11) About Two Thousand Insults And Other Things Normal Teachers Won't Spit Out In Anger
The fact that Thijmen was going to be tutoring Benjamin meant that they would actually have to interact. Normally. With no demonstrations of how to eat soup or stealing pillows or getting into uncomfortable positions to get them back.
Was that even possible? So far, they hadn't shown any sign of being capable of it. There had been several courageous attempts, but they led to nothing. Dutch boy plus Benjamin plus social interacting just didn't click. Benjamin plus video games or Benjamin plus those cookies his mother always made around Christmas time went much better together.
For example, there was the morning greetings going down almost everyday. It usually started with exchanging stiff hellos.
"Hello," one of them would say. It had become a sort of contest, where the one who says hello first is the winner. Which results in the two sometimes yelling it out at the same time.
Anyway. "Hello," the other one would reply.
Thijmen would grab some coffee, and Benjamin would stuff his mouth full with something, anything.
Benjamin would chew whatever was in his mouth, and Thijmen would stare at him. Benjamin would later go on to explain what was in his mouth, and that was the end of their morning interaction.
Before, they didn't see much of each other around the house. But with the whole 'Thijmen equals French teacher' thing being on the board, they kept circling around each other. Neither of the two were bold enough to request a date for the tutoring to start.
It was at the moment their French teacher announced an upcoming test, that Benjamin freaked out and realized they would have to start tutoring sooner than they thought. If they didn't start now, he'd finish the year with an insufficient grade. He couldn't imagine his parents would be very happy with that.
So they had to make an appointment. Quickly.
During the ride home, Ben was staring at his hands in his lap, while he tried to find a way to bring the subject up again, but Thijmen saved him the trouble and asked, "so do you wanna start tutoring today or are you gonna do it yourself?"
Benjamin looked up from the fascinating view of his fingers drumming on his legs and met the Dutch boy's gaze instead. He nodded slowly. "I guess we can start today."
"Seems like a good plan to me."
So when they got to the house, they didn't go their own way and hide in their rooms until dinner was ready. They paused in the hall, looking left and right, trying to decide where they'd have their tutoring session, but it didn't occur to them they might have to use words to communicate such a thing.
Eventually, Thijmen cleared his throat and waved at Benjamin to follow him, murmuring, "let's go to my room."
Thijmen's room? Where time stood still? Where drugs and knives might have been hidden?
This wasn't arguable, though; Thijmen immediately walked away.
Benjamin lifted his finger as if he was about to object, but slowly lowered it again and started walking. Why bother?
On the way, walking through every possible room, Benjamin tried to remember the few words he actually knew in French. His pride was already deceased, so why not? Deceased to the absolute max. Six feet under. Wasted. So Benjamin just had to move past the whole I-don't-suck and move on to the look-at-the-few-things-I-actually-know.
And a smug grin fell on his lips. For in Benjamin Emsworth's head was a sultry French voice that perfectly pronounced all the words that he knew. It sounded like a voice that would make Thijmen very proud. It just never actually connected with his actual voice, a voice that, in a serial killer sort of way, butchered the French language.
He had just gotten to the number twelve when he almost chest-bumped the wall right next to Thijmen's door.
Benjamin gently slipped into the room. His nostrils flew about forthwith, just to check. Not that Benjamin knew what drugs smelled like.
But the room just smelled like his pillow had.
Knowing that he with most certainty would not be poisoned by the air in the room, Benjamin took a deep breath.
"Benjamin. I would really like it if you sat the fuck down."
Only after this bitter comment did Benjamin notice that Thijmen was already on the floor with a bunch of French books (including that children's book with Macaulay Culkin on the cover), pencils, and lined papers.
Thijmen sighed, poking an invisible watch on his wrist.
Benjamin sat the fuck down.
"Alright then, Bennie. When we're done here, the French will no longer want to stab you with baguettes. Believe me, right now they do. If you would fly over there right now in whatever bougey plane your parents own, your words would start a coup."
Thijmen's eyes were stabbing Benjamin's just as hard as those baguettes would stab him. Consequently, Benjamin started sweating. And probably blushing, too.
Thijmen didn't stop staring. So, Benjamin quickly rasped out, "cool."
No. Not cool. Very, very, not cool.
This was one of those moments when Benjamin wanted to stand up and tell Thijmen that he needed to be nicer to him and that his behavior was unacceptable. But he remembered the movie Whiplash and figured that as long as he didn't get a cymbal thrown at his head, he should consider himself lucky.
And it's not like he would stand up to Thijmen, anyways.
"Yes, très cool. Let's start." He picked up a book and pushed it under Benjamin's nose, pointing at some text. "What do you know already? Tell me what you understand from this paragraph. Read it out loud."
Oh, no. The first thing Thijmen was going to do was make him read? If it wasn't clear already, he couldn't exactly do that. That's what he was here for. He figured Thijmen was probably looking for a way to make fun of him.
"Uhh, okay... Curten raynard gascon, duh otruh dysent norma—"
"Stop. Please. I think my ears are bleeding. What language is that?"
"F-French?"
"No, Ben, that's pure horseshit. This is French." He snatched the book from Ben's hands and read the sentence Ben just tried to read—only from Thijmen's mouth, it actually sounded like French. "Certain Renard Gascon, d'autres disent Normand."
Benjamin sank down on the floor with a big sigh. How was he ever going to sound like that? He didn't even know what it meant, apart from the word certain, which was the same word in English, right? He hoped so, at least.
