Title: Teaching Style to 6th Graders
Courtesy of Indiana Beach Bum AND BroflovskiFan. In
a class where
there aren't too many expectations, students are about to get far more than they bargained for. Bet your school never taught you this. R&R.
Authors's note (because there's two of us!):
First off, this is an rp by Indiana Beach Bum and BroflovskiFan. Indiana Beach Bum is currently working on three of them, including this one, and her own fanfic! How crazy is that? Meanwhile this is my first rp. Killer times.
So one day, me and miss IBB were chatting about how she recently got a teaching job, and that it would totally be hilarious to try to teach her class 'style.' Oh, how the parents would react! So then we both decided that the idea was hilarious, and we should totally rp it! This is a funny funny story, according to both of us. This is first chapter, as in there will be more, as in it's not a one-shot! It's light-hearted and a fun thing, so we both hope you guys enjoy! Oh and leave a review! It motivates us.
Chapter One – First Day of Classes - ?POV
I can't believe I'm about to go through another year of this shit. My watch says 8:05. Those little shits should be coming in at any time now. I'm probably going to get in trouble for not doing my duty, but I couldn't pass up the free doughnuts in the teacher's lounge. You'd think that after all these years, I would be able to look back and laugh at my poverty-stricken days of childhood. Well, I'm laughing, but it's more at the fact that nothing has changed. Nothing. I'm stuck in this low class job making shit for money and dealing with kids that still pick their fucking noses.
And now the infamous First Day of School has rolled around again, and I'm counting the days to Christmas break. Seventy-Nine. Not counting weekends. Those are my vacation. At least, until I have a couple of rug rats of my own. Ugh, the bell just rang. Here we go.
Smile at them now as though you give a damn about their lives. First kid walking in looks like he's about to shit his pants. The second one looks like he thinks he's all that. I award him the name 'majesty' and make a mental note to take him down a few pegs through humiliation by the end of term.
"Hey Mr. McCormick!"
I wave half-heartedly to the buck-toothed girl that just said my name. She's smiling at me, trying to be all seductive. How seductive can a seventh grader be anyway? I mean, I know I was...but still...
She looks a little familiar. Someone's kid, maybe? I rack my brain, but come up zilch. Ah, screw it anyways. She's probably just the kid of some chick I got it on with a few years back.
"Mr. K, yo!" this kid that mildly resembles my old friend Stan gives me a heads up, and I smile. He's cute.
Just like Stan.
I bet Stan has a better job than I do right now. Last time I checked he was about to open his business, Marsh enterprises. Don't ask me what his business does, like hell if I know.
Those guys don't really associate with me anymore. They've got all these possessions...and stuff. Like a car. Pssh. Stupid Kenny has to ride the stupid city bus to get to work.
I'm practically royalty.
"Hi teacher, remember me?" A shy girl walks up to me, blonde curls bobbing around her head.
'Nope,' I think to myself. "Refresh my memory," I say to her.
She giggles, then looks down at her feet and shuffles them. "You know" she says, as if expecting me to suddenly jump up and shout 'Of course! It's you!'
I raise my eyebrows and open my mouth to speak, but this fatass plows right into her, practically knocking her over.
"Get outta my way!" he huffs and he places his book on the desk in front of me. "Hey teach," he says, learning over as much as his fat little belly allows him to. "I'm gonna level with ya. I don't like you and you won't like me. Give me a C and I'll be out of your hair for the rest of the year."
I smirk. He negotiates like Cartman. "Sit down, kid," I reply.
"Ey! I'll sit down when I feel like it!" Fatty responds, narrowing his eyes at me. I roll my eyes. Well, won't this just be fun.
"Listen here kid. That's not how this works. I tell you to sit down, that is if you can fit into a seat, and you sit. Or else I kick you out of this class and flunk your sorry ass all the way back to fifth grade." I really wasn't concerned about getting into trouble for swearing at kids. Like anyone in this shithole school would give a damn.
