Corner time in the cafeteria lacked the element of a corner. It would be more aptly named, standing-behind-my-chair-while-looking-foolish-time. I suppose that was too much of a mouthful for the teachers and staff though. So instead, it’s cornerless corner time. Which means standing at the table, in the spot I would normally being eating, with my skirt still folded up and panties exposed. It also means having the misfortune to actually see my peers enjoying my predicament. Sure, some of the girls are nicer than that, but most of the girls at Rosecliff Institute didn’t get here because they were sugary sweet models of society.
I was feeling lucky overall. Thirteen minutes meant I still would be able to eat some dinner and the spanking hadn’t really been that bad. Carol Sato may be a Monitor, but she’s far from a heavy hitter. I’m pretty sure the shopkeeper boy, Sir Mason I call him, could do a better job with rolled up newspaper. Not that I plan on mentioning the fact to Miss Carol or anyone else.
At six minutes to go, Miss Abigail Hastings arrived with the new girl. I’d heard rumors about the new girl all day. She didn’t look much like the sort of girl who’d killed her boyfriend and put a dozen policemen in the ER. I never put much stock in the rumors though. The girl looked scared, the same as I’d felt when first arriving at the Institute. She was probably the kind of girl who had never so much as got sent to the principal’s office before whatever happened that got her sent here.
It was Miss Abigail who really caught my attention. She was marching along with her hands on her head and wearing nothing more than her white knee socks and black Mary Janes. When they walked past, I could see her bottom was a scorching red as well. Looked like she got the small paddle from the markings. Everyone from Tanzanite House was staring at her and the blush on her face confirmed she knew it. Monitors don’t march around in nothing more than their socks and shoes often. And most of those that end up that way, don’t last as Monitors.
Abigail would have been the talk of the night most days, but Dean Rosecliff stepped up on the stage at the front with a woman I didn’t recognize. He tapped on the microphone gathering the room’s attention. “Good evening, ladies.”
The room responded in chorus, “Good evening, Dean Rosecliff.”
He smiled like a happy puppeteer. “I’d like to introduce you all to Ms. Scarlett Watts. Ms. Watts is our first teacher for the new Computer Sciences Department here at the Institute. As most of you are aware, there are four new classes she’ll be teaching beginning Monday next week. Now I’d appreciate it if all of you would give Ms. Watts a nice, big welcome.”
The room said, “Welcome to Rosecliff Institute, Ms. Watts.”
Ms. Watts blushed and dipped her head. I suspected she enjoyed the attention though. Maybe it was the clothes she wore, a starched and stiff skirt suit, or perhaps the way she held herself next to the Dean, but she seemed the sort who thought herself better than everyone else. I could just picture her pacing the front of a classroom with the tawse waving about in her hand as she barked instructions. Any excuse to use the implement would not go wasted.
Dean Rosecliff said, “Ms. Watts has toured the facility and seen a little bit of how discipline works here at the Institute. However, she feels our methods are a little soft.”
I think he about confirmed my thoughts on Ms. Watts personality.
He continued, “Therefore I think a first hand demonstration is in order. She outlined what she saw as a minor punishment earlier and I think it appropriate she experience that punishment before we make any decisions about changing current policy. Does that sound fair?”
Ms. Scarlet Watts appeared pale, almost ill.
The room spoke in chorus, “Yes, Dean Rosecliff.”