So. I've always loved this fic because it's heavy-duty angst which is without a doubt my guilty pleasure to write. But. It was crap. My recent update (chapter 9) only highlighted this crappiness, so I have embarked on a rewrite! Most things should stay the same, plot-wise, but a few characters might change a bit and Kai will actually have feelings. :O
Thank you to my editor and the saviour of this fic, Nikki, or ... whatever the hell she's calling herself now ... Tootchy. She is AMAZING and deserves worship and love. And reviews! xD
Well, this is yet another story thatI shouldn't be starting, yet somehow am. There are so few Kai/Max fics, I just had to do something! Even if it is going to be Kai/Max in a very roundabout way...I hope you all enjoy it!
Part of the story will be told inthird personpast tense, and some in first person past tense.
Disclaimer: (Yawns) What? Still? Stupid ff. Me. No. Own. Beyblade. Comprehende?
Warning: this story contains strong language and deals with depression, self-harm, and sexual abuse. Althought not in detail, (ie, it's badly written)and not until later on, if you don't want to read it, stop now.
As she left the staffroom after the early-morning briefing, the receptionist saw exactly what she expected; an experienced 'battle-axe' teacher sat huddled in the corner where the assembly hall wall met the administration room, quivering and gasping with the effort of controlling her sobs. She hurried over and patted the woman's shoulder awkwardly. Six years of this hadn't made her natural disinclination for 'touchy-feely' behaviour any weaker.
"It'll be ok, Catherine," she soothed. Catherine MacKay, head of Geography and a woman who had spent nearly as long as the receptionist at the town's only secondary school, turned to regard her colleague with bloodshot eyes.
"No, it won't," she replied in a tone of voice that brooked no disagreement. "This is the fourth time I've lost the draw, Sylvia, and it's not true what Martin trots out to pacify the new members; it doesn't get easier." The receptionist made what she hoped was a sympathetic noise. "They thrive on repetition, the more you go in there, the faster they learn your weaknesses and the worse they get. Not to mention they're all worked up anyway because of yesterday's little altercation on the field."
"It's got to be somebody. We can't just leave them in their classroom until whenever this miracle worker arrives."
"I know." Catherine rubbed her eyes and made a visible effort to calm down. "And since we've run out of willing male teachers, I suppose it had better be me." She coughed her laughter. "I can hear the joke that devil class would make at that." She looked the receptionist squarely in the eye, took a deep breath and said "Tell that bastard of a headmaster that I've gone home ill," before pushing gently past her and striding towards the exit.
Sylvia, receptionist at the school for more than thirty years and, unwillingly, agony aunt for the last six, watched her go without a protest. That was how these situations ended more often than not. Nobody in the entire school wanted to be in any sort of close proximity to class 12D6. Sighing heavily, she entered the administration room and told her fellow administration staff to log Catherine MacKay out and to direct any complaints from Martin Johnson straight to her. That done, she settled into her comfortable chair behind her desk and watched sadly as, through the transparent plastic on the main entrance doors, she saw Catherine hurrying to her car.
Dismissing any stray thoughts of what on earth 12D6 would do without a supervisor firmly from her mind, she began to deal with the never-ending paperwork that came with such a large school.
Three-quarter of an hour later, she looked up as she heard the heavy double doors swing open and closed. It was an unusual time for visitors; the school day had started only half an hour ago. Her immediate assumption had been that here the teacher they had all been waiting for, but, well, this certainly didn't look like him. The young man approached the desk and nodded a greeting. She scrutinised him through the transparent security panel, noting with relief that he hadn't set off the metal detectors sat either side of the doorway.
"I have an appointment with the headmaster," he answered.
Sylvia narrowed her eyes suspiciously. He was dressed in the sort of clothes she saw on the older pupils every day, his dark hair looked messy (as a mother of three she found her fingers suddenly itching for a comb) and he had both hands in his pockets in a cavalier fashion. The laptop case that dangled from his right shoulder seemed incongruous.
"Do you go to this school?"
He gave an exasperated snort.
"No, I'm a university graduate. Just tell me where to find Mr Johnson."
