Monday, February 6, 2012

The Spanking Chronicles of Cedar Lake: The Easiest Quiz

The bell rang. Students remained seated, their books open, pencils gripped in their hands, but their gazes darted from the clock mounted high on the wall to the stoic face of their lecturing instructor, pacing the front floor of the classroom. His final sentence concluded and his feet carried him back behind the wood podium. He rested his hands on the top edges and smiled his approval.
Professor Harris said, “It appears we’re out of time for today. Worksheets nine and ten are due at the beginning of class tomorrow. Dismissed.”
Thirty-two books slammed closed simultaneously. The room erupted with the noise of exiting students, hurried to be anywhere except inside the classroom. Professor Harris shook his head and chuckled while watching the mass exodus. A hand brushed his sleeve and he turned toward the source. His teaching assistant stood before him with a large blue binder hugged to the front of her white blouse.
Tiffany Flanagan asked, “Do you need anything else before I take my lunch?”
He looked into her green eyes. Her reading glasses hung from a black cord around her neck and clacked against the binder drawing his gaze lower for a second. She blushed, turning her milky complexion strawberry, like her long, wavy hair. He blinked and cleared his throat.
“I haven’t seen,” Professor Harris said, “the quiz for my one o’clock class.”
She nodded. “I know. I’ll make the copies during lunch.”
The smile faded from his lips. He raised an eyebrow. “That should have been taken care of yesterday.”
The tone in his voice would have cause any of his students to shrink away from him. Tiffany stood her ground and held his gaze. “There was too long a line at the copier last night so I reserved it for this afternoon. Don’t worry, I’ll get it done.”
He folded his arms in front of his chest and used his full height to stare down at her. “And what if the copy machine is down?”
She shook her head, gently bouncing her hair off her shoulders. “It won’t be.”
His eyebrow raised again. “And if it is?”
She sighed. “Then I guess I’ll just have to make the thirty copies by hand.”
Professor Harris shook his head. “I hope you don’t intend to leave your duties to the last minute often. It does not inspire me with much confidence.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, “everything will work out just fine.”
The attitude of a student and she expected someday to be a teacher. He rolled his eyes. “Fortunately for you, I don’t have anything else I need from you at the moment so you may go.”
She nodded. “Alright, I’ll see you after lunch.”
He watched as she walked out the door, his eyes focused on the swaying curves beneath her snug black skirt. “But if those copies aren’t ready, you’ll likely to never want to see me again.”
Tiffany opened her blue binder on the counter opposite the copy machine. She pushed the brown plastic bridge of her reading glassed up along her nose until the lenses completely covered her eyes. Her fingers turned the pages until she located the appropriate quiz paper. She slipped it out of the plastic protector pouch and laid the page on the counter next to the open binder. The machine had only a few copies to finish on someone else’s job and then it would be her turn. She turned her back to the counter and leaned against it.
A student poked his around the corner leading from the administration offices into the small copy room. Seeing Tiffany, he stepped fully into the open doorway. “Ms. Flanagan?” he asked.
She didn’t recognize him from any of Professor Harris’ classes, but that only meant he hadn’t set himself apart from his classmates, not that he wasn’t one of Harris’ students. That was a possibility too. He was definitely young, first or second year without a doubt. “Can I help you?” she asked.
The young man smiled. He thrust his hand forward. “I’m Jason Ellis.”
She smiled less enthusiastically and grasped his hand. “Pleased to meet you Jason. How can I help you?”
He slipped a small notepad out of his shirt pocket and pressed a silver twist pen, etched with The Cedar Lake Chronicle, against the pad. “Five minutes of your time and just a few easy questions,” he said.
Tiffany pulled her glasses off her face and let them drop against her chest, hanging by their cord. “Excuse me?”
Jason nodded. “I’m a reporter with the school paper and you’re my story.”
She blinked at him. “How am I your story?”
Jason chuckled and swept his floppy brown hair out of his eyes with the back of his pen hand. “You’re new.”
“I’m a TA for Professor Harris,” she said.
He nodded. “Young, cute, and assisting one of the strictest teachers on campus.”
