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banannabethchase · 1 year

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matt jackson/adam page, meet cute AU where adam is matt's kid's teacher

...Anon you found my kryptonite. Any school AU will take me down.

Meet the Teacher - Also on AO3

Adam's got a parent teacher conference with one of the trickiest parents in the district: Mr. Jackson.

This became over 2k words. I. Okay. This might as well happen.

Adam takes a deep breath and peeks out the door to his classroom again. No sign of anyone coming down the hallway, no indication of Bailey’s dad.

“Page!”

Adam jumps and almost crashes into his bookshelf. “Jesus, Silver, what is wrong with you?”

Mr. Silver, the P.E. teacher, grins at him. “You looked tense.”

“I am tense,” Adam says through gritted teeth. “And thanks, by the way. Scaring me definitely helps.”

Silver shrugs. “Happy to help.”

“Thought that was you.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “Oh, god, not you, too.”

Mr. Cole swaggers down the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets. “What, not happy to see me?”

“I’m not happy to see anyone right now,” Adam admits. “I have a parent/teacher conference that I’m pretty worried is going to suck.”

Cole pauses, leaning against the bulletin board across from Adam.

“Watch my kid’s personal narratives,” Adam says, trying to sound stern. Cole does shuffle out of the way, though.

“Why are you so freaked out?” Cole asks. “The parents love you. Moms want you to fulfill their weird little fantasies and fuck them on your desk, all that.”

“Okay, well, I wish I’d never heard that come out of your mouth,” Adam grumbles. “No, it’s – it’s a Jackson.”

Cole’s face falls. “Oh, dude. Good fuckin’ luck.”

“Right?!” Adam half yells. “His kid is in second grade and he’s already been to fifteen goddamn school board meetings. I didn’t even know there were that many to go to.”

“Talking about Bailey’s dad?” Ms. Shida says, poking her head out of the art classroom. “Good luck is right. When she was in kindergarten, he asked me why she didn’t get an A on all her assignments.”

Adam stares at her. “Don’t you grade on demonstration?”

“Yeah. E, S, N, U. She was getting E’s and he didn’t give me enough time to explain it before he was yelling at me.”

Adam whines a little and drops his forehead against the wall. “Oh, god, it’s only the fourth week of school. How am I already getting harassed by a parent 18 days in?” He exhales and jumps a little. “Okay. It’ll be fine. I’ll stay calm, and it’ll be fine.”

“Sure, buddy,” Cole says, clapping Adam on the shoulder. “Take it from the greater Adam. Survival is the goal.”

“I – shut up,” Adam says, pushing off Cole’s hand. “But. Uh. Thanks? I guess?”

In the hopes of ignoring the rest of his colleagues, Adam shoots a text to their receptionist to walk Bailey’s dad to his door when he gets there. He does a terrible job of getting paperwork done as he waits. The clock ticks on until 4:00 on the dot, when Adam hears a knock on the door and sees the receptionist, Mr. Schiavone, peek his head in.

“Hi there, Mr. Page,” Mr. Schiavone says, betraying none of the anxiety in his voice that Adam can read in his eyes. “Mr. Jackson is here?”

“Bailey’s dad,” comes a voice from behind him.

And in steps a man who doesn’t even remotely match the person Adam had conjured up in his mind. Long hair tied back in a half bun, tight white jeans, giant brown eyes, and a hesitant smile. Nothing like the half balding whiner in a lumpy sweater and khakis he’d imagined.

Adam is in trouble.

“Hi there, Mr. Jackson,” he says, standing up from his small group table. He always does parent conferences back at that table. It feels more personal. He sticks out his hand as Mr. Jackson comes by. “So great to meet you. We missed you at meet the teacher night.”

Mr. Jackson shakes his hand firmly, smiling. “Bailes was sick -trust me, you did not want her puking all over the floor.”

“Been there, done that,” Adam laughs.

He nods to Mr. Schiavone, who quietly slides out of the room.