He grunts and I swear, WADDLES back to an open seat, right next to that curly blonde that I couldn't remember her name. Ha, he probably has a crush on her. I notice that the halls are emptying, and the last few kids trickle into the room. I guess its best that I take my muddy shoes off of the desk and attempt to introduce myself. And to get to my first lesson.
I clap my hands together and begin the routine talk, determined to get through it as fast as possible. "Alright kids, listen up. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Mr. McKormick. My friends call me Kenny, but you're not my friends, so you call me Mr. M, teacher, or whatever the hell else makes you happy. I'm here to teach you sex-ed. Yes, that's right, SEX-ed. Laugh, you know you want to."
Sure enough, a few brats in the back snicker, causing me to give them the evil glare. I don't know why. I was THEM back in grade school. Oh God, I've turned into MY teachers. Shoot me now.
"Alright children, we're going to start the day with a few new ideas," I begin. "Does anybody want to tell me what "Style" is?" I decide it's best to dive right into it.
I receive nothing but a blank stare from everyone in the classroom. Until Majesty decides to step in. "It's what I have, and everyone wishes they could have!" He announced gleefully, standing on his chair.
"WRONG!" I yell at him. "Now sit the hell down Majesty." He sits down, embarrassed, while the nickname is whispered throughout the classroom.
A shy little kid sitting isolated from the rest of the class rubs his hands nervously, avoiding all eye-contact with me. I'm such a dick. "Hey kid!" I call, walking over to him. "Tell me what Style is. And don't give me a bullshit answer either."
The kid stared up at me with innocent blue eyes. "Gosh, sir, I don't know what the heck you are talking about."
I raise my arms triumphantly. "He doesn't know what Style is!" I announce to the class. I turn back to the kid. "THANK YOU, for your HONEST answer! What's your name?"
"M-my name's Simon," he mutters, cheeks glowing ever so slightly.
"Trevor! Excellent. Now Trevor, tell me, would you like to know what Style is?"
"I s-sure would, Mr. McCormick!" he says, over enthusiastically. I take an immediate liking to this kid already. He reminds me of someone, but, again, I have no idea. My memory's gone to shit ever since those damn lab experiments back in high school I was in to earn some cash.
I wonder how Stan and Kyle would react if they found out about this. My no-dying streak may take a turn for the worse, I reckon.
"Listen closely class, for what I am about to tell you will likely blow your premature little heads right off your premature little bodies," I say, illustrating an explosion with my arms to enhance my words.
"Trust me," I add. "Hurts like hell."
When I first thought of the concept of style, my head was too premature to handle it. I ended up being cleaned up by the janitor after school, only AFTER they realized that my exploded body WASN'T a cafeteria accident.
"Alright little dudes and ladies. Look at me. Who wants to tell me what the word 'gay' is?"
Fatass looks at me with disgust. "Rainbows."
"Not quite chubby, but you're getting there. The word gay has two meanings actually. The first one is the equivalent of happy. The second one is-" I point at this nerdy kid with huge glasses. He immediately jumps in. "To partake in a sexual relationship involving two or more males." The class immediately cracks up.
I smile inwardly. Little does that kid know I've just branded him gay for life just by pointing at him. But he seems pleased with his answer as he pushes his glasses up with his index finger and folds his arms in front of him.
I turn my attention back to Trevor in the corner. "You got something to add, kid?" I ask him, noticing his trembling lips and confused expression.
"Bu-but, how does that work, exactly?" Trevor says, clearly puzzled. "I mean - how do two guys - " he scrunches up his face as he tries to remember "-partake in a sexual relationship? You need a boy and girl for sex."
NOW I know who this kid reminds me of. Butters. So naive, yet good intentioned.
My thoughts are interrupted when Majesty decides to show off again. "IN THE BUTT, DUMBASS!" He roars across the room.
My ears cringe at Majesty's shrill yet-to-hit-puberty voice. I swivel to glare at him. "You're getting ahead of my lesson, boy," I mutter. Stupid kid CAN'T skip to mechanics yet, he'll ruin my first week of classes!
