Tuesday
September 4, 2018
His second day as Edison Academy’s English teacher goes considerably better than his first in Dmitri’s opinion. His students start paying attention because they don’t have a choice if they want to pass his class—especially after he hands out their tests, calling their scores out loud in front of everyone—, still sending vapid glares that couldn’t intimidate a kitten but still manage to amuse Dmitri. They are not as dumb as they pretended yesterday, and once he shows that he appreciates thought inducing questions and challenges they start shooting off questions, arguing with each other in their haughtiest voice.
It’s almost better than what he hoped for. These kids aren’t cute. They are a bunch of assholes who were born entitled and have never known different. They are used to getting their ways and would use it against anyone who threatens them. But pitch them against each other and you get the rare chance of seeing potential greatness in them. More than just a room full of air-headed young masters.
Of course, they are still stubborn and nearly come to the weirdest sort of physical fight Dmitri has ever seen once or twice. It involves more posturing and underhanded threats doled out with frosty smiles than actual touching. Snarling dogs with golden collars and no teeth, that’s what they are. It’s hilarious and he has half a mind to just sit down and let them bark at each other, but he has to do his job. So, he intervenes and asks another question. Then another and another.
They still don’t like him, but that’s something he can overcome in time. And even if he doesn’t, technically they don’t have to like him, they can even hate his guts, as long as they work hard and find a way to enjoy learning new things.
All in all, it’s a good start.
His relationship with his colleagues is still distant, but he can’t really find it in himself to care. Mr. Choi tries to have a halted conversation with him during lunch break, but the overly nice way the Music teacher acts leaves him suspicious. The entire interaction smells like ulterior motives, and a glance around the teachers’ lounge only raises his alertness. The other teachers are acting like they don’t care at all, either reviewing their lesson notes while eating their fancy food or talking in hushed tones.
Except Dmitri is not an idiot.
They don’t give a fuck about him. If they did, they would have approached him yesterday, welcoming him with more than lukewarm applause and tepid smiles. They would have tried to talk to him, or even just wish him good luck. They didn’t, which makes him wonder if this whole charade is about his class. Other than the women who were introduced yesterday along with him, all the teachers have been already working at the academy last year, so they must know what a bunch of jerks his kids are.
Narrowing his eyes slightly, he responds to the inane questions with just as inane answers, refusing to give anything away on his class. It’s actually fun watching Choi get more and more agitated, his melodic voice turning shrill every now and again when Dmitri replies him with a question of his own about his teaching methods, about how he deals with the snootiness, about how he became a Music teacher.
By the end of lunch break, Choi is all but trying to run away from him while Dmitri watches with a little smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth. That will hopefully teach them not to try such obvious interrogation methods in the future. Although he has the feeling that next time they will pick one of the few females to try to butter him up, probably one of the younger ones. Maybe even offer her an in into their inner circle in exchange for her services.
He leaves the teachers’ lounge still amused but oddly disappointed. It doesn’t make sense because he’s grown up in a world full of lies and deceit, but maybe he’s too naive, yet he expected to be included at least a bit. Even a moderate welcome would have been good. Well, he’s not here for the teachers.
He’s here for the students.
His students.
Who are just as rowdy as they were in the morning. Unfortunately, Dmitri has little patience for their brattiness when it comes to his own subject, so he walks into the classroom and slams the folder of tests down on his desk, causing the kids to shut up and turn to him in unison.
“You know,” he starts before any of them could come up with a smartass comment, “I actually wanted to be nice and not grade your placement tests. I had this idea of starting the year on friendly terms to see how much you remember from last year. Well, I guess, we all have to face some disappointments in our lives.”
“Ugh… stop whining and give the tests back,” Gareth Carroll snaps, his freckled face lined with a disgusted sneer.
“Thank you for your input, Mr. Carroll. Why don’t we start with you?” Dmitri bares his teeth, picking out the boy’s test from the pile he organized in alphabetic order. “Twenty-one percent. That’s an F, I’m afraid.”
“How dare you?!” Carroll jumps up with a snarl. “This is bullshit! I won’t accept this and you’re going to—”
“As I was saying, I didn’t want to grade your placement tests, but you forced my hand. You can count it as the first one of the five tests you will take this term along with weekly surprise quizzes.” The students’ jaws drop at his words, some of them swallowing heavily while others follow Carroll’s example and push their chairs back to shout their curses at him standing up. “As I said, disappointments.”
“Well, fuck your disappointments! I’m not gonna fail because you’re a useless dick who can’t take a joke!” Mark Goodman growls, but Dmitri’s attention is on how the pale shadows under his eyes have turned darker, his skin paler. He doesn’t say a word about it, just picks out the boy’s test, and walks over to his desk, putting it down.
“A joke, Mr. Goodman? Let me tell you a joke. You earned a zero on this test, even though I bet you could have gotten at least seventy percent if you tried a little,” he says evenly, staring right into the kid’s blazing eyes. “So if you don’t want to fail my class? I advise you to do better on the retake next week.”
“What retake?” Thommy asks, frowning. “And are you going to read out all of our grades?”
“I allow anyone with a failing grade to retake the test next Monday and hopefully get better marks.”
“What’s the trick?” Of course, it’s Rhys Martinez who asks this.
“That you start with a twenty percent loss. So, study hard because if you fail the retake test as well, you receive a zero.”
They are outraged and not afraid to voice their anger. But life is unfair, and he wasn’t kidding yesterday when he said he doesn’t care about their attendance. The fewer troublemakers, the easier to actually give a useful class. But he’s not going to let them laze off and still be rewarded for it. This time, if they want something, they will have to work for it.
“If you’re done playing toddlers, I would like to continue,” he cuts in, pitching his voice low and cold.
“You’re going down for this!” the boy next to Carroll shouts, waving his index finger around as a threat. The mass agrees with animalistic yowls.
“That’s nice,” Dmitri hums, picking out the next test. “Michael Abott?” No one answers. “Hm… whoever it is can pick it up from my desk after class. By the way, it’s another zero.”
He goes on, calling each student’s name. Some, like Robert ‘It’s Bobby’ Denvers, crow upon hearing they got a passing score, while others, like Avery O’Hara, practically rip their test out of his hand and then make a big show of destroying it in front of him. Ryley Johannson raises his hand quietly and takes his B with a measured nod, his gaze serious and indifferent.
So that’s another no on the ally list.
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