*Expects teenagers to be in high level classes while maintaining good grades, join plenty of extracurricular activities and be in honor societies, and students don't ever have enough homework and are always exhausted so let's have teachers give them work all day everyday to keep them focused, they should also have a job by possibly sophomore year working ridiculous hours so they can buy a car and start saving for college so they don't end up in student debt, then of course you should have a social life, but don't forget to apply for all those scholarships because the last thing the government wants is money out of your pockets, but of course volunteering in the free time that's just lying around looks awesome on resumes so let's just throw that in there, and remember that after all that you can totally find a job and an apartment so you'll be completely set after college.*
You sigh and slip your heels on. Open house was always the worst. You had already been to school for a few weeks, so the newness had worn off, but the parents were still shocked. You taught primarily freshman English, so the parents were so excited and very involved. You smooth your black pencil skirt one last time before stepping out.
Philip glares at his parents. They adopted him almost a year ago and decided that they needed to make up for the thirteen years they missed. “You promise you won’t embarrass me?”
The four men laugh slightly before Alex speaks up. “Promise.”
Philip rolls his eyes as his dads walk out.
You put on a fake smile as the parents of your third-period class walk in. You watch the couples try to keep each other in line. Most of them were in their forties or fifties, so the romance had kinda worn off. You were about to start when four shockingly young men walk in. “I told you it was 103, Alex,” a man with a French accent mutters.
The man who you assume was Alex responds by gently slapping his arm. You watch as the man with long, curly hair looks over your figure, earning him a punch in the arm from the tall, well-built man, who whispers something in his ear, causing the shorter man to blush.
You clap your hands together and begin your presentation, which you finish early. “Any questions?”
The French man slightly raises his hand. “Oui. Our son is incredibly intelligent. Is he in the right class?”
You laugh slightly. “Well, I am also certified to teach multiple AP classes, so I like to think that my advanced freshman English class will suit him. Any other questions?”
You almost don’t hear the tall man whisper, “Can I have your number?”
You laugh slightly and take other questions. As the parents walk out, you watch the four young men walk out together, wishing you could join them.
Parent-teacher conferences were the worst hours of your life. You had to listen to the parents of terrible children tell you that you were just a terrible person, and the parents of good children ask what they can do to improve.
“Does anyone have a conference slip for me?” you ask a few minutes before the bell rings. Philip Hamilton slowly walks over to you.
“I, uh, my dads are coming. I’m sorry.”
You take the slip and give him a confused look. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“It’s just- they’re loud, and the four of them tend to catch people off guard.”
You suddenly remember the four men who walked in on open house. “Philip, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just surprised they want to meet with me. You are doing wonderfully.”
He smiles slightly. “You aren’t going to judge me based on my parents.”
You shake your head. “No, no, of course not!”
“I understand, but I can assure you that you have nothing to worry about. The bell is going to ring soon.”
He nods slightly and goes back to his desk.
You sit behind your desk, waiting for the next parents walk in. The four men look at you, a hint of recognition when you see them. You smile and tell them to pull up chairs.
“Philip’s parents, correct?”
The short man with his dark hair pulled back responds, “Yes, ma’am.”
You smile. “I must say that your son is doing fabulously in my class; I don’t really have anything to talk to you about. Do you have any concerns?”
The man with the French accent speaks up. “How has he been? I know that we just moved here and that our family is a bit different than most…”
You look down. “It really isn’t my place to get into a student’s personal life, but he did apologize multiple times before you came. He was worried about how I would react. I can assure you that he had no reason to worry and that my door will always be open.”
The tallest man with the beanie looks at you. “He’s embarrassed by us?”
The short man looks at his husband. “Oh. Thank you for your time, Ms. (L/N).”
Tonight was a long night. You knew that from the moment Trump got the nomination. You are a political analyst for MSNBC. Currently, you’re sitting behind a desk as polling results roll across the screen. You and your co-workers for the night read off the results. You look over at Chuck, who is reading off the states that are too close to call. “Arizona, New Hampshire, and Michigan. Michigan, if you’ll remember was one of the key states for Trump’s success and has almost always voted democratically.” You roll your eyes, believing that Clinton will get the White House. Although she isn’t the ideal candidate in your opinion, she is much more qualified, and if she were elected, people wouldn’t fear for their lives.
The final results roll across the screen at almost 2 in the morning. You look over at Lester, who is just getting the results. He hands them over to you, causing you to nearly faint at the sight of them. You take a deep breath. “Ladies and gentlemen, the next president of the United States is Donald Trump. With 276 votes in the electoral college, Trump takes the presidency.” You sigh and wrap up the show, ready to go home.
“That’s a wrap!” one of the people offstage says. You immediately get ready to leave, not wasting any time talking to others. As you walk back to your apartment, you start crying. You think of your friend who just came out to you, now they can’t. Your neighbor, who happens to be Muslim, is already terrified to wear her hijab. Even your friends of color are being shouted at, now you’re scared for them.
You open your apartment door, to see John staring there with open arms. “Come here, baby.”
You rush over and start sobbing in his arms. You feel him start crying, too. The two of you have always been social justice warriors. You can’t count how many times you went to sit-ins and other peaceful protests with him. Neither of you can see why someone who is so offensive is going to be president.
You both head off to bed. The tears streaming down your faces are ignored; they seem like a part of you, just like your eyes or noses. You go to the bathroom to wipe off your makeup. John follows you, running his arms down yours. You let your hair down and start shaking your head to loosen the hair that has been up since this afternoon. When you turn back, you see John grimacing in pain.
“You hit me with your hair. I never realized how close the sensation of hair hitting your face was to the sensation of needles hitting your face,” he mutters, causing you to laugh. “Welcome to marriage, sweetheart.”
He kisses your forehead. “Sleep?”
You groan and fall face first onto your bed. “Always.”