Brighter Places [🗸]

1. substitute teachers piss me off

I've always thought that substitute teachers are a fucking joke.

Maybe that's a slightly harsh assessment, though.

Leaning back in my seat, I let out a not-so-silent yawn as the substitute teacher for Economy drones on from the front. My eyes narrow into a squint. Names escape her lips, and students raise their hands accordingly.

Attendance, I'm guessing. I force my gaze back to the front, hands running through dark locks of hair as I take in the Economy sub.

The sub's kind of lanky, one of those eerily skinny teachers with blue veins popping out of her skin, and mousy hair wisping from a painfully messy ponytail. Her eyes are kind of buggy, too. And maybe it's just her glasses, but they seem insanely wide in size as the scout around the room.

"Miguel Hernandez." She calls out, and the short-ass Miguel raises a lazy hand from the front seat, letting out a semi-loud: "here."

Attendance it is. I run a hand through dark waves that I'm not necessarily planning on cutting soon, somewhat paying attention to the roll call occurring in front of the room, to the lazy hands raising to the air once their names are called.

"Jason..." Her voice shakes, and I internally cringe. "Jason..."

"Nguyen," I say, lowly, twirling a pen between my fingers. "As in, all we do is win, win, win. Nguyen. Win." I finish, eliciting snorts from the rest of the class.

"Oh." She glances back at her laptop, and I eye her from where I'm seated, somewhat unamused. 

Ms. What's-Her-Face glances up, giving me one of those shiny grins that I can see right through. "It says here that you have five overdue assignments."

Laughter erupts from the classroom as eyes find mine. I sink back into the chair, a yawn slipping from my lips.

The sub sounds almost accusing, and I don't have an answer for that.

I recognize her. She doesn't put effort into pronouncing names that don't fit into her criteria of normal, she slides cold glances whenever passing by certain students in the halls, and she makes sure that every student can feel that burn of embarrassment, climbing up your insides and dusting at your face whenever there's a slip up, whenever there's a mistake made.

"Well. I'll get to them." I manage to get out, as the teacher narrows her eyes at me. I let out a low chuckle, holding her gaze. It's a far better option than sinking back into my chair and cowering like she wants me to.

I don't cower.

"It's ridiculous." She plows on, ever-the-disciplinarian. I shake my head, letting out a raspy chuckle. She won't let it go. And while subtle jabs like this don't hurt me as much as they used to, it's difficult for me to prevent slight redness from brushing at my cheeks.