The receptionist drummed her fingers on the desk in front of her uncertainly. She was sure that he was lying, or at the very least being sarcastic. It wouldn't be the first time that she'd had a prank pulled on her by a schoolboy whose only gifts were height and facial hair. Better safe than sorry, though, she chided herself and nudged the computer screen so that he couldn't possibly see.
"Name? Time of appointment?" she asked, pulling up the relevant list.
"Hiwatari and right now."
The information flashed up on her screen and she began to wonder whether she was wrong and had indeed spent the last few minutes aggravating the one man that the headmaster wanted to see the most.
"I'll just ring through and check," she announced and was suddenly convinced that he was smirking at her. She looked up and saw no hint of amusement on his face. Feeling more of a fool than ever, she quickly dialled the headmaster's number.
"Mr Johnson? Hiwatari is here for his half-past nine appointment-"
"Send him in! It's almost twenty-five to ten!"
"I'm afraid that's my fault, sir." She found herself cringing and again felt sure that the young man on the other side of the screen found her situation unspeakably amusing.
"Why is that?"
"I didn't believe him, sir, I do apologise-"
Twenty seconds later, she very carefully removed the receiver from her ear and laid it back down, the headmaster's angry words ringing in her ears.
So, he was for them? He wasn't at all what anyone had been anticipating in the gossip that had run rampant in the staffroom for the past week.
She gave him directions to Mr Johnson's office and as he walked past her with only another nod as thanks, she couldn't help but lower her voice and say,
"Good luck - with them, I mean."
He turned and gave her a surprised half-smile. His laptop case swung round him and into the wall with a soft thud. Odd, it certainly wasn't the nasty clunk she had expected. He saw the new direction of her gaze and offered a brief reply.
"Paperwork."
Fifteen minutes later (not that she was checking the security cameras any more than normal), she saw him emerge from the office and saunter down the corridor.
I sat at the back of the classroom, watching as the class disintegrated into chaos as usual. Normally I would try to join in but I still had bruises from yesterday's 'playground scuffle' so I was keeping my head down. Literally. I ducked a flying pencil case. It hit the wall behind me with a loud crack that made me think it had probably contained more than just stationery.
"Oy, Max, you twat, why'd you duck?" someone yelled, guffawing loudly.
Oh yeah, stupid question. Honestly. The riot hardly faltered when the classroom door banged open. To be fair, it was hardly the first time that some git had waltzed in thinking that he could conquer us. I chuckled at the very idea and snuck a peek at this newcomer. He was definitely 'new'. Hm. They went through with last week's threat then; called in some specialist dick.
He was dressed scruffily for a teacher in a black leather jacket and faded denim jeans and leaning against the doorway as if nothing was more boring than watching a gang of sixteen and seventeen year-olds throw things.
(Ok, I agreed with him on that.)
I couldn't help but wonder (despite my immediate assumption of seconds ago) if he was a teacher or a pupil. He looked exactly like an old eighteen year-old but excluded a self-satisfied, confident, you-will-pay-attention-to-me-because-I'm-better-than-all-you-fat-headed-prats air that screamed cocky teacher. Apparently realising that standing still and watching us wasn't going to make the slightest bit of difference, he walked to the desk at the front of the room and faced us with folded arms. Someone wolf-whistled. I rolled my eyes.
"You're fit, sir!"
I rolled my eyes again.
Raymond Kon, Ray to most people, was among the more feared of our class by its numerous victims … um, teachers; he was responsible for getting three teachers fired on various trumped-up charges of sexual behaviour and four more put on suspension. He flirted with anything that moved, which included me, and it was getting progressively harder to convince myself that he was 'only' my best friend. I knew the darker side to his behaviour, the one that made him drop his dates like rocks after mere days, but still. The temptation.
Normally our tastes differed massively, but for once we were in agreement. New teacher was good. It was something about the way he just stood there like a rock, supremely confident, and his muscles (you could see them pushing against the tight leather), or his big dark eyes against his fair skin and that contemptuous little curve at the corner of his mouth.
"Do you think I'm fit, sir?"
