jackofknaves (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jackofknaves) wrote2011-06-21 11:38 pm
jackofknaves) wrote2011-06-21 11:38 pm
Back to School, 2/5
Title: Back to School
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tripatch
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Hannibal/Face
Summary: The boys take a case at a local high school.
Back to School, 1/5
With the first problem safely hurdled, Hannibal turned his attention to the rest of the plan. First was establishing themselves in the school. An influx of new teachers was admittedly out of the ordinary, but it was the beginning of the school year and the shop teacher, at least, had retired last year. Mrs. Heigler was officially handling a “family emergency”, and Murdock was there to cover the gaps in the English department, of which there were plenty. No one liked funding the liberal arts programs anymore, too focused on math and sciences.
River Oaks High School was built in 1972 and was definitely showing its age. It was built more like a prison than a school, with few windows and fading institution green paint on the walls. There were metal detectors, clearly recently installed, at the front doors. The lockers were covered with graffiti that the janitorial staff had given up on scrubbing off, instead just spray painting over them until the writing was nearly illegible.
“This place is a dump,” Face said as he surveyed the grounds. Hannibal growled something, but privately he was forced to agree. It was clear that the state had moved on to pushing more money onto the richer neighborhood schools, the ones with better test grades and fewer drop-outs. Schools like this tended to get left in the cold, and the kids with them.
“This is it,” Hannibal said, stubbing out the cigar before he stepped out of the van. “Everyone ready for their first day of class?”
“Bought new pencils and everything,” Murdock asserted. They had collectively tried to force some semblance of professionalism on him, steering him away from his faded jeans to more appropriate slacks, and exchanged his “Ka-Pow!” comic shirt with a plain, navy button-up, but he refused to relinquish his baseball hat.
Face, on the other hand, had thrown himself into the role, buying pale grey trousers and a white button-up with the cuffs turned up, a vest and loose tie completing the ensemble. He had even found a pair of gold-rimmed glasses that he carefully adjusted on his face, looking for all the world like the fresh, naïve teacher he was supposed to be.
Hannibal sighed. “Let’s go.”
The teachers were supposed to arrive early, to set up the classrooms and go over last-minute changes in class plans, but the boys found most of them just sat in the lounge, sipping coffee and making speculative, dismal guesses at what the newest batch of students would be like.
One teacher, a rotund man with a bald spot and sweaty forehead, smirked at Face.
“So you’re the new world history teacher?” he asked.
“Yes,” Face said neutrally. He extended his hand. “Richard Croft. Call me Rick.”
“God, they’re getting younger and younger,” one woman moaned from the couch. She threw her head back. “Or I’m getting older.”
“It happens to the best of us, Shirley,” another woman commiserated. She spotted Murdock shifting nervously by the door and smiled. “Hi, there. Don’t be shy, we don’t bite.”
“She doesn’t, but I do,” a blonde with bright lipstick said with a grin.
“Hi,” Murdock said in his sweetest Southern drawl. The two women visibly melted.
“Well, aren’t you a cutie,” the first woman giggled. “Come sit by me. What are you teaching, sweetheart?”
“I’m the new freshman English teacher,” Murdock said. “James Murdock at your service.”
“Pleasure to meet you, James. I’m Jennifer and the blonde barracuda over there is Helen. I teach the junior class, so we’ll be right down the hall from each other.”
“How come you get all the cute ones?” Helen pouted.
“Because I picked the better field,” Jennifer said. She leaned over to Murdock and stage-whispered. “Math geeks.”
“Hey!”
B.A. stood in the corner, glowering at anyone who tried to approach him. Three obvious coaches were staring openly, probably trying to figure out a way to finagle the man out on the field to teach the football team how to tackle properly.