“Please,” Adam says, sliding into one of the kid chairs at the back table, “have a seat. I should probably get some adult sized chairs, but, for now, enjoy the wiggle seats.”

Mr. Jackson perches expertly on the seat, then spins a little. “Oh, I like these,” he laughs. “Bailey likes them, too?

“Actually,” Adam says, and he can’t believe how quietly the conversation opened up, “that’s one thing I’d like to check in with you about.”

Mr. Jackson’s face darkens. “Did you bring me here to tell me my kid’s doing something wrong?”

“No!” Adam says. “Absolutely not. Bailey tries hard all the time. In everything. I can see how hard she’s trying, and that’s why I wanted to speak with you.” Adam takes a deep breath. These conversations never get easier. “I’m noticing that Bailey is having some difficulty transitioning from activity to activity, interacting with her peers, and comprehending texts.” He waits a second.

“Are you – you see it too?” Mr. Jackson’s face drops all the tension. “You think my Bailey might be Autistic?”

“I – yes,” Adam says. “She has some many characteristics, and I want to make sure we can help her –”

“Finally!” Mr. Jackson says, throwing his hands in the air as he leans back and half falls off of the wiggle seat. He catches himself before falling, like he knew it would happen. His hands are going everywhere. “Mr. Page, let me tell you, I have spent the past two years trying to get somebody to hear me when I’ve told them something is up with my girl. She’s – Bailey’s amazing, but I can tell she’s struggling when she comes home. I can tell. And the doctor told me Autism is only in boys, and Principal Khan told me it was too early to make that decision –”

Adam frowns. “Principal Khan said what?”

“I asked about it last year, around November,” Mr. Jackson says. He’s calmed down a bit, but his eyes are just the tiniest bit wet. “I told him I was seeing something with her, but her teacher disagreed with me. Principal Khan said we needed to wait.” He wrinkles his nose. “He and the teacher said she was too young to make any decisions.”

Adam pauses. The next question needs to be carefully asked, expertly angled so no one could say he disparaged a coworker.

“That Ms. Baker’s a real douchebag,” Mr. Jackson continues. Adam doesn’t even get a chance to get a word in. “And I know it’s probably, like, not cool to speak that way about your kid’s teacher, but, god, what a jerk! She literally said Bailey was fine because she wasn’t a behavior concern. That we needed to prioritize.”

Adam’s the one to half fall off of his seat at that one. “She said what?”

“I know, right?” Mr. Jackson says. He shakes his head and his hair is, well, unmissably soft. Adam feels like one of the kids with the way he wants to reach out and touch it. “Like, and in front of the principal. He looked so baffled about it that he just sort of ended the conversation with the plan that we would look into it in second grade.” He shrugs. “So, when we got that first progress report back, I asked for a conference.” He sheepishly pulls out his phone and presses a button. “I, uh. I kind of was recording this whole conversation. I was scared you were going to be another person here who was writing off my girl.”

Adam stares at the recording and runs back everything. He didn’t say anything negative, did he? Just asked questions?

“Sir,” Adam says, “I fully understand how frustrating that may have been for you. Is there a chance, though, that you could delete that recording?”

“Oh, duh, of course.” He turns the phone toward Adam and selects the only recording dated today, and hits delete. “I wasn’t actually going to use it against you unless you were awful.”

“Thank…you? I think?” Adam says.

Mr. Jackson nods. “So, um. What are you thinking for Bailes?”

The two of them speak for half an hour, coming up with a support system for Bailey until the referral process goes through, and Adam finds Mr. Jackson moving closer and closer.

“Oh, and can you add something about how to handle friendships?” Mr. Jackson asks. When he reaches over to point at it, he lets his arm fall right against Adam’s. “She’s having trouble understanding that she has to ask a friend to play, that they might not know she wants to if she’s on the other side of the playground.”

“Of course,” Adam says, nodding. His heart is racing, just a little bit. He can smell whatever shampoo Mr. Jackson uses. It smells like green apples. Like candy.