The blush rising in her cheeks highlighted her overabundance of freckles. “Those are not appropriate comments for you to make in my presence.”
He shook his head, bouncing his too long hair around. “The student body is curious about you and they have a right to know.”
Tiffany cocked her head to the side and opened her mouth with the intention of telling the boy to get lost before he dug himself in a hole. The kind of hole that required the high velocity crack of a paddle against bare flesh to launch one’s self back out.
He said, “We could always take it up with the Dean, but I have to warn you stonewalling the press is considered a pretty serious offense around here.”
She straighted her head and blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
He laughed. “Well you wouldn’t be the first person I’ve interviewed sporting a very bare and very red backside.”
Tiffany blushed even brighter. The boy was most likely bluffing, but knowing Cedar Lake’s policy on so many other things, it wasn’t a chance she was willing to take. Besides, how bad could a few questions be? She glanced at the copy machine. “Could we do this later?” she asked.
He shook his head. “We both seem to have the time right now.”
“I’m busy,” she said. “I have to make copies for Professor Harris.”
“The copier does all the hard work,” he said. “If you can walk and chew gum at the same time, you can copy and answer my questions too.”
She was tempted to tell him she couldn’t walk and chew gum, but she had a feeling that would end up in print. “Fine,” she said.
Jason put his pen back to the pad. “You don’t appear to be much older than the students here. Does that affect your relationship with Professor Harris?”
Tiffany found it infinitely more difficult to meet the boy’s gaze than Professor Harris’. “He’s my boss and I’m his assistant. That is the extent of our relationship.”
He scribbled on his pad. “Those are the facts, but do you not feel like he treats you more as a student than a colleague because of your age?”
“I am not a student,” Tiffany said.
“Yes,” Jason said, nodding his head, “but does Professor Harris make you feel like one?”
There were times she felt exactly that way. Like the way he scolded her over the copies when they weren’t even needed for another hour. Regardless, it wasn’t the kind of thing to be seen in print, especially in the school paper where Professor Harris would almost certainly read it. “No,” she said.
Jason scribbled on his pad. “Really?” he asked. “I heard he required you to sign a discipline agreement as a condition for accepting you as his assistant?”
Tiffany swallowed as her face warmed to the point of perspiration. “Who told you that?”
He shook his head. “My source is protected by an anonymity agreement. Is there a discipline agreement?”
The copier finished its current job. Tiffany turned around and lifted the quiz original from the counter and then laid it inside the open binder on top of the plastic protector sheet with the answer key still inside. She turned away from the counter and squeezed past Jason. Her head poked out of the copy room and scanned the administration area looking for someone who was likely waiting on the copies the machine had finished making.
Jason moved further into the room and stood in front of Tiffany’s open binder. “Looking for someone?” he asked.
She kept her back to him and stepped through the doorway for a better look around the administration offices. “I’d have thought whoever was running those copies would be around waiting for them.”
He chuckled. “You might expect that, but most of the teachers just get the jobs started and then come back hours later, expecting the copies to be finished and neatly stacked on the counter here with their name printed on a post-it note atop the stack.”
She turned back into the room. “I don’t even know who they belong to.”
He nodded. “I’d just put them on the counter and let someone else worry about it.”
She shook her head, but he was right. It took only a moment to collect the completed copies from the output tray and they were already stacked neatly. She sat them on the counter and then removed the original from the feeder exit, placing it atop the stack of copies. If the owner didn’t like it, maybe next time they’d stick around and do the whole job.
Jason said, “So, about that discipline agreement, does it really exist?”
Tiffany avoided his gaze, but squeezed up to the counter beside him, pretending to be more focused on her copying job than his question. She grabbed for the original and found only smooth clear plastic. Her eyes blinked and she looked around the nearby counter and floor for the original.  “What the heck did I do with that?”
“The discipline agreement?” Jason asked.
Tiffany huffed annoyance in the boys direction. She turned her back to him and checked the copier’s feeder to see if she’d already placed the original in it. “The document I was going to copy, I seem to have misplaced it.”
Jason laughed. “I’ll tell you where it is if you answer my question.”
She cocked her head at him. Of course, the nosy little boy had taken it as leverage. She held her open hand out toward him. “Give it to me.”
