monaboyd_month | What Did You Learn? 1/?

Title: What Did You Learn? 1/?
Author: Phentalon
Rating: Just cursing for now but anyone who knows me will expect (and recieve) porn later on. And as is my tradition - reference to substance abuse.
Summary: Ok... don't groan but I wanted to give teacher/student a shot. Not in the kinky sense, which there isn't any of, but because the controversy surrounding techers and students in relationships interests me. So Dom is seventeen and taking his A levels, Billy is his English teacher. This chapter is mostly establishing them as characters. This will keep going up in the usual Monaboyd community. And I apologise in advance for the abused!Dom mode I'm in.

“Dom?” Was he listening?

“Dom.” He wasn’t listening.

“Dom!”

“Huh?” Dom turned his attention, which had been floating downriver and out the classroom window, back towards his teacher.

Billy sighed. Dom had just lost interest this year and it annoyed him. It tended to rile him when bright students couldn’t be arsed. “A word after class. Anyway, what Keats is trying to convey here is…”

Dom stood somewhat sulkily for an eighteen year old by Mr Boyd’s desk as the rest of his classmates piled and chattered out the door and into the flowing hallway. Mr Boyd sat up on his desk. Lecture time.

“You’ve always been so bright and interested, and you did so well at AS level. What’s going on this year?”

Yeah, like he was going to tell a teacher. He just wants to pry like the rest of them so they can get his ‘standards’ back up so it looks good for them.

“Dunno. I’m doing the work aren’t I.” He said, more grumpily then he felt. Billy sighed again.

“Yes. Barely. But you can do better. You used to seem so inspired in discussions and you were always the most heated in arguing your point. You’ve stopped caring. Can you see why to a teacher who cares about their subject as well that that would be frustrating? And interested student is so rare…” He thought he’d shut up there before he creeped Dom out.

Mr Boyd was starting to sound a bit weird. “Um…” he failed to find a real response to this. “I’m gonna miss my bus, can I go?”

“Yes.” Defeated, Billy began putting his stuff together, turning away as Dom left the room feeling a bit bad – he had enjoyed English very much and Mr Boyd did make it interesting, welcomed opinions and argument, instead of just telling them what to put in essays. He ran down to the lay-by, his bag banging the backs of his knees, and jumped on his bus without a second to spare, the usual grumpy old driver looking as if Dom had kept him waiting for hours.

Panting, he sat down and plugged into his MP3 player, staring at the grey sky – so much for spring. The clanking old vehicle shook to a halt to let a car out of the school car park and he saw Mr Boyd, looking like he was singing along to music in his car. Dom laughed, earning himself a frightened look from a year seven in a particularly crooked tie.

“Hey Dom, how long’s your essay?”

“Oh FUCK.” Elijah looked somewhat taken aback at this response. Dom had forgotten all about the Atonement essay due in today. It was sitting as a title and half an introduction on his computer – he’d hurriedly saved it as he heard stomped footsteps towards his room. “Buggerbuggerbugger.”

“Why do you think you can get away with not doing the work when everyone else manages? I know you must have responsibilities outside school but so do the rest of the class!” Dom was studying his shoes angrily. “And don’t act like this is not your problem, this is your maths A level not mine! I don’t care if you fail if you don’t!”

Well shut up then… shut up shut up shut up!

“Look at me!” Dom could only bring his eyes up to her collar. He hated maths. He was bad at it, and it hadn’t been his choice to carry it on to sixth form. It had been his idea. Dom was going to be a lawyer. Apparently. “Are you even listening?”

“Yes.” He mumbled.

“Oh, get out.” Dom barrelled from the room, face flaming and head down. He crashed straight into someone, paper flying from his folder like erratic birds.

Billy had so much work to do. He had year eleven mocks to mark, year ten coursework essays, year eight ‘Animal Farm’ obituaries… he was going mad. He walked swiftly down the hallway. He wanted to get home quickly, so he had time to listen to Pink Floyd’s second album twice and smoke half a joint. He almost laughed out loud at himself; the other guys in his department were hurrying home to wives and girlfriends. He was doing it for music and pot. He was pathetic, basically. He was interrupted from his rapid sink into self-pity by being crashed into.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sor-” Dom looked up at a surprised Mr Boyd. “I’m really sorry…” And he crouched to collect his work hurriedly, even more embarrassed, even the tips of his ears hot.

“No problem Dom. Late for your bus?” His teacher adjusted his slightly mauled shirt, but not irritably, and came down to his level and swept some paper into a pile.

“Oh fuck! Mph!” he clapped a hand over his mouth, now feeling like he had a fever from the neck up. To his surprised Mr Boyd only laughed. “Sorry…”

“No problem, again.” Billy absently looked at the page he was holding. There was a drawing on it. It scared him. There were bleeding things, dying and dead things, screaming things, raging things… he made some vague noises and gave it back. Dom snatched it and ran out the front door, khaki shirt flying as his shoes slapped the lino floor.

Dom was mortified. He stopped on the pavement, stuffing his drawings back into the folder. Mr Boyd was going to think he was a fucking homicidal maniac. He looked around for his bus, unaware he was tapping his fingers agitatedly. It was gone.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!” He was going to be late home. The house was messy; he’d only be home minutes before four thirty, so it would still be that way when he came home. He was fucked.

My Boyd walked slowly out of school, hoping Dom would be gone, because he’d probably be embarrassed. It was a very good bit of art but… Dom didn’t strike him as a death-fetishised Goth type. There was more to it then that.

But as he came out into the thick dusty afternoon Dom was stood on the pavement, cussing and twitching. Really twitching. His left hand was going a million miles an hour, fisting and flexing and smacking against his leg.

“Dom?” Dom jumped out of his skin. “You alright?”

“Yes. Fine. Missed my bus.” Dom was talking in sharp little monosyllables, his mind obviously elsewhere.

“Oh. You live far?” It sounded stupid – but he really didn’t want to leave him in this agitated state.

“Um… yes, a bit.” Dom looked sideways at his teacher – concern for the sake of concern rather then for the sake of coursework or essays wasn’t something he was used to from a teacher. “Kentish Town.”

“Me too… I could give you a lift, if you want.” Dom looked a bit nonplussed. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to lecture him for twenty minutes where he couldn’t escape.

The only way to find out was to accept, so he did.