The automatic doors open to a huge atrium where leather sofas and overly stylish and probably useless chairs are organized in neat groups for the students and possible guests. A receptionist counter with three security gates completed with palm scanners is waiting for the students to enter the main wing of the school. Dmitri heads for the counter, offering a wide smile to the young man watching his approach.
He greets the man and hands over his Teacher’s ID card. The man’s own greeting is polite and professional if surprised for some reason. He types something into the computer in front of him before reaching over to a pile of leather cases on his right and lifts the top one. Opening the cover the case reveals a tablet which he turns on and then, after a few taps and swipes on the screen, hands over.
“All information you need can be found on this, Mr. Armand,” he says with a tight smile. “Your assigned class is Room 17 in the Edison Wing. Just go through one of the security gates and then take the second elevator from the left. It’s on the third floor.”
“Thank you, Mr...” Dmitri trails off, waiting for the young man to introduce himself despite a shiny silver nameplate claiming him to be ‘Frederick’.
The man blinks, taken aback, then a faint flush taints his cheeks as he says, “Lang, Mr. Armand. Frederick Lang.”
“Mr. Lang,” Dmitri repeats with a small nod and a wide smile. “Where do I find the teachers’ lounge?”
“Oh, y-yeah, sorry,” Mr. Lang stammers, his face even redder than before. “First elevator from the right, on the seventh floor.”
“Thank you.”
“You… You’re welcome, Mr. Armand. And good luck!” Lang calls after him when he steps up to one of the gates on the left side of the reception desk and places his hand on the scanner. He throws another smile back over his shoulder just as the scanner beeps and the gate opens.
Dmitri checks his watch, an old, cherished model that used to be his great-grandfather’s and was his birthday present from his great-grandmother when he turned eighteen. Babushka Illya, who is actually his great-grandmother, sure knows how to make grand gestures. He still has half an hour before first period starts, but he quickens his steps, waving his way around the few early arrivals to reach the elevator because he should have been in the Teacher’s Lounge five minutes ago. A pity punctuality never has been his forte.
The two boys who get into the glass cage with him throw him failed sneaky glances, but the moment he turns towards them to offer a smile, they avert their gazes and choose to stare at their shoes instead. They seem young, maybe thirteen or fourteen at most, reminding Dyma that Edison serves both as a junior and senior high school. They get off before him, murmuring quiet ‘goodbyes’ as they scurry off, never sparing him a glance.
Dyma chuckles under his breath and watches as the floors pass by, seeing mingling students in front of classrooms. They seem carefree but hold themselves different than most teenagers he’s seen before. Their backs are straight with their shoulders thrown back. Poised, as if ready to prove their worth to the world every second. It looks exhausting. And oh so familiar.
The elevator stops with a merry little ding and the glass doors slide open right into the Teacher’s Lounge much to Dmitri’s mortification. Every head turns in his way, and he can feel the principal’s sharp glare cutting through him even as he studiously keeps his attention on his new colleagues.
“Good morning, Mr. Armand. I’m glad you finally managed to grace us with your presence,” Principal Pratt breaks the awkward silence just as Dmitri opens his mouth to greet everyone.
Dyma feels proud that he manages to hold in the wince that zings at his spine. Josephine Pratt is a tiny woman with steel-like eyes, enhanced by stylish silver-framed glasses and a bespoke suit. The lines around her discreetly painted mouth and at the corners of her eyes make her look even more severe, and Dmitri has no doubt she would have no problem forcing men five-time her size to their knees. He knows inner strength. He sees it in action every day when he looks at his grandmother, Carmen, and his great-gram.
“I apologize for my tardiness, ma’am,” Dmitri says, his chin ever so slightly dipped to show he accepts Pratt’s position of power even as he meets the woman’s hard glare with a steady look. He doesn’t try to come up with excuses, having been taught that excuses were the escape of weak people. And Dmitri was anything but weak.
“Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Pratt says after a few moments of tense silence. Dmitri does not make a promise he knows he can’t hold. Pratt takes his silence for what it is and waves him closer.
Dmitri nods to the five women standing next to the principal, noting their modest, nondescript outfits that almost matches his own with a small tilt of his lips. The woman next to him looks up at him with a quirked eyebrow and tries to mimic the principal’s severe expression, Dmitri’s smile widen.