“The discipline agreement,” he asked, “is it real?”
Tiffany rolled her eyes and sighed. The boy was definitely dedicated. “Yes,” she said, “but that’s just standard operating procedure at Cedar Lake as I’m sure you already know.”
Jason scribbled on his pad while nodding. “I just had to confirm it,” he said. “Rules of the press you know.”
“Whatever,” she said. “Where is my original?”
He reached over on top of her open binder and picked up a paper sitting on top of the plastic protector. “Is this the one?” he asked.
She shook her head and snatched it from his fingers. “I swear I just looked there for it.”
He laughed. “I think you were flustered.”
Tiffany placed the page in the feeder, keyed in her copy code and entered the number of copies she needed into the keypad. The copier whirred to work, whisking the original inside of itself and flashing bright light at it. Copies began shooting into the output tray. It wouldn’t take long to make the thirty copies she needed.
Jason asked, “Has Professor Harris ever exercised his right to discipline you under the terms of the agreement?”
Tiffany glared at him over her shoulder. “No.”
He said, “But you have seen him discipline a large number of students since the beginning of term, correct?”
She nodded.
“Considering how frequently he uses corporal punishment with his students,” Jason said, “aren’t you concerned his standards for behavior might be too high for you to avoid it at least once or twice during the term?”
Tiffany turned to face Jason more directly. “I’m not a student and Professor Harris does not use corporal punishment without cause. So I’m not worried in the slightest.”
Jason nodded, scribbling more notes on his pad. “Fair enough,” he said. “That’s all my questions for now. I’ll be sitting in on Professor Harris’ next class to take some more notes and a few pictures of you working, but please don’t let my presence affect you.”
Tiffany smiled. “I doubt I’ll even notice you’re there.”
The copy machine finished the last copy and went silent. Tiffany turned her back to Jason and collected her copies and the original. A glance at the clock above the copy machine informed her she only had a few minutes to get back to Professor Harris’ classroom. She slipped the original back into it’s sleeve and laid the copies on top, closing the binder to hold them inside. Jason had already turned and started the long walk toward the class. Tiffany followed him the entire way there.
Jason and Professor Harris were already speaking when Tiffany arrived. They turned and looked at her as she stepped inside. Jason’s look came complete with an expression of mischievousness and amusement written on his lips and twinkling in his eyes. Professor Harris appeared stoic as usual but something about the corners of his lips suggested he was unhappy. Tiffany hoped the cause of his unhappiness centered more on Jason than herself.
She smiled at them both. Her gaze moved from them to the small desk in the far corner facing the rest of the classroom desks. She crossed the room at a brisk pace and laid her blue binder down on her desktop. Her finger found the stack of copies and she quickly flipped the pages through her fingers double checking the count.
A sigh of relief passed through her lips. The count was perfect. She laid the papers down beside the binder and turned her attention back toward the podium. Professor Harris stood alone. Her gaze drifted to the student desks. Jason sat in the front row in a desk directly in front of hers. He held a camera in his hands and even amongst the rumble of students taking their seats she could hear the whir of digital images being saved.
The bell rang. Silence ruled the room. Tiffany laid her hand on top of the copies.
Professor Harris looked over his students, lightly nodding his head as his gaze swept the width of the room. “Good afternoon,” he said. “Please take out your pencils and place the rest of your materials in the baskets under your seats.”
He turned his head toward Tiffany. “Do you have the quiz ready?”
She nodded and lifted the pages as evidence.
His arm gestured toward the class. “My students are waiting.”
Tiffany crooked the stack of copies in her arm and made her way into the rows of student desks, starting on the door side of the room. Weaving her way up and down the aisles she gave each student their copy of the quiz. Her gaze avoided Jason though she could hear his camera whirring away every few seconds. As she approached his desk, the last one occupied on her journey through the class, she wondered if she should give him one of the five extra copies she had made. It would be amusing to see if Professor Harris would hold him to the same standard he did the rest of the students in the class. Her lips turned upward and her feet paused in their forward movement while she savored the thought.
Professor Harris said, “Mr. Ellis is not part of the class, Ms. Flanagan.”
