by; ghettoassenglishman
Ian is the new substitute teacher and Mickey's that kid at the back of the class who won't stop sucking on his fucking lollipop.
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Ian took a deep breath before entering the classroom – he had no idea why he took a job as a teacher (or Sub as Lip was always happy to remind him of)- he tugged nervously at the hem of his shirt; it wasn't a lie that he really fucking hated the older kids because they either sent him sly digs or they tried to nonchalantly flirt with him – either way it distracted him from his actual job. Lip had reminded him over and over again that being a substitute was national suicide because the kids were beasts – but in his casual white shirt, and black jeans, Ian couldn't do anything about it. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through – strangely the classroom was immediately quiet, a couple of girls gasping as he stepped through into the respectfully crowded classroom.
It was very...underwhelming if he had to put it in one sentence. As expected the room was cluttered with rows of desks, a couple of kids rushing to their seats, others just carried on their conversations as eyed him narrowly as he stepped over to the desk. The broad was covered in writing was the normal teacher, the desk piled up with paper and books that were overflowing. He sat himself down into the desk-chair, swaying from side to side as he scanned over the table. There were half-graded essays for the lesson plan – there was even an apple at the corner of the desk that he immediately knew was from one of the nicer kids; unless they poisoned it so they could miss out on a lesson. In that case, he would just leave the apple uneaten. It was safer that way.
The words Mr Gallagher...jumped out on a little scrap piece of paper. He looked up at the unaffected class and then back down to the note.
Mr Gallagher,
I'm really sorry for leaving you with my class but I really needed this. Thankyou for taking the offer to teach them for the day. They're not doing much in class so just make them catch up on any sort of work they have left to complete. All of them should have something to do, if not, just give them back their essays to improve. No one should give you trouble, hopefully, if they do send them to the principle or leave their names for me to sort out. Don't fall for Mickey's distractions, nor his attitude – it isn't because you're new. (he's just a dick, but obviously us teachers can't say that.)
Thank you again, I'm extremely grateful.
Mr Green.
Ian sighed with relief – the class all together looked challenging and he wasn't prepared to teach advanced English literature, especially to a class that looked like they wanted to pry his eyes out with a fork. He was only five years older than them so it wasn't like he didn't know what they were thinking.
When he cleared his throat, only a couple turned from their seats. Even one kid rolled his eyes – the little asshole – and a couple scoffed when they realised they actually had to do work for the day. Ian felt the heat in his chest – he wasn't yet ready for any bullshit that the kids were obviously planning for him.
Once everyone had calmed, and sat into their seats, Ian made his way to the front of the class, leaning back against the desk with his arms crossed. He began his dreaded spiel, "Hi, I'm Mr. Gallagher. Your teacher had to leave last minute, so here I am. He left you some work for you to complete, I'm sure you all know what that is." He scanned the room slowly, taking note of each student and their reactions. They all looked a little unamused and some looked like they hadn't slept for three days – but he wasn't too bothered by that.
