Chapter Text
As a teacher, Peter Lange knew it was generally frowned upon to have favorite students, but he also knew you’d be hard pressed to find an educator who didn’t. Lange can’t help but to have formed the occasional soft spot among the thousands of boys he had taught at Truham over the years and at the top of that list was Charlie Spring. Thoughtful, respectful, and whip smart, it was hard not to root for the boy, having watched him rise up through some of the worst bullying anyone on staff had ever seen. Lange had spent the prior year doing what he could to champion him behind the scenes against the archaic systems at Truham, but he never felt satisfied that it was enough. In spite of this, Charlie had managed to somehow remain the good human being that was standing in front of him now, a testament to his strength of character.
Of course, Charlie would be horrified to learn that Lange, or any of his other teachers, ever worried about him outside of school. Sensing that, Lange kept his compliments to himself and quietly encouraged where he could, as Charlie was easy to overwhelm.
Lange wasn’t alone among the faculty in his care of Charlie Spring. It was the stories, one after the other, bitterly told among the staff in the breakroom at lunch, that made so many Truham teachers care deeply for him. The things Charlie had endured since his brutal outing the year before - always at the hands of boys who would never be even half the person he was – should have turned him cold. Instead, against all odds, he seemed to grow ever kinder to those around him; always leaning in to work with other alienated students or tutoring his classmates who struggled. And as his teachers shared their astonishment at having watched him overcome so much, many of them shared two other things as well: a frustration for the lack of consequences for those responsible for what Charlie had experienced (no matter how many times they reported the incidents), and a growing concern for his mental health since it had all begun.
It was like watching a warm light getting dim, as Lange had observed Charlie over the last year. While he remained helpful and kind to those around him, he had also gotten pervasively more socially withdrawn. He kept to himself and trusted only those in his small circle. And while he interacted pleasantly enough with his teachers, there was an ever-present wince in response to any unexpected social interaction, as if he was expecting cruelty to come out of the mouth of whoever was addressing him. It was, of course, understandable, but also entirely worrisome for the adults who noticed and cared.
And so, a group of Truham staff members had found themselves forming a pact of sorts, complete with a group text that Lange REFUSED to allow to be named “Charlie’s Angels” no matter how many times Nathan Ajayi tried to name it that. Always in communication about the boy, they kept an eye out for ways they could make life a little easier for him, all done in a way that he was none the wiser. Charlie had built up walls and hiding behind them seemed key to keeping himself together. As a protective measure he had become the kind of student who much preferred a round of swapped sarcasm to gushing praise. For this reason they tried to meet him where he was most comfortable - clever back and forth bantering.
Honestly, it wasn’t the first group text about a student Lange had been on among a group of worried teachers, and it wouldn’t be the last. It wasn’t even the only one he was a part of that day. It WAS the longest though, as this group had been bonding over their shared worry of Charlie Spring for over a year at this point, just another testament to the failing social systems in place to support students at Truham.
At times, it was truly too much to take.
For Lange, teaching was one of those jobs where there was no such thing as being off the clock. He found himself worrying about his students in his off time as much as when they were before him. Wondering, while weeding his garden for example, if groceries had been purchased that week by a family he knew was struggling. Morning jogs were spent processing his frustration at Truham’s headmaster, who lacked a basic understanding of the longterm effects of bullying. And he often sat staring off into space at the dinner table, fearing how a student he knew to be enduring emotional abuse at home was faring in that same moment. His wife, a child psychologist, did her best to help him where she could, but for the most part she understood and gave him the space he needed to process these things, forever grateful for the caring heart she had married.
For now though, as the object of his most frequent worrying stood in front of him for a new term, Lange did his best to suppress his smile as Charlie fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot as they exchanged sarcastic greetings about the joys of joining Hamlet House.
”Now let’s see…” Lange said in his best bored tone, as he consulted the seating chart, pretending not to know exactly where he had placed him. “Ah yes…you’re right over there..next to Nicholas Nelson…”
Lange feigned disinterest in Charlie’s obviously startled response, grumpily noting out loud that he did not care if they spoke to each other or not, careful not to give away the complete joy he had experienced when he received his class list for this new form group experiment over Christmas break and had realized the names of two of his favorites were on it.
He watched Charlie turn and stop short while making his way over to his seat assignment, before taking a deep breath and continuing on, and then he smiled as he thought back to the night he came up with his seating plan…
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They had sat at home in front of a warm fire, him preparing for a return to classes and her updating patient files. It was a normal night for the Langes, something that those not in their chosen professions probably didn’t realize was a regular occurrence.
His wife – who just so happened to be a close friend of Sarah Nelson - had smiled indulgently when he told her how happy it made him to see Nick and Charlie’s names on his roster. They were similar in his opinion, and both pretty inspiring students - Charlie for overcoming such a nightmare of circumstances at such a young age, and Nick for quietly – perhaps unknowingly – breaking every stereotype about how someone as popular as he was usually behaved. They were a unique pair of naturally kind individuals.
(It also didn’t hurt that Nick lived only 5 houses down and frequently tolerated watching the Lange’s horrible cat whenever they went on vacation. A brave endeavor THAT was for any soul, let alone a child. Struck with a sudden softness thinking about this, Lange reached out to give a sleeping Francine’s soft white fur a pet, only to receive a hiss in response. Typical.)