She blinked out of her vivid imagination. The smile left her lips. Her feet moved forward again, heading back toward her desk at a faster pace than before. Embarrassment colored her milky cheeks. She could feel the eyes of the entire class focused on her.
“I,” Professor Harris said, “would think you’d know that without my assistance.”
Tiffany took her seat in silence. She glanced at the classroom and immediately looked down at her binder. The entire class remained fixated on her. Sweat turned her hands clammy. Had the Professor done more than verbally embarrass her? Had she missed something?
She looked at Professor Harris, but his back was turned to her. A girl in the center of the classroom, seated in the front row, raised her hand. The girl’s legs trembled beneath the desk. Her hand quivered in the air. The classroom’s attention slipped from Tiffany to the girl.
Professor Harris said, “Ms. Guthrie, is there a problem?”
Ms. Guthrie lowered her hand. “I think so.”
The only sound in the room was the whir of Jason’s camera.
“Would you care to elaborate?” Professor Harris asked.
She looked at her desk and bit on her lower lip. Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked back up at Professor Harris. “There seems to be something wrong with this quiz.”
He stepped out from behind his podium. “Is it possible that what’s wrong is you haven’t been keeping up on your studies?”
Ms. Guthrie shook her head. “Oh no sir. I’m relatively certain I could pass this quiz even if I’d never opened my book.”
Professor Harris raised an eyebrow. “I should very much like an explanation, but if you’re reluctant to give it, I’m certain my paddle can coax it out of you.”
Ms. Guthrie shifted in her seat. Her gaze dropped to the quiz on her desk. “The answers seem to already be on mine.”
Professor Harris blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The answers,” Ms. Guthrie said, “they are already marked on my quiz.”
Professor Harris stared at Ms. Guthrie.
A young man seated behind Ms. Guthrie said, “Mine is like that too, sir.”
Professor Harris walked to Ms. Guthrie’s desk and lifted the quiz. He looked it over. His eyes closed. He opened his eyes and looked it over again. On every problem, the answers were clearly marked. He blinked. The quiz remained unchanged in his hand. He turned on his heel and gazed at Tiffany seated behind her desk.
Tiffany met Professor Harris’ gaze. She slipped her reading glasses on and looked down at the extra copies of the quiz. The pages flipped under the guidance of her fingers. Each one revealed the same horrifying evidence; the answers were all there. Her mouth ran dry. She opened her blue binder and found the original. The answer key stared up at her from beneath the plastic protector and when she slipped it out of the plastic, the student version remained. Somehow, she switched the two pages and copied the wrong one.
Professor Harris held the quiz in his hands so that she could see it, albeit without any detail given the distance between them. “Would care to explain this, Ms. Flanagan?”
Tiffany gulped air. “There’s been a mistake.”
He nodded. “It would appear so.”
Turning on his heel again, Professor Harris spun to face the class. He held the quiz up for his students. “Does anyone have a version without the answers?”
While some of the students appeared reluctant, they all shook their heads indicating the error was in no way isolated to a few of the quiz sheets, but rather to them all. Tiffany could have told him that. She had not switched the original mid-copying. Copies, by their very nature, were all the same, every time. If Professor Harris doubted such a thing, perhaps he should be the assistant and she the professor. His theatrics for the class tempted her to say such a thing aloud. Matters could hardly get worse. Or could they?
The whir of Jason’s camera interrupted her thoughts. She focused her gaze on the boy hiding behind the lens. Something wasn’t right. Never a problem, nothing had gone wrong and then he showed up and her world turned upside down. And there he was, camera ready to document everything in vivid detail for the school paper.
Professor Harris turned back to Tiffany. “I think an explanation is in order.”
Tiffany’s gaze hung on Jason for a moment longer, hearing the whir of another picture being taken. She blinked and refocused on the Professor. “Someone must have switched the originals when I wasn’t looking.”
He stepped closer. “Am I to understand you left the binder with all my tests and quizzes and their answer keys, unattended?”
Tiffany shook her head. “No, sir. I was there the whole time.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Then how would someone switch the originals and when weren’t you looking?”
“There were other copies being made and I looked for the owner, but couldn’t find them,” she said.