“Ahem,” Hannibal cleared his throat. The chatter immediately stopped and all eyes turned to the man who had apparently sneaked in and helped himself to the coffee without anyone noticing. “Good morning. I guess you’ve heard that Principal Heigler is dealing with a family emergency, so I’ll be filling in while she’s away. My name’s John Smith and I hope we’ll get to know each other better while I’m here.” He held up his hands for quiet as the clamor started up again. “I don’t know how long it’s going to be, but I’m not here to shake things up. Just do what you normally do and Marilyn will be back before you know it. We’re good?”
The teachers nodded, a few of them coming up to introduce themselves to Hannibal, including the “new” teachers.
“Nice to meet you, John Smith,” Face said with a grin. He had tried pushing for another, more original name for Hannibal to go with, but nothing he said seemed to persuade the man. “Rick Croft.”
“Croft,” Hannibal said, smiling. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
“Oh, I’m sure we will.”
Jennifer had latched onto Murdock’s arm, dragging him away to the English hall, and B.A. had promptly disappeared to the temporary building set up outside for the shop class. Looking around at the cleared-out room, Hannibal heard the siren-like alarm that signaled that school had begun.
It was going to be a long day.
B.A. stared at the kids in front of him. A third of them looked interested, another third looked nervous, and another third looked utterly indifferent.
“Listen up,” he barked. “I’m B.A., I’ll be your shop teacher for this semester. First rule, safety procedures. I pity the fool who does not use proper safety gear in my classroom. I pity the fool who talks when he is not bein’ talked to!”
Hannibal leaned against the door from where he was listening in. Sounds like he had it well in order. Time to check in on his other children.
“Hey, guys,” Face said nonchalantly, swinging his leather satchel onto the desk. “I’m Mr. Croft. I’ll be teaching your world history this semester. Going around is a copy of the syllabus and a blank sheet of paper. Take one, write down your names, and I promise I’ll try to remember them all. If I don’t, just correct me and I may or may not remember.”
There was a light ripple of laughter.
“No promises, though,” he said smiling. “You can read the syllabus on your own time, but I’ll do a quick summation for you: get good grades, tests are important, quizzes marginally less so, and homework is there for you to have something to do the five minutes before class starts.”
More laughter.
“Alright, we’re going to skip the boring stuff and go straight to the awesome. Anyone know anything about ancient Rome?”
Hannibal shook his head, hearing the faint murmurings of discussion behind him. Figures the kid would have the students eating out of his hand in the first five minutes.
Two down—time to check on his wayward child.
Hannibal stared at the sea of confused faces in front of him. He coughed lightly.
“Um, has your teacher shown up yet?” He was met with blank stares. “Mr. Murdock?”
“No one’s been in here except you,” one girl answered. The rest nodded in agreement.
“Right. Wait here.”
He had poked his head into every classroom down the hall when he caught a whiff of something burning. Following his instincts and his nose, he found a door propped open with smoke billowing out. A few kids stumbled out, coughing in between fits of giggles, followed by a man with a lab coat and safety goggles on around his head.
“That was fun!” he exclaimed. He caught sight of Hannibal. “Hey, bossman. Was just teaching the kiddos here how to build a rocket.”
“Mr. Murdock,” Hannibal said slowly, “May I speak with you for a moment?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, instead grabbing his arm and towing him to the English hall, ignoring the, “Oh, right!” from the man as he shoved his charge inside.
Oh, yeah. Very long day.
Being the principal apparently required a pile of paperwork that rivaled even the army for bureaucratic nonsense and even more patience.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said to the lady over the phone, carefully holding onto his temper and wishing he had a cigar. “Yes, ma’am, I know, but his test grades just don’t—“
Pause.
“Yes, ma’am, but if you’ll listen, I’m sure—“
Pause as the woman began yelling into the phone, telling him her dear, sweet Jeffrey was brilliant and that one time he was caught with a knife didn’t mean anything and he wasn’t really passing out drugs to the other kids.
“Ma’am!” Hannibal’s patience snapped. “Your kid may be the next Einstein, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing if he can’t work for it. No one has the patience for that. You want my advice? Straighten him up and get him to fly right. You’re not doing him any favors coddling him.”
