Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Give 'Em Hell Kid
I packed away my stuff and began to leave the classroom, passing by the new teacher's desk. His head was down, resting on his forearms. His black hair had fallen forward, so I couldn't see his face. I thought he must have been asleep, so I crept past as quietly as I could, closing the door
softly behind me.
As I made my way to first period, I began to think about Mr Way. He was different. My school was old fashioned, and the teachers in it matched. They all walked around wearing brown jackets, ties and sensible shoes. Most of them had grey hair, wore glasses and talked about history as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. The women teachers were almost as bad, their hair tied up in tight buns and their heeled shoes click-clicking on the polished parquet floors. All so very stereotypically teacher-like. But Mr Way was different. I'd been able to pick that up from just the short time I'd been in the room with him. He still wore a smart jacket, but his was very unteacher-like. It was fitted perfectly to his skinny frame, and it was made from a soft velvet material. His hair wasn't short and generic, it was dark and unruly, and his eyes were bright and wild, so different from the cold, tired eyes of all the other people at this school. He'd never survive a term here. Never. I'd reached my classroom now, and pushed open the door, less than enthusiastic for the lessons ahead.
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I began to become a bit more positive as the end of the day drew near. I had art last period, and I wanted to see how the new teacher coped with my class.
I was surprised when I arrived to find that everyone was in their normal seats (I'd expected the whole " new teacher doesn't know the seating plan " thing) and was chatting quietly amongst themselves, working hard on their work. "Sorry I'm late." I said as I walked to my place. " No problem at all." Mr Way said, rooting round in his satchel for something. I sat at my place, ready to start the lesson.
" Now, hi. I'm Mr Way, I'm your new art teacher. If you need any help, just ask me."
Everyone nodded, then we returned to work. I couldn't help but stare. He'd earned everyone's respect, even with that tiny introduction. I tried to forget about what had just happened and gripped my pencil. I began sketching in a few details onto the rough sketches I'd done this morning.
"I like it."
I jumped, the quiet voice from behind me startling me. " Oh, you scared me...I mean, thanks." I stammered, suddenly feeling awkward.
" Here, gimme your pencil a sec..." He moved next to me and held out his hand. I gave him the pencil and waited. He gripped it between his fingers and began to draw, lightly and effortlessly, mimicking my style perfectly. I couldn't stop looking at his hands, they were so different from Mr Ailsbury's. His had been calloused and heavy, worn with age and endless painting, but Mr Way's were bony, light and quick. They looked so soft too, real artist's hands. " There you go, can you see how that makes they light look so much softer?" he said softly, really close to my ear. I nodded, finally taking my eyes off his hands and onto my drawing in front of me. He was right, it looked so much better. "Thanks sir..." I said, almost in a whisper. " No problem, Hayley. Keep up the good work." He replied, walking away to the next table.
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The phone rang as I was finishing up some english homework. I dashed to it, not wanting dad to get there before me.
" Hello?"
" Hi honey, it's mum.
oh, great time to call mum.
" Oh hi. What's up?"
" nothing much, I just wanted to call and say hi."
" Oh right. Hi."
" Who's on the phone? Is it your mother? Let me speak to her. I want to speak to your mother, now." dad came in behind me, his eyes red and hair messed up.
" I don't want to speak to your father, Hayley. Tell him I had to go. Bye darling. mum said, and hung up. I sighed and put the phone down. " She hung up dad. She's gone." I said, turning to him. Anger spread across his face. "She what? I wanted to speak to her! The bitch! Give me the phone, I'll call her expensive phone and shout so loudly she can hear me all around her huge new house. I'll let her know exactly what I think of her brand new husband too!" He raged, reaching out for the phone. I tried to grab hold of his arms, tried to push him back into the armchair behind him. " Dad, calm down. She had to go, that's all. It's okay, she'll call back soon, I'm sure." I soothed, still holding on to his wrists. He seemed to calm down then, his tensed muscles relaxing. I let go tentatively, backing away slowly. " I think I'll go to bed now dad. Night."
" Night Hay." dad muttered, staring into space. I left him there and went upstairs, putting on my pajamas and getting into bed. A few minutes later, I heard the clink of bottles in the cupboard. The chime of glass on glass. He was pouring himself a whiskey. I rolled my eyes and sighed. How did he end up like this?
softly behind me.