Oh shit, I thought, someone should tell Ray to shut up before he ends up in detention yet again.
I hated waiting around for him. Some teacher I barely knew would always see me and try to strike up a 'casual conversation'. Tch. No such thing in this stupid school.
The new teacher smiled. It was an oddly predatory expression on his face.
"If I replied to that truthfully, your guardians would be phoning the school up in outrage to complain about me coming onto you." His smile twisted nastily at the corner. "Oh, I know how that scam works." There was a rumble of amusement and I grinned at Ray as he sat back in a huff. I wondered if anyone had noticed that he had said "guardians", not parents, as even the best teachers invariably did. They seemed to forget that only four out of the eight of us actually had either parent. Maybe this latest child-tamer would work for a bit longer than the others had.
"Anyway, who the fuck're you?" Tala yelled. The teacher didn't answer. Now, on most of us, that would have been a good plan. I mean, no-one likes silence. He wasn't to know, of course, that Tala didn't take well to being ignored. To avoid a scene, I took a deep breath and spoke into the lull,
"The teacher they've been threatening us with."
Agh, my voice sounded like someone had been over my throat with a cheese grater.
"Ah, shut up, Max. Nobody cares!" Tala snapped. I returned my gaze to the graffitied desk in front of me and tried not to go red as most of the class burst out laughing. Ray leaned almost horizontally back in his chair to squeeze my hand then thumped the chair back onto four legs and did a rather un-Ray-like thing; he spat at Tala! The gob of saliva hit his cheek squarely and trickled quickly down to stain his collar.
"You fucking bastard!" Tala screamed and got his feet so fast that his chair skidded backwards and nearly hit Jim in the face. Ray examined his flawless black ponytail haughtily. This was both a show of nonchalance and a threat. Ray wasn't a great one for fighting but I had once seen him leave an assailant blue in the face from the ultimate in homemade strangling equipment – even in a ponytail his hair reached his calves. Sensing a fight brewing, cheers and taunts broke out at full volume. Jim complained vocally about Tala 'hitting' him and Ozuma started a rhythmic banging on his desk that was soon picked up by the rest of the class.
"All right, you fucking self important little gits, shut up right now, or you've got an after-school detention for every night of the fucking year!"
Impressi-ive. I did admire a man who could bellow without going red and looking stupid – or high-pitched. It was amazing how many muscle-bound PE teachers sounded like hurt choirboys when they really shouted.
"You can go fuck yourself," Tala snarled back at the teacher into the ringing silence, "And maybe Ray'd like to take pictures?" Out of the corner of my eye I noted the new teacher's face pale, but right now that wasn't my main concern. I lurched out of my seat and made a desperate grab for any part of Ray at all. My fingers brushed his green T-shirt uselessly as he stood up and looked at red-faced Tala.
"Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll decline." His voice was silkily polite and that was frankly more worrying than if he had shouted and sworn. His arms were loose at his sides and one ankle was crossed comfortably over the other, but he was radiating menace like electricity. I hoped he wasn't going to start the fight. He knew the consequences of that, surely, better than I did?
"Ray, don't!" I shouted at last. Jim mimicked me in falsetto and looked proudly around at the few laughs that gained him. I really didn't care because Ray had heard me and understood and with a dramatic flourish had slumped back into his seat.
"You're not worth it, Tala," he said in the same wonderfully polite voice that, despite its undertones, never failed to make me feel a hot little shiver down my spine. For the second time in less than five minutes, I concentrated on my desk and fought the heat rapidly rising in my face. Thankfully the new teacher took the opportunity to try and regain control.
"Sit, Tala."
Tala gave the teacher a scornful look.
"Why?"
"Because right now you look bloody stupid, that's why."
I held my breath in anticipation and heard everybody else do the same almost in unison. Tala disappointed us; instead of throwing a chair like he had at the last teacher who insulted him, he just turned the air a few darker shades of blue and sat down. Daring a quick peek, I saw with amusement that his face was redder than mine.
"We all finished, ladies?" the teacher asked silkily.