He hung up the phone and massaged his temples, ignoring the phone angrily ringing at him a few seconds later.
His secretary poked her head in, smiling sympathetically. “I bring coffee?”
“You’re a saint, Carol,” he said meaningfully. She handed him the cup and waited for him to take a sip before holding out a stack of file folders to him. He looked at the new paperwork, then back at her. “I take it back.”
“Sorry, sir,” she said. “Listen, why don’t you take a break, walk around a bit? I’ll cover things for a while.”
Hannibal was out the door before she had finished speaking, his hands already searching his pockets for a cigar.
The school building was a large, squat building in the middle of the grounds, surrounded by T-buildings set up haphazardly for when there was no more space. He found himself wandering to the JROTC section, idly watching the kids perform drills.
“You’re the new principal, right?” a warm Cajun voice said behind him.
“That’s me,” Hannibal said, turning around and found himself looking eye to eye with a full-bird Colonel in Air Force blues. The man’s eyes widened.
“Holy shit,” he said. “Holy shit, you’re Hannibal Smith!”
Hannibal took a quick glance around, noting with some relief that no one was paying attention to the pair. Well, he thought dourly, this was an unforeseen complication. He shook his head. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re him. You’re a legend!”
“Listen, I don’t know—“
“Colonel,” the man said, suddenly seriously, “I heard about what went down. I guess everyone has. But I knew some guys who served with you. You got some of my boys out of a tight jam after their piece of shit Osprey went down over enemy territory. I never believed those stories, about what they said y’all did.”
Hannibal took a deep breath and let it out, wishing he hadn’t flung his cigar away as soon as he heard someone approaching. Especially after finding out it was Morrison, the man he looked up to and respected more than anybody else, who had framed them… it was hard to remember sometimes that he had done good. That his boys were still doing good, even when people said they were criminals.
“I don’t know what you’re doing here,” the man said slowly, “but no one’s going to hear it from me.”
“I appreciate that,” Hannibal said, holding the man’s gaze. He winked at him suddenly. “But it’s Principal Smith.”
“Of course,” the man said with a sly grin. He held out his hand. “I’m Colonel Thibodeaux.”
“John. John Smith. Pleasure.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to teach these kids how to stand in formation without locking their knees.”
Hannibal grinned, calling out, “Good luck with that!” before heading back to the office. Lunch would be soon and the principal and the vice principals apparently always ate together in the cafeteria when that happened. He approved. A show of solidarity in front of the enemy was good tactics, in his opinion.
Lunch period was just as he imagined. The architects of the school, apparently oblivious to the sheer volume that kids could make, had designed the cafeteria with the same acoustics as an opera house. The noise level was literally deafening.
“I said,” one teacher shouted over the noise, “how’s your day been?”
“Oh! Fine,” Hannibal said, nodding. “Just fine.”
“Good! The first day is always the hardest. After that the kids start adjusting.”
“Or dropping out,” a vice principal offered.
Their jaded conversation was almost depressing; apparently the burn-out rate on teachers was equal to that of soldiers. And no wonder, Hannibal thought grimly. This morning alone he had a girl wander into his office, sobbing, who had confessed that she thought she may be pregnant and refused to talk to the counselor because he had told her she should have an abortion. Another two kids had been hauled away after they found a knife in one’s pocket and drugs in another’s locker. Admittedly, he had gone to high school a long time ago, but he didn’t recall it ever being this stressful. His initial impression of River Oaks being more like a prison than a high school stood, and was rapidly incorporating new facets all the time. Half the projectors in the classrooms were broken and the other half had a green film over them. The copy-room had run out of papers and more than one teacher had to scramble to find more desks to accommodate all the students. Whoever was stealing money from these kids, and the teachers who were trying their best to help them, was going to be caught.