As I made my way to first period, I began to think about Mr Way. He was different. My school was old fashioned, and the teachers in it matched. They all walked around wearing brown jackets, ties and sensible shoes. Most of them had grey hair, wore glasses and talked about history as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. The women teachers were almost as bad, their hair tied up in tight buns and their heeled shoes click-clicking on the polished parquet floors. All so very stereotypically teacher-like. But Mr Way was different. I'd been able to pick that up from just the short time I'd been in the room with him. He still wore a smart jacket, but his was very unteacher-like. It was fitted perfectly to his skinny frame, and it was made from a soft velvet material. His hair wasn't short and generic, it was dark and unruly, and his eyes were bright and wild, so different from the cold, tired eyes of all the other people at this school. He'd never survive a term here. Never. I'd reached my classroom now, and pushed open the door, less than enthusiastic for the lessons ahead.
------------------
I began to become a bit more positive as the end of the day drew near. I had art last period, and I wanted to see how the new teacher coped with my class.
I was surprised when I arrived to find that everyone was in their normal seats (I'd expected the whole " new teacher doesn't know the seating plan " thing) and was chatting quietly amongst themselves, working hard on their work. "Sorry I'm late." I said as I walked to my place. " No problem at all." Mr Way said, rooting round in his satchel for something. I sat at my place, ready to start the lesson.
" Now, hi. I'm Mr Way, I'm your new art teacher. If you need any help, just ask me."
Everyone nodded, then we returned to work. I couldn't help but stare. He'd earned everyone's respect, even with that tiny introduction. I tried to forget about what had just happened and gripped my pencil. I began sketching in a few details onto the rough sketches I'd done this morning.
"I like it."
I jumped, the quiet voice from behind me startling me. " Oh, you scared me...I mean, thanks." I stammered, suddenly feeling awkward.
" Here, gimme your pencil a sec..." He moved next to me and held out his hand. I gave him the pencil and waited. He gripped it between his fingers and began to draw, lightly and effortlessly, mimicking my style perfectly. I couldn't stop looking at his hands, they were so different from Mr Ailsbury's. His had been calloused and heavy, worn with age and endless painting, but Mr Way's were bony, light and quick. They looked so soft too, real artist's hands. " There you go, can you see how that makes they light look so much softer?" he said softly, really close to my ear. I nodded, finally taking my eyes off his hands and onto my drawing in front of me. He was right, it looked so much better. "Thanks sir..." I said, almost in a whisper. " No problem, Hayley. Keep up the good work." He replied, walking away to the next table.
------------
The phone rang as I was finishing up some english homework. I dashed to it, not wanting dad to get there before me.
" Hello?"
" Hi honey, it's mum.
oh, great time to call mum.
" Oh hi. What's up?"
" nothing much, I just wanted to call and say hi."
" Oh right. Hi."
" Who's on the phone? Is it your mother? Let me speak to her. I want to speak to your mother, now." dad came in behind me, his eyes red and hair messed up.
" I don't want to speak to your father, Hayley. Tell him I had to go. Bye darling. mum said, and hung up. I sighed and put the phone down. " She hung up dad. She's gone." I said, turning to him. Anger spread across his face. "She what? I wanted to speak to her! The bitch! Give me the phone, I'll call her expensive phone and shout so loudly she can hear me all around her huge new house. I'll let her know exactly what I think of her brand new husband too!" He raged, reaching out for the phone. I tried to grab hold of his arms, tried to push him back into the armchair behind him. " Dad, calm down. She had to go, that's all. It's okay, she'll call back soon, I'm sure." I soothed, still holding on to his wrists. He seemed to calm down then, his tensed muscles relaxing. I let go tentatively, backing away slowly. " I think I'll go to bed now dad. Night."
" Night Hay." dad muttered, staring into space. I left him there and went upstairs, putting on my pajamas and getting into bed. A few minutes later, I heard the clink of bottles in the cupboard. The chime of glass on glass. He was pouring himself a whiskey. I rolled my eyes and sighed. How did he end up like this?
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