He prowled along the rows of chairs with an expression set somewhere between anger and indifference as he lectured us. I got so caught up in trying to figure out the exact colour of his eyes (purple, really?) that I missed his first few sentences. The gist was about how terrible we all were, though. It always was. I could have written these guys' script by now.
"Right. This is how it's gonna work. I'm here because no other teacher within fifty miles of here wants you. I'm taking you for every lesson-" An embarrassing squeak of surprise made me turn red and hot again but I could hear assorted grumbles and groans that showed equal discontent. "So any attempt at skipping lessons will be punished. Any questions?" Five or six hands rose. "Yes?" The teacher pointed at Jim.
"What's your name?"
"You can call me sir. Otherwise I'm Mr Hiwatari. Call me anything else and it's detention." He pointed at Kane.
"How old are you?"
"Older than you."
Kane snorted and complained about cheating. Sir gave him a supremely disdainful look and nodded in Ozuma's direction.
"Does the head know 'cha you swear like that?"
"Why should he? It's not like any of you never do it, and worse." There was a general murmur of agreement. Tala's look of extreme reluctance didn't fool me for a second as he apathetically flopped his hand into the air. Sir raised an eyebrow.
"How'd you get to be a teacher so young?"
"Hard work and brains. Alien concepts, I'm sure." Most of the remaining hands went down amongst a rebellious grumble from people who were paying attention enough to find the not-so-subtle insult. "Any other questions?" Speaking of Ray …
"Are you gay or straight?" I sighed and put my head down on the desk.
"Ray, shut up!" Ozuma yelled, flinging a rubber across the room at Ray's head.
"What?" Ray grinned. "If he's gay, I'll have him, if he's straight, Mariah'll have him."
"What if he's bi?" someone teased. I didn't bother to see who it was. Sounded like Kane.
"Then we'll both do him at the same time!" The class exploded, but it was edgy, nervous laughter.
The bell rang to signal the beginning of second lesson but, a first for several years, no-one got up. If the rest of the class thought along at all similar lines to me, they were too curious about the teacher to resist staying just a little longer.
New teacher always meant fresh bait. This one was just a bit more … wriggly. Ok, so I rarely joined in with the psychological warfare we as a class had become experts at, but that didn't mean I wasn't looking forward to discovering how this newbie would fare.
Brooklyn was the first to speak. Another unusual event to add to today's list.
"Just to check I heard this right, sir, you're taking us for every class?"
"Yes," Sir replied as he took his seat behind the desk at the front left corner of the classroom and began to rummage around in the numerous drawers.
"So that means we'll be staying in here all day?" Brooklyn persisted, leaning forwards in his seat directly in front of Sir's desk and trying to catch Sir's eye.
"But, that's like primary school all over again!" Ozuma protested loudly. He had always needed to raise his voice to be heard by a teacher because he sat in the back right corner and there was guaranteed to be a shouting match going on between at least two people. This time, though, he was the only one brave enough to steal Brooklyn's thunder and so his voice sounded haughty as well as loud in the silent room. I realised this very quickly and winced as Sir – responding only to what he heard as a challenge – snapped back;
"Yes, and none of you have grown up since then!"
"I wish," I heard Ray mutter in front of me. My blood chilled with a painful sort of sympathy. Similar sentiments were being exchanged throughout the room and Sir answered them with an arrogance that set my teeth firmly on edge,
"Drink and drugs don't make you mature."
No one was quite sure of how to respond to such blatant ignorance. We all knew that adult activities didn't mean adult mind, but there wasn't a boy in the room who hadn't gone through personal hell since moving up into 'big school' and that, that, gave us the right to think of ourselves as above such stupid little things as staying in one room with one clueless, prejudiced teacher day in, day out. I wanted to push his head through a closed window, I really did and if I felt like that then it must have been sheer disbelief that pinned Bryan to his seat and stilled Brooklyn's tongue.
Sir must have taken our gobsmacked silence for sullen agreement because he stopped his irritating clatter of drawers. Without a word, he pulled out our maths workbooks and three fat textbooks and handed them to Brooklyn who looked at them with the same cold contempt that I might give to an adventurous insect. He found his in the messy pile and dumped the rest on the empty table next to him. Tala looked at the pile of books between them then turned in his seat to give Ray, Jim and unintentionally me a look of utter disbelief.
