Bienvenue à Français! (Welcome to French!)

[Anthony Williamson]

Anthony grabbed his messenger bag full of his lesson plans for the week, along with some French dictionaires, short beginning French books, his text book, and roster. He arrived an hour before his class started and got to work putting the books on the book shelves to make it seem more like a classroom. Desks and chairs were arranged in neat rows, facing the whiteboard. Anthony set his light jacket down on top of his messenger bag, and got to work. He took note of the roster, just so he'd have an idea of his many students he'd be teaching.

Only seven, so if some of them had more French than others he could give them so more advanced work while he worked with those just started to learn the language. His brow raised at the French name on the roster, and he wondered why Marguerite would be taking French. Whatever the reason, he didn't care that much. As long as she didn't disrupt the class while he was teaching just because she already knew the language, he was fine with it. 

He grabbed some markers and set them on the metal holder attached to the whiteboard. Anthony took a black marker and started writing. 
Bonjour et bienvenue à Français. J'appelle Anthony Williamson. 
Anthony set the marker down and set a stack D'accord books on his desk, ready to give to each student as they sat down once class began. The D'accord books had been supplied to him by the school, though he hadn't had time to flip through them and see what they offered. If he didn't like the content in the texts, Anthony would most likely do some searching online for a new set of French texts. 

Tony stood outside his door, just as the bell rang signaling the end of the last period. He greeted the students as they came in. Once the bell rang once more signaling the start of class, Anthony shut the door and walked to his desk, where he handed out the D'accord books to each student along with a syllabus. He grabbed the roster and a pen. "Good morning and welcome to French. My name is Anthony Williamson, though you may call me Mr. Williamson or Anthony." He started, giving them leeway to use his first name if they could act like adults and respect him.

"I'm going to be calling roll so please raise your hand when I call your name, and let me know if you have a name that you would prefer I call you." He said, before taking the lid off the pen. "Ashley Stephens, Chase Rivers, Isaiah Beringer, Marguerite Girardeau, Liana Mars, Samantha Wainwright, and Tinsley Rutherford?" He asked, waiting a few seconds after each name to see a hand go up. 

---

Tag:Ashley Andrew Stephens
@running9
Isaiah Beringer
Marguerite Girardeau
Liana Mars
@samantha
Tinsley Elena Rutherford

[Liana Mars]

Liana grabbed her Balenciaga traveller backpack and left the room of her just-finished class, so ready for the day to be over already, although she had heard that they'd finally found a French teacher. Maybe he'd be some good, and she could continue her studies... Her father had decided that his daughter needed a second language, and what language was as cultured as Français? Of course he had decided that that would be the language that she would learn, and she'd been started at a young age... Although it wasn't something she paraded around. There had been no reason to.

She entered the classroom and gave the teacher a brief nod in greeting, finding a seat in the back of the classroom, where she dropped her backpack, and then leaning back in her seat to watch as everyone else walked in. She took the textbook and syllabus as they were handed to her, stacking them at the edge of her desk, and listening to the teacher's introduction, although she continued projecting her disinterest almost as a shield. She didn't want to be in class, she'd much rather be out enjoying the morning with Dyrim... But that wasn't an option, she was forced to be here.

A near-silent sigh escaped her as the man started the class with a roll call, although she did raise her hand when her name was called. There was no reason to create tension... Yet. She would see if this teacher could offer something decent in the classroom first.

[Ashley Andrew Stephens]

Class was boring as predicted. Drew spent much of his last class sketching out plans for a new model train set only taking notes when he felt that the teacher was presenting something that might show up on the test. He was the second person out the door when the bell rang. The first person had the luxury of sitting next to the door. French was next, and the boy really wasn't looking forward to it. He already had a couple years of French behind him from his previous school. The few friends he had took French, and Drew was not going to be the odd one out speaking Spanish.

"Bonjour, monsieur."

He gave a quick greeting to the professor when he walked in. Seriously, what teacher stood outside the classroom door and waited for students? He let his Jansport backpack drop to the ground with a thud a couple desks over from the other girl in the room. He took the textbook and syllabus as they were passed around and let out a low sigh after quickly scanning through it. He didn't even need to translate the heading on the white board. To him, even an infant could figure out the meaning of the French. He dreaded roll call as usual. Most rosters listed his name as Stephens, Ashley causing many a teacher at his old school to expect a female student. When his name was called, the boy immediately corrected his name with a reluctantly raised hand.

"Andrew or André."

This was a French class, the least he could do was use the French variant of his name. He expected the other students to talk or laugh about the fact that he had such a feminine name. Etymology be damned, he hated having the name Ashley as a guy in modern America.

[Tinsley Elena Rutherford]

Tinsley was not one for arriving late to class, and she wasn't going to make a habit of it on her first day. She swiped on a bit of nude lipstick (nicked from her sister Teagan) before making her way into the building that housed French class. She hoisted her Céline bag over her arm, subtly slipping her Chloé glasses from her face and into her bag. She pulled out the stops for French, she wasn't going to be caught dead in American designers. She was out to prove that despite being born and bred in the States, she could hold her own in any Francophone country.

"Ça va, Professeur?" Tinsley did her best to appear casually put together. She dipped her head as she passed Mr. Williamson, and found a seat in the front row, but near the door, as per her usual habit. She chose the seats near the front for two reasons: she could best hear the teacher, and she could escape as quickly as possible after class. She did her best to pretend to hate drawing attention to herself, but Tinsley was not fooling anyone. She knew she enjoyed that the majority of the class had to glance at the back of her sleek hair every so often.

Tinsley realized that only a select few of the seats were filled, and as the teacher took roll and called out her name, she raised her hand in greeting.