On The Great Gatsby, no less. Of course I understand its significance in American literature, with the Harlem Renaissance and all that, but the damned thing lacks viable substance. . ." Billie Joe stopped. He could see how little it meant to Jason by the dull, yet indulgent stare he was being given, and he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Sometimes I forget I'm the only one who cares."
"Hey, I've ranted about parabolas before, haven't I? Listen, I had an agenda in coming down here. I was wondering if you'd like to get dinner tonight."
"Oh, yeah? Where?"
"Grazianos. We went there about two months ago. You raved about the chicken parm."
He grinned. "I'm in then."
"Awesome." Jason winked as he began to back up towards the door. "I'll pick you up at six thirty."
As his seventh period class trickled in, student by student, Mr. Armstrong took roll. Mike Pritchard was in that period, and his curiosity was burning. And when he filed in, he couldn't help feeling surprised. Billie Joe wasn't even sure why, but he guessed it was because he been all but unnoticeable the first day. Quiet. Much like he himself had been in high school.
Out of the corner of his eyes, as he waited for the bell to ring, he watched Mike Pritchard. His seat was in the far corner of the room, as close to the door as he could be while still keeping his distance from the front. A girl sat in front of him, but the seat to his left was vacant. The boy slumped in his seat with arms folded across his chest. He had to quickly glance away when his sullen eyes flickered in his direction.
Billie cleared his throat when the bell had sounded. He exchanged Mrs. Waps' ragged green attendance book for his equally marred copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. As Billie paced in front of the desk, he already realized the looks he was getting. He smiled. "Who of you here has heard of this book? To Kill a Mockingbird."
It took a moment of hesitance for the packed classroom, but eventually, a boy with wiry hair at the front took the initiative. "Sure. Hasn't everybody?"
"I hope so. Can anybody toll me anything about it?"
"It was written by Harper Lee," a girl said. Flashes of her braces could be seen as she spoke. "It was the only book she wrote."
"Very good. Anything else?'
"Wasn't it written about black family?" Another student offered, and it was one Billie Joe believed he would remember. It was hard to forget the ones with spacers. "In the 1800s or something?"
Chuckling a little, he shook his head. "No, but you're getting there. The book was set during the Great Depression, so it traces a few years through the 1930s. And, actually, there is an African-American family involved, but the family we learn about is the Finches. This is because our narrator is the young Jean Louise Finch, better known as Scout.
"This novel - it covers some serious topics. Racism, rape. Neither of which you studied in depth for Gatsby. Of course you had the murders at the end, of Myrtle and Gatsby, and Mr. Wilson's suicide. The consequences of the dramatic human emotions. Mockingbird. . . well, Gatsby has nothing on it. It's a real story. Not a soap opera."
"Isn't life sort of a soap opera?" The boy with wiry hair piped up again. "I mean, look at high school. It's drama, drama, drama, just like Gatsby."
Billie's stomach flipped in excitement. This is what he had craved, in his desire to be an English teacher. These discussions. "Valid point, yes. Murders, suicides, affairs - they've become a part of everyday life. So what if the Gatsby deaths are tragedies? What of it? Sounds like the front page of any given newspaper. Tell me the point of reading a novel about these things, when we get a daily dose of it in the New York Times?"
"Well, if there's no good reason to read Gatsby, why should we read Mockingbird?" The boy retorted.
"Because the issues tackled in Mockingbird aren't about who's in love with who. Who's sleeping with who. It's the prejudice against a black man. The way our government, and society, functioned just a handful of decades ago. What is right, and what is easy, pitted against one another. To Kill a Mockingbird is here to illustrate the state of our country in the 1930s and the persecution people just like you and me went through during this time. It sheds light on things that are important, rather than proving what we already know - that love and money make us stupid."
--
Whoa, that was long, haha. Comments? Much appreciated <3