He nodded, stepping still closer. “Then you did leave the binder unattended.”
She shook her head. “My back was turned, but I never left the room.”
He took another step closer. “And who then was standing behind you?”
Tiffany’s gaze turned to Jason. She heard the whir of his camera snapping another picture. “Mr. Ellis.”
Professor Harris looked over his shoulder at Jason and then turned his gaze back on Tiffany. “So, I’m to believe a freshman who is not even in my class, assigned to write a pleasant article introducing you to the student body, swapped the originals, made you copy the answer key and distribute it to my class?”
Tiffany huffed. The whir of Jason’s camera informed her the moment had been captured in digital vibrancy. She said, “He didn’t make me, he tricked me.”
Professor Harris shook his head. “Tricked you? He tricked you into waiting til the last minute to make the copies? He tricked you into not looking at the original before you copied it? He tricked you into passing out a quiz without looking at it first? Did he trick you into all of that? Or is it just a little more likely that you were lazy and in your haste to meet your responsibilities you became incompetent?”
The color drained from Tiffany’s face. She heard the camera whir. Jason tricked her, but that only went so far in explanation. If she hadn’t been in a rush, his childish prank would never have succeeded. The game was nothing new. Students always tried to get the better of their teachers and apparently such held true for the teacher’s assistant as well. She should have been more cautious.
“Obviously,” Tiffany said, “the mistake is mine.”
Professor Harris nodded. “Good of you to admit it,” he said. “However, I cannot allow a situation like this to pass without consequence.”
Tiffany fought the urge to chew on her lip. “I understand.”
“You’ll be paddled and if you don’t start acting more responsibly, you’ll be paddled often,” he said.
Tiffany blushed.
The camera whirred.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said.
Professor Harris said, “You will be.”
Tiffany stared at the Professor. He turned and walked back to his podium. His hand slipped underneath the top panel and came out holding the oval leather paddle he always used to discipline his students. She blushed.
The camera whirred.
Professor Harris pointed the paddle’s end at Tiffany, waving it like a wagging finger. “Stand up and remove your skirt.”
Tiffany blinked and held her hands to her chest. “Here? Now?”
His head cocked to the side. “Yes and yes. Or perhaps we should do this in the student cafeteria at dinner time?”
A male student said, “I opt for that.”
The camera whirred.
Professor Harris looked at the class over his shoulder. “The next person who talks out of turn will be joining Ms. Flanagan touching their toes.”
Tiffany stood beside her desk. Her legs trembled. She could feel the eyes of every student glued to her. Her fingers felt numb and clumsy working the clasp and zipper on the back of her skirt. Unfastened, the black material slid down her legs making a puddle around her feet. She stepped backward out of it and leaned down, lifting the discarded garment. Her shaking hands held it in front of her black panties. They were the sort of undergarments inappropriate for students, but perfectly normal in the adult world.
Professor Harris said, “Fold it up and place it on my podium. You won’t be needing it for the remainder of the day.”
The camera whirred.
Tiffany forced her legs to move. The walk from her desk to the podium seemed like miles rather than the few steps it actually required. Hidden behind its wood casing, she lifted the skirt and folded it in half length wise and then in half again. She placed it on the top of the podium and looked to Professor Harris.
He continued to watch her every move with the end of the paddle pointed at her. “Step out here,” he said using the paddle to indicate a spot at the front of the class, visible to everyone in the room, “back to the class and touch your toes.”
She peered over the podium at the unmarked spot on the carpet. Her gaze flickered to the students and immediately she regretted it. They were all watching, some even holding their breath, waiting to see her, skirt-less and touching toes like a naughty school girl. She felt the part; Stupid, careless, and embarrassed.
Professor Harris cleared his throat.
Tiffany took the first step. Aggravating him would not make the spanking any easier. Her feet, barely supported by wobbling knees, carried her forward until she stood in the very spot. She pivoted her back to the class. A deep breath and tense silence allowed her the fiction of privacy. There was only the Professor and herself and his paddle.
The camera whirred.
Her fiction shattered.
