Chapter Text
Tommy began the slow, gruesome walk to his councilor's office. He knew why he was called up there. He always did. It was typically for some really stupid reason too.
He placed his hand on the doorknob, slowly pushing it down with a click, and he walked in. His counselor, Mrs. Dietrich, turned around in her chair to face Tommy. “Thomas! Good to see you. You know why you’re here, right?” Mrs. Dietrich gushed, ‘fuckin’ prick…’ Tommy thought. “Yes, ma’am, I- I know why I’-m here.”
Tommy's voice came out fairly quiet. It hurt to talk, so being quiet to lessen the pain was what he usually did, but with this bitch, he can't do that.. Because of the look on Mrs. Dietrich's face, he could only assume that it bothered her by how quietly he spoke.
“Good. Would you like to explain to me why you’re failing all of your classes?” Mrs. Dietrich pushed up her (dumb, may Tommy add) glasses as she spoke. Tommy sat there for a moment, contemplating if he should just get up and leave. He evetually decides against it.
“I- Uhm,, yes?” Tommy says softly, He was at quite a loss for words. “Okay. Well, explain it to me then?” she snapped, her voice laced with venom.”I- I just,” Tommy started before getting cut off by Mrs. Dietrich, “Thomas, stop stuttering. You’re not five. Speak clearly, It’s not that hard.'' Tommy ground his teeth, His stuttering isn't something he can’t just make go away. Is this ladie even qualified for this job?? Everything she did really made him think she wasn't.
"I-I’m sorry, I know I’m failing. s-some stuff i-is going on a-at home, and i-it’s stressful.” Tommy stuttered his way through the sentence. He hated his stutter. But that's what he gets for not speaking for months at a time, or, that's what he thinks- Hes not quiter sure why the stutter is there, Before he stopped talking his speach was prefectly fine, besides the 'colourful language' he often times used.
“Look, Thomas-” she was cut off, “I-it's Tommy…” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear. “Tommy, whatever, it’s your fault your grades are so low. Do you want people to look at you and think ‘oh that kid’s dumb, he can't pass his classes ’?” Tommy shook his head, how would they know I fail if I don't tell them? “No? That's what I thought. Because that will happen if you don’t do your work and pass.” Mrs. Dietrich yelled at Tommy, and continued to for the next 45 minutes. A waste of time if you ask him.
Tommy shrunk in on himself as Mrs. Dietrich continued to yell at him about this and that, and how he was ‘ungrateful’ for the education he was being given. He's not ungrateful, he's stressed. If he had the time at home to do the work, he would. But he barely has the time to rest, hence why he does it in school. He just wanted a safe space to be in, and a lot of kids call ‘home’ a safe space. But Tommy doesn't have a home, he has a house.
He would rather sit in a dark corner to rot, and not be bothered for the rest of his life. He liked it that way.
The counselor took her glasses off and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Thomas,” she seethed, “if I were you I would be ashamed. I would be beyond ashamed of myself.” She threw her hand up and sighed angrily. “Now get out of my office. I don’t want to see you here again.” Tommy nodded as he got up, grabbing his things and silently leaving, remembering to grab a hall pass on his way out of the front desk.
He was glad the lecture was over, but that also meant it was nearing the end of the day. Because of the 45-minute ‘lecture’, Tommy completely skipped his science class, again. He had one more class to attend, and that was English. He enjoyed his English class. (it was mainly the teacher, though; he was nice.)
The only bad thing that came with that class was the end. He had to walk home every day after English. And it sucked. It was currently the end of September in the UK, meaning it got cooler outside. It wasn't that cold, but still unpleasant to walk 30 minutes home in, especially when it was raining.
Tommy walked into his class right before the late bell rang, handing his teacher, Mr. Thomason his hall pass. “Crazy counselor again?” Tommy nodded. He and his teacher both hated Mrs. Dietrich; just another reason Tommy liked his English teacher. They both agreed that she was bad-shit crazy. (And honestly, who doesn't?)
Tommy took his seat. It was in the back, like all of his other classes. Tommy put in his earbuds and scribbled on his notepad. He had an A+ in this class, so no need to pay attention. His teacher let him do all the work at the beginning of the week, so he could do whatever. It was nice that his teacher understood his ‘family’ situation, only if every teacher was like that...
Easiest A of his life. I mean, for Prime's sake, HE SPEAKS THE LANGUAGE?? IS IT THAT HARD??
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Tommy collected his things as the last bell of the day rang. Everybody left just before Tommy did. He liked to take his time. Nothing he's rushing ‘home’ for. He gathered his phone, notebook, and hoodie and took his headphones out. “Hey Tommy, can I speak to you for a sec?” Mr. Thomason insisted, Tommy held a thumbs up, signifying a “yes.”
Another reason he likes Mr. Thomason, he's perfectly fine with Tommy's speech problems and him not talking. Tommy looked up at his teacher with his bag slung over his shoulder, “Just wanted to check up on ya. Got an E-mail from Mrs. Crazy saying you were failing. Which, uh, no? You’re not, but who knows man-” Tommy laughed at that statement. It was true, though!
“Anyway,” Mr. Thomason continued as he gathered his things into his briefcase. “I got a gift for you. I forgot to grab it out of my car and was wondering if you would walk with me to go get it? You don’t have to, of course,” Mr. Thomason exclaimed. Tommy scribbled something down on his paper. “I don’t mind, not like I’ve got anything to be doing lol” Tommy handed over the notepad. After a second, Mr. Thomason smiled at it. “Great! Let's get going then.”
They walked down the hall and down a few staircases to get to the front of the school and walked outside. Mr. Thomason was talking about something like stars, and there was a meteor shower soon. Tommy just enjoyed listening to him talk about something he liked. Didn't matter what it was.
Mr. Thomason clicked his car keys and opened the passenger door, pulling out a small brown gift bag with pastel blue tissue paper, and handed it to Tommy. At that moment, Tommy felt his heart melt. He had never received gifts. This was the first time. Kinda sad that his teacher was the one that was giving him the gift- but that's beside the fact.
“You can open it when you get home, if you want.6 and speaking of home since we’re already here, do you want me to drive you home?” Tommy thought for a moment, would his family be okay with his teacher dropping him off? What would they think? Would they think he was having his way with his teacher for a good grade? Would that be oka-
“Hellooo?” Mr. Thomason waved his hand in Tommy's face, leaning down to get to his height. Tommy shook his head and signed ‘sorry.’ Mr. Thomason understood small gestures like that. He took it upon himself to learn some sign for Tommy so they could communicate easier for simple answers
“No problem, kiddo, I don’t want to push it, but I don’t want you walking home in this weather. It looks like it’s about to rain.” Tommy signed “okay” and his teacher ruffled his hair. Mr. Thomason didn't mind driving him home; they lived in the same area after all. Not that big of a deal, right?