"Uh..." I acknowledge a little girl with braids.
"SANDY!" she almost screams, excited to have my attention.
"Right. What do YOU have to say about the word 'gay'?"
"MY DADDIES SAY THAT IT DOESN'T MATTER IF YOU'RE BOTH BOYS OR GIRLS, AS LONG AS YOU LOVE EACH OTHER!" She practically screams it at me, beaming the whole while. A few kids snicker.
"Uh, that's right… erm Darla " I say, a little taken aback by her boldness. "Gender doesn't really matter all that much." She smiles flirtatiously at me, then folds her hands neatly in her lap, waiting for me to continue.
I take a giant step away from her and focus my attention on the most hick-infested hillrat this school has ever seen. "What you think, Jim-Bob?" I venture, guessing one of the names, if not both, is probably right.
He smiles widely, revealing his missing teeth and horrible under bite. "My daddy says that it's not gay if you are blind-folded and the other guy calls you master."
"Jesus Christ!" I yelp, immediately seeking another kid.
"YOU!" I cry out, pointing at the girl with the curly blonde hair. "What do you know about gays?"
She ponders this for a moment. "I don't know very much about it, really, but I saw these people once holding signs that said 'god hates gays'. I didn't really believe it though. God loves everyone. That's what my mom told me."
I nod. "Your mom sounds like a smart lady. And open, too."
She gestures toward me with her index finger, telling me to come closer. As I lean in, she leans in toward me. "She's STILL waiting for your call, Mr. M," she tells me, and I choke on the air around me.
My brain scrambles for a rational answer. My wife! Of course. I quickly whisper back 'Tell your mommy I'm married.' The girl looks at me, forlorn.
"Oh. Because you would have made a great step-dad," she tells me, and I feel a pang of guilt hit me.
This is too awkward. These kids are so fucked up, they just haul them to school so that they can escape their shitty home lives. I gently pat her on the back, giving her a sort of closed-mouth smile, and continue talking. That's what you have to do when a student tells you you'd make a great step dad. Happens at least...twice a week.
"Okay, so we've got a lot of ideas on the word 'gay'," I press on. "But you still don't know how that relates to Style. All in due time. You see now class," I continue, pacing around the classroom. "People can be gay without even knowing it. Someone could live twenty years as a straight man, a womanizer even, yet fall completely in love with someone of the same sex."
"Bullshit." Fatty crosses his arms, smirking at me.
I narrow my eyes at the tub of lard. "Watch your mouth, tubby." He mouths the words "I hate you" and I return to the board. "Its true, ladies and gents. The condition...I named it Style. Accredited to the guys who give me the greatest example for this phenomenon.
"Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski were your average teenagers. They liked girls, tits, boobies and all, just as much as the next horny underdeveloped seventeen-year-old male. Their entire lives they had been best friends, never spending more than a few days apart from one another. And there, my children, was where it all started. Tell me, how many of you here have a best friend?"
All of the children reluctantly raise their hands, unsure of how I'm going to play with that ammo. Ha, they're right. I guarantee there is Style going on in THIS classroom. Call me crazy, Crazy Kenny, but I'm out to prove it, dammit.
"Trevor. You got a best friend?"
He looks up to me and gently shakes his head. Aw, shit. I better not pick on that kid anymore.
"Alright then. How about you, Darla?" I say, returning to Braids.
She giggles then shakes her head. "I'm Sandy," she told me.
"Okay then Braids, you got a best friend?" She pouts at me, but nods her head nonetheless.
"We've ALL got friends, McCormick, what's your point?" Majesty interrupts.
I grit my teeth. Pain in the ass. Delinquent. How can I get him out of this classroom? "My POINT is that everyone feels close to their best friend. Very close." I dive deeper. "Who here has a SUPER best friend?"
Boy Who Looks Like Stan throws up his hand, practically jumping out of his seat in the process too.
"You, what's your name?" I point at him.