With that thought, he chewed on what the lunch lady had assured him was meatloaf and tasted more like sawdust.
Just like back in basic, he thought, as he poured on some more ketchup.
After two more hours fielding calls and filling out paperwork, he had finally broke and found a quiet corner outside to smoke and get a few moments peace. His momentary lull in work was shattered by the unmistakable sound of a group of people trying their best to be quiet.
“C’mon,” he heard a voice hiss, “let’s go.”
“Yeah, fuck this, man, I ain’t goin’ to algebra.”
He took a last regretful drag on the cigar he had just lit before stubbing it out and waiting. Ten, nine, eight, seven—
A trio of young boys appeared from around the corner, heading for the parking lot.
“Going somewhere?” he asked casually.
They whirled around, squinting at him in a way that was meant to be intimidating. Hannibal knew intimidating; he owned intimidating.
“Back to class, gentlemen,” he said, being sure to loom over them a bit. “I believe fifth period is about to start.”
At three o'clock, Hannibal was worn ragged and almost as relieved as the kids as they poured out of the building, calling out to friends and heading to the gas station for a afternoon Slurpee. He had managed to make friends with some of the secretaries and looked over the ledgers that Mrs. Heigler had given him before she left. He could see the discrepancies in the accounts, but it was all hand-written by the principal herself; the system showed that the money had never even been there. Whoever it was hacked the system.
He threw his pen down and rubbed his face tiredly when a knock came at his door.
"Come in," he said, not surprised to find his boys standing there. He said dryly, "Well, don't try to be inconspicuous or anything."
Face blinked innocently. "I don't know what you mean, sir," he said, nudging the door closed with his foot. "Didn't you request to see all of us to see how we were getting on our first day?"
Hannibal laughed lightly. "So I did. How was it?"
The three of them launched into a detailed account of their day, overriding each other, comparing notes, and generally looking like they had a ball. Maybe this job wouldn't be so bad after all.
Grading Papers, 3/5
Exam Time, 4/5
Summer Vacation, 5/5
Author:
tripatchRating: PG-13
Pairing: Hannibal/Face
Summary: The boys take a case at a local high school.
Back to School, 1/5
With the first problem safely hurdled, Hannibal turned his attention to the rest of the plan. First was establishing themselves in the school. An influx of new teachers was admittedly out of the ordinary, but it was the beginning of the school year and the shop teacher, at least, had retired last year. Mrs. Heigler was officially handling a “family emergency”, and Murdock was there to cover the gaps in the English department, of which there were plenty. No one liked funding the liberal arts programs anymore, too focused on math and sciences.
River Oaks High School was built in 1972 and was definitely showing its age. It was built more like a prison than a school, with few windows and fading institution green paint on the walls. There were metal detectors, clearly recently installed, at the front doors. The lockers were covered with graffiti that the janitorial staff had given up on scrubbing off, instead just spray painting over them until the writing was nearly illegible.
“This place is a dump,” Face said as he surveyed the grounds. Hannibal growled something, but privately he was forced to agree. It was clear that the state had moved on to pushing more money onto the richer neighborhood schools, the ones with better test grades and fewer drop-outs. Schools like this tended to get left in the cold, and the kids with them.
“This is it,” Hannibal said, stubbing out the cigar before he stepped out of the van. “Everyone ready for their first day of class?”
“Bought new pencils and everything,” Murdock asserted. They had collectively tried to force some semblance of professionalism on him, steering him away from his faded jeans to more appropriate slacks, and exchanged his “Ka-Pow!” comic shirt with a plain, navy button-up, but he refused to relinquish his baseball hat.
Face, on the other hand, had thrown himself into the role, buying pale grey trousers and a white button-up with the cuffs turned up, a vest and loose tie completing the ensemble. He had even found a pair of gold-rimmed glasses that he carefully adjusted on his face, looking for all the world like the fresh, naïve teacher he was supposed to be.
Hannibal sighed. “Let’s go.”