Damn, talk about wounded prides. Benjamin huffed. To himself, he mumbled, "I'd beat you up in League Of Legends."
Thijmen ignored him.
"What are you seeing again?" he asked, instead, "Did you even get past auxiliary verbs? Or even être and avoir?"
"Who."
"Of course."
Benjamin didn't appreciate Thijmen's condescending tone. He figured the guy had a reason to be pissed, yes, but still. Tutors were supposed to be patient. He kind of liked the jokey smiley Thijmen better. As if on cue, he clicked his fingers. "Thijmen," Benjamin spoke out, "you can have a cigarette, if you want?"
"No."
He resisted the urge to say a bad word. All right. If it came down to it, he'd rather face Thijmen's wrath over his ineptitude at French that his parents' own over a failed grade. Given, they weren't big on the perpetual 4.0 GPA (they'd given up on that a long time ago), but a failing grade in anything other than math did rile them up.
"Then smoke a fart," Benjamin spat.
"Whose fart? Yours? As long as it has a flawless French accent."
Benjamin was not amused. Did this count as a jokey smiley Thijmen? Never mind. He'd rather not have any. He'd rather play Skyrim and Fus Ro Dah the crap out of people. Angrily, he flipped the book open, heading to the lesson and tearing a page in the process. He pretended it'd been intentional, to be brutal.
Apparently they hadn't even reached être and avoir. In the teacher's defense, they weren't even in October yet. Apparently the colors and 'hi, goodbye' were more important than the two most basic verbs in the language. Oh, well.
Thijmen snatched the book from him and flipped to it. He could act all aggressive and still not tear anything. How unfair.
"Alright then, I guess I'll teach you what you need to know." He looked at the page for a second, then asked Benjamin with a sigh, "do you know how to introduce yourself?"
"Je swees Benjamin??"
"Oh, you do know something!" he exclaimed, though it wasn't clear whether the happiness in his voice was genuine. "But it sounds horrible."
"Like your farts."
"Yes. What's up with you and farts today? Are those the new dragons?"
"That's not funny."
"How do you say 'dragon' in French?"
"Uh."
Thijmen was smiling now. "You know what's funny?"
"Stop."
"Your French."
Okay, that did it. Benjamin smacked his hand on the book. "Y-you know what?" he grumbled, "teach me. I'll be better than you, and I'll make fun of your French and your dragons and your farts."
"You were the one that brought that up, though."
"Shh."
Not too long after, they were ahead in the lesson. Kind of. Être and avoir were too much for Benjamin at the moment. What he wanted to improve on most was his pronunciation, because it was rather annoying to have Thijmen correct him after every single word. It was very frustrating. Benjamin heard how Thijmen said it, he just couldn't reproduce the sounds.
In the end, when Thijmen got sick of listening to Benjamin blurting out unacceptable rubbish, he proposed an idea to him, that didn't seem all too bad, because Benjamin wouldn't have to do a single thing.
"You know what? I'll just read something to you and you can listen. Maybe you'll pick up some stuff."
How could he say no to that? Benjamin bit his lip, but nodded.
As Thijmen read, he felt light-headed for absolutely no reason. Listening to the Dutch guy was strangely pleasant. For one, French was a pretty fancy language. For two, there was Thijmen with his Darth Vader voice. Or Barry White. When he stopped, Benjamin blurted out, "please continue," and Thijmen gave him a quizzical look, but he continued, anyway.
Slowly, Benjamin inched closer to him.
Thijmen stopped. "What are you doing?"
Benjamin moved away immediately.
"I didn't tell you to move. I was just... asking."
"Oh."
Silence.
Way to ruin it. Whatever it was. Honestly, Benjamin didn't even know why he'd tried to get close in the first place. He just wanted to. Was that weird? Probably yes. Some things were better left unsaid, and so he just stayed there fidgeting with the hem of his cashmere sweater.
When Thijmen spoke out, Benjamin jumped a bit. "What?" asked the Dutch guy, "Were you trying to see the book or something?"
That, actually, was a great excuse. Benjamin nodded frantically. Just a bit more and his red curls would've begun bouncing around like slinkies.
"Then come."
"No."
"What the fuck."
Benjamin inched closer, really slowly, pretending he was an iceberg. Not too long after Thijmen lost his patience and pulled him in by the arm. Oh—
Thijmen simply returned to the book, like they weren't only an inch or so apart. Benjamin pretended to focus on the book. He craned his neck a bit, shoulder brushing against Thijmen's arm. While Benjamin practically hyperventilated, the latter didn't even seem to notice. A bit closer wouldn't hurt. Crap, why was he doing this? He just kind of moved until their arms were effectively pressed together.
Either way, Thijmen didn't pull away. He just kept on reading. Gibberish, no less. Benjamin had tuned out long ago. He didn't hear the meaning of the words Thijmen was so skillfully drawing out—not that he understood them in the first place, but that's besides the point.
What was the point anyway?
Why was he listening to a guy read out a story to him in French?
It took him a few seconds to realize that Thijmen had stopped reading. He looked up at him and shrunk at the half-smile on his face, blurting out, "what?"
"Nothing. Where was I?" Benjamin's blood ran cold. "Ah, there."
Ben resisted the urge to blow out a relieved sigh. Thijmen kept on reading with his deep voice, continuing to flip page after page.