My mouth gapes open. No. Fucking. Way.
"O...kay, Stan," I proceed. "You've got a super best friend. What do you guys like to do together?"
"We like to," he appears to be picking through his brain as he lists their interests, "burn stuff, play video games, throw rocks at cars, and have tea parties. I mean tea...fights."
"Yes. Tea FIGHTS. Of course," I say, amused. "You certainly are quite the man's man now aren't you?"
Young Stan eagerly bobs his head up and down. "I'm going to be a Snake Wrestler when I grow up!"
I cough. "Yes, well that's very nice. Tell me Stan, do you like girls?"
Young Stan ponders this. "Well, when I was a baby I thought they were stinky, but there's a girl who I brought a dandelion for once, and then she held my hand for the rest of the day. And she was pretty."
I can't resist. "Like a flower?"
Stupid Stan nods his head, unable to tear his smile off of me. I frown and find my way back to my lesson topic. "So Stanley here has a super best friend. A MALE super best friend, right?"
He nods, looking in the direction of the boy that I assume is his BFF.
His BFF is a skinny kid with light blonde hair. It's way too long and covers his eyes. It curls out a little at the end. Apparently it was the trend, but I never understood how vision impairment was fashionable.
"And what's your name?" I ask the other boy.
"What's it to you? You'll just call me something else," he informs me, eyes flickering underneath his way too long bangs. Oh hoh, so this kid has a bit of intelligence. "Just for the hell of it, tell me your name."
The boy bristles a little, but complies. "King Oedipus Del Lotta of the Land of Metamorphosis."
I can't help but laugh at the smirk that the sly little bastard has plastered on his face. I like him immediately. "Your name is King for short. I can see why Stan'd like you so much." This immediately earns a blush from King. I think I am stepping on unearthed feelings right there. Maybe it's a Stan thing...if that's your name, you've GOTTA have Style. 'Cept it wouldn't be Style as much as Sting.
"So, King," I entertain, "what would you say makes Stan your super BEST friend?" The kid fidgets nervously in his seat, looking over to Stan for approval before speaking.
"He knows how to have a good time," he answers, and I silently do a dance. This is music to my ears.
Stan interrupts excitedly. "This one time, we found a map, and we went treasure hunting, and then we got lost in the forest and couldn't find each other, and then we used our walkie-talkies to find each other, and then we couldn't get out, so then we slept together under a bush, and then when it was morning, we found our way back." Stan pauses to take a breath from that long-winded sentence.
"You slept together, did ya?" I muse, knowing full well I'm treading into potential argumentative territory. Something tells me Majesty is gonna call me out on it.
King eyes me strangely. "Well not like homos or nothin." Ha, that kid is clever. Sees where I'm going before I'm even there.
"Oh quit it already!" Majesty, as if on cue, announces. "We already know you're totally gay for Stan, so stop denying it!"
King looks shocked for a moment, but then a smirk quickly covers his face.
"Last time I checked I wasn't the one found with a pair of his underwear in my backpack," he says smugly.
Majesty's face goes whiter than mine when I've been severed in two.
"ITHOUGHTITWASMYSHIRT!" he screams, desperate to cover up any suspicion. Only it's raised more.
"Majesty, what in God's name are you talking about?" I ask.
"I...I...it was gym...I thought..." he stutters, and I can't help but stifle my laughter. Little Stan looks cool as a cucumber and not at all embarrassed.
"You thought what?" I say, determined to be a complete asshole and force the story out of him.
"II just thought… see, there was this thing … and … and …I was changing. I swear I just thought it was my shirt!" Majesty spits out, turning redder than a tomato.
"Those are some pretty small shirts you wear there, 'Majesty'," King retorts, clearly enjoying the boy's new nickname.
"I'M A SMALL BOY!" he finally admits, and I can tell that Majesty, though he's only a little kid, is going to have little man's syndrome his whole life. Hence the holier-than-thou attitude.
"Not THAT small," King mumbles, and he twists to face me once again, with his hands folded in front in true victory fashion. "Continue, Mr. M."