The teachers were supposed to arrive early, to set up the classrooms and go over last-minute changes in class plans, but the boys found most of them just sat in the lounge, sipping coffee and making speculative, dismal guesses at what the newest batch of students would be like.
One teacher, a rotund man with a bald spot and sweaty forehead, smirked at Face.
“So you’re the new world history teacher?” he asked.
“Yes,” Face said neutrally. He extended his hand. “Richard Croft. Call me Rick.”
“God, they’re getting younger and younger,” one woman moaned from the couch. She threw her head back. “Or I’m getting older.”
“It happens to the best of us, Shirley,” another woman commiserated. She spotted Murdock shifting nervously by the door and smiled. “Hi, there. Don’t be shy, we don’t bite.”
“She doesn’t, but I do,” a blonde with bright lipstick said with a grin.
“Hi,” Murdock said in his sweetest Southern drawl. The two women visibly melted.
“Well, aren’t you a cutie,” the first woman giggled. “Come sit by me. What are you teaching, sweetheart?”
“I’m the new freshman English teacher,” Murdock said. “James Murdock at your service.”
“Pleasure to meet you, James. I’m Jennifer and the blonde barracuda over there is Helen. I teach the junior class, so we’ll be right down the hall from each other.”
“How come you get all the cute ones?” Helen pouted.
“Because I picked the better field,” Jennifer said. She leaned over to Murdock and stage-whispered. “Math geeks.”
“Hey!”
B.A. stood in the corner, glowering at anyone who tried to approach him. Three obvious coaches were staring openly, probably trying to figure out a way to finagle the man out on the field to teach the football team how to tackle properly.
“Ahem,” Hannibal cleared his throat. The chatter immediately stopped and all eyes turned to the man who had apparently sneaked in and helped himself to the coffee without anyone noticing. “Good morning. I guess you’ve heard that Principal Heigler is dealing with a family emergency, so I’ll be filling in while she’s away. My name’s John Smith and I hope we’ll get to know each other better while I’m here.” He held up his hands for quiet as the clamor started up again. “I don’t know how long it’s going to be, but I’m not here to shake things up. Just do what you normally do and Marilyn will be back before you know it. We’re good?”
The teachers nodded, a few of them coming up to introduce themselves to Hannibal, including the “new” teachers.
“Nice to meet you, John Smith,” Face said with a grin. He had tried pushing for another, more original name for Hannibal to go with, but nothing he said seemed to persuade the man. “Rick Croft.”
“Croft,” Hannibal said, smiling. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
“Oh, I’m sure we will.”
Jennifer had latched onto Murdock’s arm, dragging him away to the English hall, and B.A. had promptly disappeared to the temporary building set up outside for the shop class. Looking around at the cleared-out room, Hannibal heard the siren-like alarm that signaled that school had begun.
It was going to be a long day.
B.A. stared at the kids in front of him. A third of them looked interested, another third looked nervous, and another third looked utterly indifferent.
“Listen up,” he barked. “I’m B.A., I’ll be your shop teacher for this semester. First rule, safety procedures. I pity the fool who does not use proper safety gear in my classroom. I pity the fool who talks when he is not bein’ talked to!”
Hannibal leaned against the door from where he was listening in. Sounds like he had it well in order. Time to check in on his other children.
“Hey, guys,” Face said nonchalantly, swinging his leather satchel onto the desk. “I’m Mr. Croft. I’ll be teaching your world history this semester. Going around is a copy of the syllabus and a blank sheet of paper. Take one, write down your names, and I promise I’ll try to remember them all. If I don’t, just correct me and I may or may not remember.”
There was a light ripple of laughter.
“No promises, though,” he said smiling. “You can read the syllabus on your own time, but I’ll do a quick summation for you: get good grades, tests are important, quizzes marginally less so, and homework is there for you to have something to do the five minutes before class starts.”
More laughter.
