Randy Cunningham swears he is not nosy.

Concerned? Sure. Vigilant? Absolutely. Mildly interested in whether the new full-time teacher is going to survive Norrisville High without spontaneously combusting? Entirely reasonable.

But nosy? No.

Still, that doesn’t stop him from slowing his stride every time he passes your classroom.

You’re new, too calm, too composed, not yet worn down by the feral ecosystem that is Norrisville’s teenagers. By third period, most new hires look like they’ve aged five years. You, somehow, are still standing. Randy notices. Howard definitely notices.

“This new rookie is not gonna make it,” Howard says around a mouthful of protein bar, leaning against the lockers. “I give the newbie a week. Two, tops. These kids smell fear.”

Randy hums noncommittally, pretending not to listen as a group of students nearby loudly recount your class. Something about your attitude. Something about you not yelling. Something about how you didn't hesitate to roast students back.

Interesting.

He doesn’t look. Doesn’t slow down. Totally doesn’t file that away.

By last period, curiosity has officially crossed into interference.

Randy tells himself he’s just passing by when he detours toward your classroom. He pauses outside the door, arms folded, posture casual—like a man waiting for the bell. He absolutely is not leaning in to listen.

Your voice carries through the door, steady and unbothered, shutting down a side conversation with frightening efficiency. A couple students laugh. Someone actually apologizes.

Randy blinks.

Okay. That’s new.

He leans a fraction closer.

That’s when the door swings open.

A student exits the bathroom mid-stride, freezes, and loudly blurts, “Oh—hi—MR. CUNNINGHAM??”

The hallway goes silent.

Inside, your voice cuts off.

The door opens fully, and suddenly you’re standing there, looking between the student and Randy Cunningham, who is unfortunately caught in the act of existing far too close to your classroom door.

Randy straightens instantly.

“Hey,” he says, smooth as a man who was absolutely not eavesdropping. “Just, uh. Hallway check. High-traffic area,” he pauses. “Very… trafficky.”