I smile at my favorite kid, and do as he tells me. "This actually illustrates my point perfectly. There is Style in all of us. As a man I knew once said, everyone's a little bit gay, whether we're 13 or 31, boy or girl, etcetera etcetera."
"Not me!" Young Stan protests, and Braids murmurs her agreement. Oh, Young Stan. How daft you are.
I instead choose to pick on Braids. "So Braids, who's your best friend?" I am going to get my point across to these kids even if I have to hammer it into their skulls. Literally.
What? It's been done to me.
"Her name is Brenda, and we have lived side by side for 3.5 years," she announces proudly. "She is my bestest friend in the whole wide world and I would do anything for her."
I decide to test her on that claim. "Anything, huh? Would you eat a bug for her?"
She frowns. "Well, Brenda wouldn't want me to eat a b-"
"Would you set yourself on fire?"
"Would you jump into a shark infested pool to save her life?"
"That wouldn't solve anything. I would die too."
"Well, you just said you'd do anything for her. Don't say something you don't mean."
Braids huffs at me.
I decide to approach from another angle. "Do you guys sleep over at each other's houses often?"
Her eyes light up. "Oh yeah! We bake popcorn, braid each other's hair, talk about boys, and watch romantic movies!" Ah, she pretty much conforms to every female stereotype. How typical.
"Do you ever find yourself wondering what it would be like if she was a boy?" I ask, not sure where this is heading.
Braids frowns at me. "If she was a boy then we wouldn't be friends. Because boys are smelly. If she was a boy, I'd have to be a boy too. And then we could both be smelly together. But I don't want to be a boy. Boys suck. I want to be a girl. And so does she."
I decide to pick that apart. "You're both happy girls? So you'd only ever want her to be a girl?"
"I don't want her to be a boy," she repeats, as if there are MORE options than being a boy or a girl.
"So you said you don't like boys. You like girls?" I venture. Somewhere, an angry parent's head is exploding, I just know it. What I'm gonna teach their kids...ha!
"I like girls a whole lot," she tells me.
"Gotcha!" King announces from behind me, surprising me. He is pointing triumphantly at Braids, and Stan is looking at him with a confused expression.
"What is gotcha?" Stupid Stan inquires. "So what if she likes girls? I think I like boys better than girls, so what's the difference? You can't throw rocks at things with girls."
King looks at him dumbly. "She just said she prefers girls." Stan looks confused still, but Braids looks furious.
"SHE JUST SAID SHE PREFERS GIRLS!" King says again with more force. "That means that Mr. M will talk about how girls want only girls and guys want only guys and this'll connect perfectly with whatever the hell he's trying to teach us," he says with little emotion. Shit, that kid is smart.
"I'M NOT A LESBIAN!" Braids screams at both King and me. King looks alarmed, and I hold my hands up in defense.
"Woah! Calm down there! No one's calling you a lesbian! All I'm trying to get at is that everyone is a little bit into the same sex, especially if they hold a special bond that is solely between them and no one else. Hence the super best friends idea, hence how style came about."
Clueless Stan looks like he's just clueing in. "Wait a minute, are you telling me that King … King and me…" he looks as though he's trying very hard to comprehend something way past his current mental state.
"WHAT I'M SAYING is that anyone can have a bond. And a connection is a connection, male or female. It is possible--and I will be illustrating how--this connection turns into more than just friendship. That will be the basis for the next few days," I tell them, and peer down at my watch. Only four more minutes left in this period. Thank God, these kids are driving me crazy. I am actually kinda starting to enjoy them. THAT drives me even more crazy.
"For homework tonight, I want you all to write a page about someone who you feel you have a special connection with, and I want you to try to explain that connection. I'll even go easy on you - it can be with anyone you know, male or female, family member, SUPER BEST FRIEND…" I wink at the class, but more specifically in the direction of King and Stan. "You can spend the last few minutes of class gathering your ideas."