“Perfect,” Mr. Jackson says. “God, Mr. Page, I don’t know what I would have done if Bailey had gotten somebody else for a teacher.”

Adam couldn’t prove it, but he’s pretty sure Mr. Jackson is fluttering his eyelashes at him. He’s got gorgeous eyes. “Sure thing,” he says, clearing his throat.

“Right.” Mr. Jackson pushes back.

“You can call me Adam, though,” he says automatically. “You don’t – Mr. Page is for the kids. You can call me Adam.”

Mr. Jackson’s face breaks into a grin. He’s so goddamn pretty. “Alright then, Adam. You can call me Matt.” He reaches out to shake Adam’s hand, and their fingertips linger just this side of too long as they pull away.

“It was good to meet you, Matt,” Adam says. He feels…anxious. In a very good way. “Glad to be of help.”

The next morning, Adam finds himself primping a little bit. There’s no reason, none at all, that he would run into Mr. Jack – Matt at school today. Bailey takes the bus. He won’t see Matt.

But he can’t help but add a little extra effort to his morning routine.

“Looking good, Mr. Page,” Silver says. He wiggles his eyebrows as Adam makes his way into his spot at the bus ramp.

“Oh, shut up,” Adam grumbles. “Why can’t you be normal?”

“Not my vibe,” he says, shrugging. “How’d it go yesterday with Jackson?”

Adam relays the events, leaving out the smell of Matt’s hair or how warm it was when their arms touched.

“You’re a parent whisperer,” Silver says, shaking his head. “You got through to the scariest dad in the area.”

“I know, dude,” Adam says, sipping his coffee. “It was like night and day. Jackson was totally – well, he wasn’t chill, on any level. But he’s just been worried about his kid and Bailey was stuck with Baker last year.”

Silver winces. “Well that’d fuck up any kid, wouldn’t it.”

Adam nods, sipping his coffee. At least the coffee is cold, out here in the summer heat as he waits for the bus riders to come in. “I just hope he likes me.”

The first bus opens his doors, and they hear “Mr. Page!”

A tiny brunette ball of energy careens into Adam before he can focus, and only just manages to angle his tumbler full of coffee away from the projectile before it spills.

“Is that Miss Bailey,” Adam says, hugging around her shoulders. “Missed you all weekend, munchkin!”

“Daddy says to give you this.” Bailey, like always, gets herself tangled in her backpack straps for a second before calming down and pulling it off. She dives into her backpack and pulls out her weekend folder, then pauses, looking a bit confused. “Give you now?” she asks.

“Not right now,” Adam says gently. “Let’s wait until weekend folder time.”

“Okay.” Bailey continues to dig until she pulls something out of her bag with a Jackson-style dramatic, “Aha!” She shoves a Starbucks gift card, a crayon art project, and a decorated stapler that says, “Mr. Page” on the top. “Don’t tell him I said this, but he was singing his happy songs all the way to school, so I think he’s really excited that you get this.” She beams up at him. “Do you like ‘em?”

“I love them, Bailes,” Adam says. She dives at him again and hugs him tight. Adam holds the crayon project. “Did you make this?”

“Me and Daddy,” Bailey clarifies. “I got to use Daddy’s special hair dryer!”

“Wow!” Adam says. “What a day!”

“Okay, I get breakfast now,” Bailey says. “Later gator, Mr. Page!”

Adam watches Bailey skip into school and sees Silver eyeing him.

“So, uh, Page,” Silver says, and Adam is deeply concerned with that smile, “looks like Jackson likes you a lot.”

“Shut up,” Adam grumbles, blushing. But he’s already planning the thank you letter he’ll send home with Bailey that afternoon.

#This was not supposed #I didn't mean #TWO THOUSAND WORDS?!?!?!?#in which Sara writes #I have never been succinct a day in my goddamn life #HangMatt #anxious millennial dreamboat #Matt Attrackson #wtf i like wrestling now???

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