He formed a plan he hoped would lead to friendship for the boys.
“I have a lot of space to play with here,” he had said to his wife, a post it note with each student’s name on it being moved around to various squares on the seating chart while he figured it all out.
A few moments passed in silence while they both worked.
“I think I’ll seat Nick and Charlie together as a group of two. Maybe they will take a little solace in their kindred spirits.”
His wife smiled, “What if they really hit it off? Charlie sure deserves to date someone like Nick after everything he has been through,” she said.
Mr. Lange screwed his face up and guffawed immediately, “What? That was not even on my mind because there’s just no way that Nick...” and then he paused.
“No way that Nick…?” his wife said, arching an eyebrow and looking at him sharply.
“Well, I was going to say that there is no way that Nick would date boys, but I suppose I know better than that and, yes dear…assuming anything about anyone’s sexuality is pretty gross of me and I’m totally admitting it so you can just go ahead and put that eyebrow right back down.” Lange said, lost in thought about his beloved sister who had only recently come out to him as Pan. He couldn’t go back in time to support her as a young teenager, so he had poured what he had learned from her into being a better ally, most importantly for his students.
“Exactly.” His wife said. “Besides, nothing would show those awful kids up more than stepping out with the rugby king on his arm. Go Charlie. I ship it.” She said with a wink.
“Do you know how ridiculous you sound when you use the slang you pick up from your patients?”
”No more than you do when you pick up phrases from your students, dear….”
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After his initial startle at the news of his seating assignment, Charlie’s face had looked less than enthusiastic as he walked away from Mr. Lange’s desk towards Nick. Lange sighed as he reflected upon the annoying nature of teenagers to judge each other harshly based on stereotypes. Each generation seemed doomed to repeat the same tired cycle and it was exhausting. His little experiment not being off to the best of starts, he watched from the corner of his eye as Charlie finally made his way over to his seat and the two boys stiffly, but kindly, greeted each other. Wait now - was that a small smile on each of their faces? The way Lange saw it, no matter what, this would be good for both boys. Either he was right that they would connect and find a support system in each other, or he was wrong and each boy would STILL grow from working together, learning the all-important life lesson that preconceived notions are often wrong. No matter what, he never had a doubt that they would get along well enough.
He stood up, addressed the room full of boys of all ages, explained the new form group structure and then put them all on the insufferable task of filling out questionnaires about each other to share with their seatmates. Once they had finished complaining and were working somewhat quietly, he sat down and picked up his phone to text the teachers who stayed in contact about Charlie.
Group Chat: "NOT calling this Charlies Angels, Nathan, so drop it"
“NOT calling this Charlies Angels, Nathan, so drop it” Members:
Lange
Noah Brown – Latin Teacher
Coach Singh – PE and Rugby Coach
Nathan Ajayi – Art teacher
Mlle Griche – French Teacher & Part-Time School Librarian
Josh Miller – Maths
Fran Evans – Music Teacher
Lange: Happy first day of term! I have Charlie in my new form group and I put him at a table, alone, with Nick Nelson. Something just tells me they might be good for each other.
Noah (is flattered I find him insufferable) Brown: You put the kid who was traumatized by rugby lads with the school’s best known rugby lad?
Lange: Oh.
Well, when you put it that way it sounds like a terrible idea.
Coach (do not EVER get on her bad side) Singh: No – I like it. I can personally vouch for the fact that Nick Nelson is NOTHING like most of the irritating little shits on my rugby team. He could probably benefit from a new friend with a soft heart more like his.
Nathan (is actually pretty good at art) Ajayi: A rugby lad with a heart of gold eh? Sure.
Mlle (spits when she speaks) Griche: I have Nick Nelson in French and I agree with Coach Singh. He is a really lovely boy.
Josh (doesn’t know the Pythagorean theorem) Miller: Is he related to David Nelson? I had him a few years ago and I still get a chill thinking about what a complete asshole that kid was. Cheated his way through Trig.
Lange: Okay yes – David is his brother but trust me, they are NOTHING alike. The Nelson family are neighbors of mine and their mother is close with my wife. I trust Nick with Charlie.
Coach (do not EVER get on her bad side) Singh : Agree – have coached both brothers. Hard to believe they are from the same gene pool honestly.
Nathan (is actually pretty good at art) Ajayi: Okay – if you guys say so. Personally, I think it speaks volumes that I have never had him in an art class….
Fran (pretends to like the oboe) Evans: Haven’t seen him in music either. Hard to trust a man who doesn’t play an instrument…
Lange rolled his eyes and put his phone down.
He noted the time and cleared his throat, letting the boys know it was time to pack up and get moving before the bell rang. Nick and Charlie stood and went their separate ways without so much as another word to each other.
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It was funny to reflect on that day now, eight-ish years later. An unstoppable smile spreads across Lange’s face as he sits in the same classroom at the same desk. Once again waiting patiently to see Charlie Spring walk through his classroom door, under the guise of coming to pick up a letter of recommendation he had requested for a nearby professorship he had applied for. This time however, only 20 feet to Lange’s right and crammed into a seat he was now comically large for, Nick Nelson sat nervously waiting with a tiny box that contained a very shiny ring, sitting on the worn desk in front of him….