"I can't fucking believe this," Kane mumbled from his seat on Ray's right.
"Me neither," Jim whispered back, stretching over Ray to do so.
"What the fuck are we waiting for?" Ray didn't bother to lower his voice. "This guy's obviously useless and we're just sitting here like idiots, about to do a maths lesson?" He rocked right back on his chair again and looked at me searchingly. "I'm off, you coming?"
I opened my mouth to say yes, of course, but my wandering attention was caught and held by the look on Brooklyn's face. I pointed at him with the smallest movement of my finger that I could and Ray followed the direction.
It was Brooklyn's plotting face. Possibly only terrifying if the recipient, like me, was used to it preceding a new form of pain, but at any rate it promised more interesting events than a maths lesson. Shrugging his assent, Ray settled back into his chair and started gouging his name into the desk with his pen. Jim and Kane copied him but Tala just shook his head and stood up.
"Where are you going?" Sir asked.
"Out." Almost as soon as the door had closed behind him, I heard the screech of Brooklyn shifting his chair forwards again.
"You can't be qualified to teach all these subjects, sir," he said with such a thick layer of concern that Jim had to bite his hand to stifle a snigger. Sir didn't look up from his industrious scribbling – I was sure we had enough paperwork about us by now to drown Malta but he seemed determined to make more – as he replied,
"No, but I know the majority of them well enough to field questions at the level most of you are still working at." He made the rather silly mistake of looking at Brooklyn after saying that and Brooklyn gave him the most scathing look I'd seen for at least couple of weeks. "Besides," he continued without breaking the stare, "your books will be given back to your old teachers at the end of every day, unless they decide that they hate you so much they don't even want to see your handwriting."
Brooklyn's smile wouldn't have looked out of place on a snake.
"So, essentially you're a particularly foul-mouthed babysitter?"
"So, essentially, you're a particularly cocky little bastard who thinks that intelligence should replace morals?" There was a touch of steel in Sir's voice now but if anything, Brooklyn looked pleased.
"Yes. That's more or less it." He opened his maths book and textbook. "You won't last," he said softly, but the room was so quiet that we all heard. I wasn't sure but I could see from Ray's expression that he agreed. I had let my estimations run a bit too high when Sir had so easily shut us all up earlier but now he was just sitting there and letting us do what we wanted. It was stupid. A novel way of ensuring the class didn't mindfuck him, yeah, but really crap teaching.
"Fair enough, that you'd think that. You've never known a teacher who will last."
"And we never will," Brooklyn said still in that soft voice before bending his head and starting the maths work that we had been set a week or so before. Still with that deadly little smile. Like he was looking forward to something. I shuddered. There was absolute silence for maybe thirty seconds then Ray sighed heavily and stood up.
"Fun's over." He tucked his chair in and reached over to tap me on the head. "Come on. I could find more entertaining places to be if I lived in a dustbin."
"A small dustbin," Ozuma agreed, getting to his feet. Kane and Jim followed suit hastily and eventually I stood up as well, pulling a face at Ray. I was tired and my muscles all ached from yesterday. Ray stood on my left side, between me and Bryan (two seats away – two seats too close in my opinion) and whispered in my ear,
"Do you want to stay in a room with them? Yesterday mean anything to you?"
I shook my head and did my best to ignore both Ray's sudden close proximity and the sting in his words – of course yesterday meant something. More of the same and another day when I proved that not only my hair was yellow.
"Come on, then." He grabbed my wrist and tugged me forwards.
"Is it ok if we go, sir?" Jim asked wickedly. Sir looked at each of us, one by one. He was definitely, definitely hot. I just wished he'd grow some more backbone or something, that was all.
"Fine. I'll see you tomorrow." His expression was so weirdly confident. Like he hadn't just let the 'lesson' float by, like it had somehow all gone to plan.
Fuck, I grumbled to myself as we left the room, that's all we need. Another asocial with a master plan.
All opinion welcome.
xIlbx