I close my mouth, half expecting them to jump out of their seats to talk to their friends. That's what I would have done. Shit, nobody actually takes free-time in class to do what they are SUPPOSED to do. But, much to my surprise, they all rearrange their desks and seats to sit next to who I can only assume to be their friends, and I hear only homework discussion fill the air.
These kids are mutants.
I immediately notice majesty and tubby sitting together. Figures. Braids and who I can only assume to be Brenda. And then Stan and King, that's a given. I notice King saying something to Stan, and then he gets up from his chair and heads in my direction. He looks around nervously, then tugs on my sleeve to get my attention, and looks up at me. His hair flips back, and I notice a pair of startling crystal blue eyes. He stands on his toes, and I can barely hear him whisper.
"Don't tell him."
My eyes widen in surprise, and all I can whisper back is a shocked 'what?'
"Don't tell him," King repeats, slightly louder. He glances back at Stan. "I don't want him to know. Ever."
My eyes bug out of my skull. I can feel the empowerment that King has just given me, causing me to want to jump out of the window and run screaming down the street in satisfaction. Hell, HE knows that this has made my day. He's smart as hell, he probably knows I'm going to use this to fuel my discussion without actually using his name. I bend down and pat him on the shoulder. "I never said anything," I assure him, giving him a smile of approval.
A whisper of a smile traces across his features, and then he turns around, hair falling back to his eyes. I wonder if there is more to his hairstyle that it being trendy. I mean, the fact that it completely obliterates his eyes is a little too suspicious. King walks back to his seat, and I hear him mention something about clarifying the assignment to Stan.
The bell rings, and I've barely had enough time to regulate my breathing before the kids file out, clumps at a time. Stan and King, I notice, have not even made a move to get up. Matter of fact, their heads are together, posed deep in thought. God, I swear, Style happens in and around me, and I've got some kind of gay-dar that knows how to pick 'em. And I'm not even gay!
"Heyyyy baby," I hear a seductive voice come from the doorway. I look in towards the opening and notice my very sexy wife standing in the doorway, hands on her hips. She has got such a great body, I swear to god she is the thing that keeps me straight in a world of homosexuality.
"Hey sexy," I reply, smiling devilishly. "How was your first day with the brats?"
"Uh...we're still here!" King sneers, but quickly becomes absorbed in something Stan has written down. I laugh. I seriously love that kid.
"Ohmygod, Kenny, it was like sooo different today. It was like, the first day of school or something!" she tells me. Lord knows she's got a great rack, but that's about it. I think he felt guilty for not giving her more of a brain and decided to reward ME with her ahem assets.
"Sooooo are we going now?" Porschea huffs, impatient. I look down at the boys still deep in conversation.
I feel a pang of guilt as I break them up. "Sorry guys, but I have to lock up the room now, you'll have to go somewhere else."
King shrugs at me. "S'okay. We can go to our locker," he informs Stan.
Porschea is oblivious to the boys, but that's no big surprise. She's oblivious to anything that doesn't have a neon sign flashing "IMPORTANT". And me. She's always aware of me. Somehow I was deemed the lucky one in this situation. I stare at her chest, wondering just how many sixth grade boys consider her a TILF (Teacher I'd Like To Fuck). I nod to the boys as they breeze past me, I swear, about to hold hands.
My wife interrupts my thoughts. "Ohmygod, you know, those boys are soooo cute! I wonder what our kids will look like? Oh! And what do you want to do? Like, isn't it so funny that we both have the same period off together? I mean, what are the chances?"
"We requested it," I reminded her, amused.
"That was SUCH a great idea, Kenny. Now we can, like, totally hang out and chill and stuff. You want to have sex in the janitor's closet?" she asks me, and her voice decibel is loud enough that King turns around giving me an expression I can't quite decode. But I sure as hell don't take the time to try, because I'm grabbing Porshea's hand and guiding her to the nearest closet I know of.
End chapter one? What do you guys think? LET US KNOW BY LEAVING A REVIEW!