“As I was saying, this year we welcome six new members in our team. Two of them will work with our junior academy members. Ms. Farrah will teach Mathematics and Ms. Han-Yeoh will teach Protocol and Etiquette.” The women step forward and nod their heads with small, empty smiles and rigid shoulders. They are obviously nervous, first day jitters threatening to get the best of them, but they push on with admirable strength and don’t submit to the inquisitive gazes watching them.
“I’m Gillian Farah. It’s an honor to get the chance to work in this institution,” Ms. Farrah says, humble and vying for acceptance. It’s disappointing. Her new colleagues greet her with detached professionalism, an air of barely concealed haughtiness oozing from them.
Ms. Han-Yeoh follows her example, but her voice is more confident and her smile matches the faculty’s, issuing a silent challenge. She knows what she’s doing and obviously refuses to be beaten in her own game. Dmitri appreciates her daring personality and thinks they will get along just fine.
Principal Pratt goes on with the introductions, gesturing at the remaining three women after saying their names and department respectively. Dr. Tomoya the new Guidance Counselor, Dr. Yankovic the new Geography teacher, and Dr. Farina the new Chemistry teacher are all empty smiles and vapid pleasantries, not even sparing Dmitri a glance when it becomes obvious he doesn’t have a PhD in his field. Considering he is only 24 and barely out of college with a double master’s in English Literature and Psychology under his belt, he can only bare his teeth the way he always does at social functions his grandmother expects him to attend on her arm. People always underestimate him, never looking beyond the image he presents them with.
When it’s his turn, he steps forward with a little grin and adjusts his glasses to show just the barest hint of weakness. “Good morning, my name is Dmitri Allen Armand. I’m looking forward to working with all of you.” The reflexive smiles he receives from the teachers seated in the neatly organized couches and armchairs are a promising first step to gain his co-workers’ trust.
Principal Pratt’s clears her throat with a pinched expression and everyone’s attention snaps to her immediately. She waves her hand at the young man stood behind her, who nods quickly and hands over the tray of key cards he’s been holding all along.
“Every faculty member has their own offices where they are requested to hold open hours twice a week so students can approach them privately,” the principal says and holds out the tray and Dyma waits until all the other newbies pick up their keys before reaching for his own and slipping the little blue card into the front pocket of his knitted vest. “Once you set your office hours, inform Administration so they can post the time and days on the academy’s website. Any questions?”
“Is it necessary to hold office hours after classes end or can they be set before them as well?” Dr. Yankovic asks, her voice clipped with false patience. Dmitri would bet she’s one of those harpy type teachers who never have time to repeat things and refuse to wait for slower students to catch up.
“Office hours are strictly after classes end and cannot run longer than eight pm,” Principal Pratt snipes back, obviously not appreciating the tone Dr. Yankovic took with her. “Our students are busy and nearly all of them participate in extracurricular activities. However, do not forget that they are young men on the cusp of adulthood. They test their boundaries and are used to getting their ways due to their upbringing. While under the academy’s care, they are your responsibility. Act accordingly.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the faculty choruses.
“Good. Classes start in ten minutes. Tardiness is not tolerated.” She cuts another glare at Dmitri who smiles brightly and salutes, ignoring the annoyed but suspiciously amused sounding sigh that leaves the principal’s mouth.
He follows his colleagues to the elevator door, noting the way they group up. Ms. Han-Yeoh and Farrah are already chatting with a few of the other junior academy teachers, Ms. Farrah’s cheeks pink and her expression relieved. Ms. Han-Yeoh is smiling, too, but she is more reserved just like her greeting was. Dr. Yankovic and Farina don’t disappoint either, standing together but apart from the other teachers, holding court to a small group of three elder looking men that are probably just as educated as they are. Dr. Tomoya has joined up with the only other female teachers in the staff. There are only five of them which is surprisingly few in a faculty of over thirty members. Then again, Edison has always been one of those archaic schools that believed young men only profited from a man’s touch. The principal’s last words just confirmed it further.
Well, Dmitri never believed in such outdated ideas and he refuses to follow a tradition he holds little regard to. Hopefully, his students will appreciate it.
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