"What does it mean when you think about someone a lot and your heart beats faster when you're around them?"
Charlie sits up, but Jane remains lying on the bed.
"It means you have a crush," Grace answers from the other side of their dorm room. Charlie looks between them, still a little confused.
"You have a crush on someone?" Charlie asks.
"It can't be," Jane says, shaking her head. "Forget I asked."
Grace sighs, walking over and lying beside Jane on the bed. "You think about them a lot and your heart beats faster when you see them," she repeats. "Even though they make you nervous, you like being around them because there is a certain thrill to it. You want to know everything about them and the thought of them being upset with you makes you feel very sad," she adds. "That's it, right?"
Jane doesn't answer. And for a while, they just sit in silence, all thinking about the probability that Jane has a crush.
"Oh my God! Tell us who it is right now!" Charlie exclaims, nudging her friend in the shoulder.
"Ouch! It's nothing! Just leave it!" Jane replies.
"Guys, keep it down. Some people might already be asleep" Grace scolds.
"Someone at the school?" Charlie continues. "A girl? I thought you said you were straight."
"I am," Jane answers simply.
"Well, there are no boys at our school. You're hiding something," Charlie insists.
"You can only accuse me of that if I say I have a crush, which I don't, so let me be."
Her roommates sigh together, and all three of them fall silent again, while Jane thinks about what Grace is implying.
'I don't have a crush on him. That's ridiculous and inappropriate. It's disturbing as well since he's so much older than me,' she thinks to herself.
'There's no way,'.
***
"You can't be sitting with us if you're just going to bury your nose in that book, you know?" Charlie complains over the breakfast table.
Jane rolls her eyes, chewing on the last bit of her toast. "It's not like either of you has anything interesting to say," she replies.
Charlie snatches the book. The same one the headmaster let her keep after she snuck into the closed library a few nights ago. An unusual amount of irritation and annoyance overcomes her as she shouts, "hey!"
Charlie, assuming this is just like other playful times, ignores her protest. "What's this?" She says.
"Give it back. I'm not in the mood for this," Jane warns. And after a while of Charlie waving the book around to taunt her, she has had enough.
She reaches for it, over and over again, and Charlie just waves it around, laughing.
"That's not funny!" Jane says.
"Just give it back, Charlie," Grace sighs.
As Jane tries to reach for it one last time, her elbow accidentally hits the rim of her glass of orange juice, sending its contents all over her skirt. All three of them gasp, frozen as they watch the rest of it drip from the table.
"No!" Jane cries, standing up and looking down at the mess.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Charlie says repeatedly, standing and moving to her side of the table. "This is all my fault, I'm sorry."
"You don't have a spare uniform?" Grace asks. "We can rush back to the dorm and get you into something dry," she suggests.
"Yes I do, but we're going to be late if we go back," Jane replies. She thinks about it for a few seconds. Better to be late than to walk into her History class covered in juice. She sighs. "You two go ahead. I'll catch up. And if anything happens to that book I will fucking kill you," Jane says before running off.
Her friends watch in amazement as she sprints out of the dining room. "Did she just say a bad word?" Charlie says.
"Yes, she did," Grace replies, equally as stunned. Because Jane never swears. Ever.
"Great job, Charlie," Jane mutters sarcastically as she changes out of her wet skirt. The only other one she has is the one she got two years back and she has outgrown it. Her friends would argue that its not that short but her mother would have a heart attack if she saw her wearing it.
She tugs at it after putting it on, seeing as it stops about two inches above her knees. She groans, rubbing her face in embarrassment and wondering if its better to just miss school and bear the punishment later.
Realising its not worth it, she leaves the room, rushing as fast as she can to class.
She can hear her own heartbeat when she reaches the door. And as she walks in, everyone stares, especially the headmaster who's eyes seem fixated on her skirt. His gaze follows her as she waddles over to her seat and takes out her notebook and pens.
He sighs. "See me in my office after class, Jane."
'Crap.'
As the lesson goes on, she notices how the headmaster avoids her.
He refuses to look at her at all, and ignores her when she raises her hand to answer a question. Even when she's the only one raising her hand!
'Is he really that angry that I was late? People show up late all the time and he doesn't seem to care as much!'
He might be the strictest teacher, but being three minutes late isn't that serious, right?
She gives up trying to redeem herself by paying attentions and answering questions.
But unlike the other times she knew she was about to get punished by the headmaster, she's not dreading it. Well, not entirely. In fact, she might be a little excited.
***
What's her deal, he wonders, returning to his office after the lesson. He can't understand why he's so worked up about it, but he doesn't care to respond to any of the greeting shot at him by the other staff in the hallways.