“Alright, we’re going to skip the boring stuff and go straight to the awesome. Anyone know anything about ancient Rome?”
Hannibal shook his head, hearing the faint murmurings of discussion behind him. Figures the kid would have the students eating out of his hand in the first five minutes.
Two down—time to check on his wayward child.
Hannibal stared at the sea of confused faces in front of him. He coughed lightly.
“Um, has your teacher shown up yet?” He was met with blank stares. “Mr. Murdock?”
“No one’s been in here except you,” one girl answered. The rest nodded in agreement.
“Right. Wait here.”
He had poked his head into every classroom down the hall when he caught a whiff of something burning. Following his instincts and his nose, he found a door propped open with smoke billowing out. A few kids stumbled out, coughing in between fits of giggles, followed by a man with a lab coat and safety goggles on around his head.
“That was fun!” he exclaimed. He caught sight of Hannibal. “Hey, bossman. Was just teaching the kiddos here how to build a rocket.”
“Mr. Murdock,” Hannibal said slowly, “May I speak with you for a moment?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, instead grabbing his arm and towing him to the English hall, ignoring the, “Oh, right!” from the man as he shoved his charge inside.
Oh, yeah. Very long day.
Being the principal apparently required a pile of paperwork that rivaled even the army for bureaucratic nonsense and even more patience.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said to the lady over the phone, carefully holding onto his temper and wishing he had a cigar. “Yes, ma’am, I know, but his test grades just don’t—“
Pause.
“Yes, ma’am, but if you’ll listen, I’m sure—“
Pause as the woman began yelling into the phone, telling him her dear, sweet Jeffrey was brilliant and that one time he was caught with a knife didn’t mean anything and he wasn’t really passing out drugs to the other kids.
“Ma’am!” Hannibal’s patience snapped. “Your kid may be the next Einstein, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing if he can’t work for it. No one has the patience for that. You want my advice? Straighten him up and get him to fly right. You’re not doing him any favors coddling him.”
He hung up the phone and massaged his temples, ignoring the phone angrily ringing at him a few seconds later.
His secretary poked her head in, smiling sympathetically. “I bring coffee?”
“You’re a saint, Carol,” he said meaningfully. She handed him the cup and waited for him to take a sip before holding out a stack of file folders to him. He looked at the new paperwork, then back at her. “I take it back.”
“Sorry, sir,” she said. “Listen, why don’t you take a break, walk around a bit? I’ll cover things for a while.”
Hannibal was out the door before she had finished speaking, his hands already searching his pockets for a cigar.
The school building was a large, squat building in the middle of the grounds, surrounded by T-buildings set up haphazardly for when there was no more space. He found himself wandering to the JROTC section, idly watching the kids perform drills.
“You’re the new principal, right?” a warm Cajun voice said behind him.
“That’s me,” Hannibal said, turning around and found himself looking eye to eye with a full-bird Colonel in Air Force blues. The man’s eyes widened.
“Holy shit,” he said. “Holy shit, you’re Hannibal Smith!”
Hannibal took a quick glance around, noting with some relief that no one was paying attention to the pair. Well, he thought dourly, this was an unforeseen complication. He shook his head. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re him. You’re a legend!”
“Listen, I don’t know—“
“Colonel,” the man said, suddenly seriously, “I heard about what went down. I guess everyone has. But I knew some guys who served with you. You got some of my boys out of a tight jam after their piece of shit Osprey went down over enemy territory. I never believed those stories, about what they said y’all did.”
Hannibal took a deep breath and let it out, wishing he hadn’t flung his cigar away as soon as he heard someone approaching. Especially after finding out it was Morrison, the man he looked up to and respected more than anybody else, who had framed them… it was hard to remember sometimes that he had done good. That his boys were still doing good, even when people said they were criminals.
“I don’t know what you’re doing here,” the man said slowly, “but no one’s going to hear it from me.”
