Sequel: I Won't Give Up ›
A Blend of Fear & Passion
Greg
Oh, that boy makes my blood boil. I just wanted to throw everything I could at him and see just how good he really was. I was seething by the end of the day, and I'm sure I was as scary as I felt. Students steered clear of me as I stormed through the hallways with a vengeance. I saw Dawson at the front of the school, his cellphone in hand.
Walking out of the building, I walked over to him, backing him up to the nearest tree. "Oh, Andrews. You are messing with the wrong fucking teacher." He only smirked, making my anger burn white hot.
"You know what, Greg? Stop being jealous," he replied, tapping my cheek and squeezing his way out of the confined space he was in. "Tomorrow, let's see if your vocals are as good as your dance moves. Sound good, Phillips?" he called as he got into his car and slipped on his sunglasses.
I could barely concentrate on my thoughts, and in my anger, I punched the tree. Bark flew off a little, and I barely registered the pain in my knuckles. Taking a few deep breaths, I walked back into the school to retrieve my things, my anger for Dawson barely settling down.
The Next Morning
With dance lessons, I get out anger. With singing, I get out every other feeling I might have in me. Dawson casually sat with the rest of the class, his small smile never faltering.
"In dance, I make your bodies hurt. In singing, I make you lose your voice," I said, meeting the gazes of every student who wasn't Dawson. "I want you out of your comfort zones. If you're a bass, sing soprano. If you're a mezzo-soprano, sing bass. Push your limits."
I went on, and when I finally had them start singing, I realized the class was all tone-deaf. All except Dawson. I looked at him with a look of red-hot hatred, and he just raised his eyebrows. "I want you dead!" I whispered as I closed in on his face. "I want you in the ground."
"No, you don't," he replied, causing the class to gasp.
"Oh, Mr. Big Shot, huh? Well, listen here, jackass," I said, my eyes practically popping out of my head. "This ... is my domain. I will crush you."
Dawson got in my face, a challenging gleam in his eyes. "Bring it, Phillips. The ball is in your court. I hope you have some talent to bring, because you may just get served. Again."
He then grabbed his bag and walked out. I stared at the door for a long moment before I looked around. "Why the hell are you all in here still?" I yelled, causing them to grab their things and scurry out the door. Of all the students I've taught, Dawson sure as hell had a backbone.
For the first time in my entire teaching career, I felt admiration towards him, but I would be damned if I allowed him to see it.
Walking out of the building, I walked over to him, backing him up to the nearest tree. "Oh, Andrews. You are messing with the wrong fucking teacher." He only smirked, making my anger burn white hot.
"You know what, Greg? Stop being jealous," he replied, tapping my cheek and squeezing his way out of the confined space he was in. "Tomorrow, let's see if your vocals are as good as your dance moves. Sound good, Phillips?" he called as he got into his car and slipped on his sunglasses.
I could barely concentrate on my thoughts, and in my anger, I punched the tree. Bark flew off a little, and I barely registered the pain in my knuckles. Taking a few deep breaths, I walked back into the school to retrieve my things, my anger for Dawson barely settling down.
The Next Morning
With dance lessons, I get out anger. With singing, I get out every other feeling I might have in me. Dawson casually sat with the rest of the class, his small smile never faltering.
"In dance, I make your bodies hurt. In singing, I make you lose your voice," I said, meeting the gazes of every student who wasn't Dawson. "I want you out of your comfort zones. If you're a bass, sing soprano. If you're a mezzo-soprano, sing bass. Push your limits."
I went on, and when I finally had them start singing, I realized the class was all tone-deaf. All except Dawson. I looked at him with a look of red-hot hatred, and he just raised his eyebrows. "I want you dead!" I whispered as I closed in on his face. "I want you in the ground."
"No, you don't," he replied, causing the class to gasp.
"Oh, Mr. Big Shot, huh? Well, listen here, jackass," I said, my eyes practically popping out of my head. "This ... is my domain. I will crush you."
Dawson got in my face, a challenging gleam in his eyes. "Bring it, Phillips. The ball is in your court. I hope you have some talent to bring, because you may just get served. Again."
He then grabbed his bag and walked out. I stared at the door for a long moment before I looked around. "Why the hell are you all in here still?" I yelled, causing them to grab their things and scurry out the door. Of all the students I've taught, Dawson sure as hell had a backbone.
For the first time in my entire teaching career, I felt admiration towards him, but I would be damned if I allowed him to see it.