And when he glances over his shoulder, there she is, following him behind, hugging her school bag.
Less than a minute after he gets in, she knocks on the door. "Come in."
She's panting a little when she appears, probably from how fast she had to walk to catch up with him.
She closes the door behind her and rests her bag on the floor while holding a strap to keep it upright.
Mr Quinn takes his seat behind his desk, resting his elbows on the surface to lean on it with his palms rubbing together.
"What do you think you're doing coming to class late and wearing that?"
"I'm sorry about being late, Sir, but I don't see anything wrong with what I'm wearing," she replies. She's still breathing heavily, but not from speed walking this time.
"Kneel."
Her eyes stretch. "Excuse me?"
He's not one to repeat himself and she knows it. He stares blankly at her, waiting impatiently for her to do as he says.
Finally, she lets go of her bag and drops to her knees, keeping her chin up and her eyes on him. He stands.
He cocks his head to the side, looking down at where the hem of her skirt is as he takes measured steps towards her.
"It's two inches off the floor," he says referring to her skirt. "That's against the dress code."
He turns away from her and returns to his seat. The tension in the room is now thick enough that neither of them can breathe. And the room remains in this silent heat for a moment, nothing but their ragged breaths between them.
She glares at him, annoyed. "Stand up," he says.
She stands to her feet, rubbing her knees and grabbing her bag off the floor.
"Can I at least explain myself?"
"I don't know if you deserve the opportunity with that attitude, Jane. Look at you glaring at me like you've done nothing wrong," he replies.
"There was an accident during breakfast and my friend spilled juice on me. I had to go back to my room and change. That's why I was late, and that's why I'm wearing this," she explains despite him refusing her to.
A part of him is glad he knows the full story now, and that she wasn't doing any of it intentionally. He should let her off with a warning. Be understanding. But where's the fun in that?
"You've been acting up lately. Sneaking around, daydreaming in class, being late and going against the dress code?" He shakes his head slowly, a little dramatically, a smirk playing at his lips. "It's not looking good for you, Jane."
"Do you just enjoy punishing me?" She challenges him.
"Do you just enjoy me attention?" He snaps back.
The room falls silent again.
Her skin heats up, but it doesn't compare to how hot she now feels between her legs. She presses her thighs together, fixing her hair to cover her cheeks. But its too late. He sees all of it. The inevitable squirming and the redness of her cheeks.
"I'll give you a chance to choose your punishment."
"I don't know how to choose, sir," she confesses. That was unexpected. He's not the kind of teacher to do that at all unless making her choose is already part of the punishment itself.
"Physical pain, hard, vigorous labour or public humiliation?" He says. "You can and you will choose."
She swallows.
"The first one will pass quickly but at least the second one wont leave any marks on that delicate skin of yours. And the third, well, you're clever enough to avoid it," he adds.
She doesn't respond. She can't even think of how to respond because she is too busy thinking of how and why she got into this situation in the first place. The headmaster glances at his watch. "You're already late for your next lesson. And since I'm feeling extremely lenient today despite your insolence, I'll give you the rest of the day to decide. See me after school."
She stares at him, fuming with anger. At him, at Charlie for getting her into this mess, and at herself.
"Go on," he says. "Get out."
***
*'do you just enjoy my attention?*
His words occupy her mind as she returns to his office the second the last bell goes off. Giving her time to think about it was far from a kind gesture. It was meant to make her anxious for the few hours until classes rounded up, and even more anxious now as she knocks at his door.
"Come in."
She steps inside, closing the door behind her. He takes off his glasses, resting them on the desk and rubbing his eyes as if that would get rid of the tiredness and frustration his job brings him each day.
"Good to see you again, Jane," he says sarcastically with a forced smile. "Have you chosen?"
She wants to show him that she isn't a sad little girl that he can bully. She's strong enough to take and bear whatever he chooses to throw at her today, and she can move on without a second thought right after.
"Physical. I'll take whatever physical punishment you see fit."
His calm demeanour hides the forbidden thrill of her decision so well that she's not so shaken when he says, "Good."
Well, not too shaken, but she knows she might regret this decision soon enough.
He stands, walking over to the door and opening it. "After you."
When he leads her out, he knows exactly where they are headed. It is an old-fashioned boarding school after all, so it doesn't come as much of a surprise to the students or even their parents that there is a special room designed for physical punishments.
It's just that she has never been.
They walk back into and through the hallways which are now almost empty as the students have left the classroom areas to eat, relax and enjoy the rest of their day while Jane has to suffer in the hands of this insufferable man.
It doesn't take long before they reach their destination. And the moment Jane walks into the 'discipline chamber', she knows she is absolutely fucked.