“I appreciate that,” Hannibal said, holding the man’s gaze. He winked at him suddenly. “But it’s Principal Smith.”
“Of course,” the man said with a sly grin. He held out his hand. “I’m Colonel Thibodeaux.”
“John. John Smith. Pleasure.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to teach these kids how to stand in formation without locking their knees.”
Hannibal grinned, calling out, “Good luck with that!” before heading back to the office. Lunch would be soon and the principal and the vice principals apparently always ate together in the cafeteria when that happened. He approved. A show of solidarity in front of the enemy was good tactics, in his opinion.
Lunch period was just as he imagined. The architects of the school, apparently oblivious to the sheer volume that kids could make, had designed the cafeteria with the same acoustics as an opera house. The noise level was literally deafening.
“I said,” one teacher shouted over the noise, “how’s your day been?”
“Oh! Fine,” Hannibal said, nodding. “Just fine.”
“Good! The first day is always the hardest. After that the kids start adjusting.”
“Or dropping out,” a vice principal offered.
Their jaded conversation was almost depressing; apparently the burn-out rate on teachers was equal to that of soldiers. And no wonder, Hannibal thought grimly. This morning alone he had a girl wander into his office, sobbing, who had confessed that she thought she may be pregnant and refused to talk to the counselor because he had told her she should have an abortion. Another two kids had been hauled away after they found a knife in one’s pocket and drugs in another’s locker. Admittedly, he had gone to high school a long time ago, but he didn’t recall it ever being this stressful. His initial impression of River Oaks being more like a prison than a high school stood, and was rapidly incorporating new facets all the time. Half the projectors in the classrooms were broken and the other half had a green film over them. The copy-room had run out of papers and more than one teacher had to scramble to find more desks to accommodate all the students. Whoever was stealing money from these kids, and the teachers who were trying their best to help them, was going to be caught.
With that thought, he chewed on what the lunch lady had assured him was meatloaf and tasted more like sawdust.
Just like back in basic, he thought, as he poured on some more ketchup.
After two more hours fielding calls and filling out paperwork, he had finally broke and found a quiet corner outside to smoke and get a few moments peace. His momentary lull in work was shattered by the unmistakable sound of a group of people trying their best to be quiet.
“C’mon,” he heard a voice hiss, “let’s go.”
“Yeah, fuck this, man, I ain’t goin’ to algebra.”
He took a last regretful drag on the cigar he had just lit before stubbing it out and waiting. Ten, nine, eight, seven—
A trio of young boys appeared from around the corner, heading for the parking lot.
“Going somewhere?” he asked casually.
They whirled around, squinting at him in a way that was meant to be intimidating. Hannibal knew intimidating; he owned intimidating.
“Back to class, gentlemen,” he said, being sure to loom over them a bit. “I believe fifth period is about to start.”
At three o'clock, Hannibal was worn ragged and almost as relieved as the kids as they poured out of the building, calling out to friends and heading to the gas station for a afternoon Slurpee. He had managed to make friends with some of the secretaries and looked over the ledgers that Mrs. Heigler had given him before she left. He could see the discrepancies in the accounts, but it was all hand-written by the principal herself; the system showed that the money had never even been there. Whoever it was hacked the system.
He threw his pen down and rubbed his face tiredly when a knock came at his door.
"Come in," he said, not surprised to find his boys standing there. He said dryly, "Well, don't try to be inconspicuous or anything."
Face blinked innocently. "I don't know what you mean, sir," he said, nudging the door closed with his foot. "Didn't you request to see all of us to see how we were getting on our first day?"
Hannibal laughed lightly. "So I did. How was it?"
The three of them launched into a detailed account of their day, overriding each other, comparing notes, and generally looking like they had a ball. Maybe this job wouldn't be so bad after all.
Grading Papers, 3/5
Exam Time, 4/5
Summer Vacation, 5/5
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I try the other links but it always brings me back to this chapter.
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Thanks for reading! ♥