She bent forward, closed her eyes and reached out with stretched fingers until the tips brushed the tops of her matte shoes. Her heart pounded in her chest, vibrating her entire being from the inside out. Hot blood pulsed against her cheeks as her long curly hair tickled the floor. She opened her eyes to an upside down view of the classroom and the students watching. Some even had the audacity to grin.
The camera whirred.
Professor Harris took up position behind her. He tapped the paddle against the stretched lace of her panties. “Stay in position or these won’t count and I’ll have to add extra. Understood?”
Tiffany nodded her head until she realized that everyone except Professor Harris could see her. “Yes, sir.”
The camera whirred.
He raised the paddle high in the air and brought it swooping down on her taunt buttocks. The impact echoed in the classroom like 30 books slamming closed all at once. He allowed the leather to bend and bounce off the curvature of her buttocks, following through the swat with his arm and wrist until the paddle was free and once again raised to strike.
Tiffany gasped for air as the stinging sensation grew in her buttocks. The poignancy of the first swat left her fighting the urge to grab her butt and run. She’d forgotten what it was like to be spanked. It hadn’t happened in a long time, perhaps too long. She closed her eyes and focused on staying in place.
The camera whirred.
Professor Harris swung. Her eyes shot open. The students blinked. Professor Harris swung again and again. The paddle hovered in the air.
“Ow!” Tiffany said in response to the building heat beneath her panties.
The camera whirred.
A rush of cool classroom air proceeded another impact of the paddle. Professor Harris swung the paddle five more times in quick succession. The students blinked at every snap of the leather against her buttocks. A red glow began to emanate from beneath the black lace of Tiffany’s panties. She gasped and squirmed after every swat.
Professor Harris held the paddle next to his leg. “I should hope you are learning a lesson about careless mistakes and their probable consequences.”
Tiffany nodded and forced herself to orally respond. “Yes, sir.”
The camera whirred.
He raised the paddle back into the air. It swooshed through the air five more times without pause. Her buttocks stung hotter with every impact. Tears stung at her eyes. The class held a collective breath undoubtedly impressed with the awesomeness of the Professor’s ferocity in swinging the leather.
The camera whirred.
Tiffany sniffled back tears.
Professor Harris held the paddle high once more. It cut through the air, clapping against her buttocks another five times. The red shined through her black panties. She cried out, “Ow!” after each strike. Tears flowed freely. The class breathed heavily.
And the camera whirred.
Professor Harris held the paddle at ready. “I should imagine you’ve learned something about not blaming others for your failures about now.”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The paddle swooshed through the air. The contact cracked like a gunshot.
Tiffany cried. “Ow!Ow!”
Every reflex demanded she grab her butt and nurse away the fire and sting shooting through it. Through tears she fought it all and remained in place, touching the tops of her shoes, hair bobbing on and off the floor.
Professor Harris said, “When I.”
The paddle cracked against her buttocks.
Tiffany yelped.
“Tell,” he said.
He slammed the leather into her buttocks again.
Tiffany gasped for air, blinking through tears.
He said, “You.”
The leather struck her buttocks sending ripples through her flesh.
“Ow!” she cried.
“To do,” he said.
He swung the paddle full force into her fiery buttocks.
She sniffled.
He said, “Something.”
The paddle impacted her buttocks.
She cried, “Ow!”
“You do it,” he said.
His arm raised high. He brought the paddle down fast and hard.
She gasped.
He said, “Do.”
The paddle cracked against her buttocks.
“Not,” he said.
She yelped.
He whipped the leather down again.
“Ow!” she cried.
“Procrastinate!” he said.
The paddle cut through the air in a blur. It struck like thunder echoing inside the walls of the classroom.
“Ow!” she howled, throwing her head back, but keeping her fingers in place.
The camera whirred.
Professor Harris walked to his podium and dropped the paddle on top of her folded skirt. He pointed toward the front corner opposite her desk. “Plant your nose in the corner and don’t even think about moving until I tell you.”
Tiffany stood in the corner with her hands on her head. Her buttocks continued to burn and sting, but more because there was nothing else for her to focus on than because the discomfort was growing. She could hear the class going about business as normal and that in itself left her feeling small and insignificant. Her face burned almost as hot as her bottom with the embarrassment of knowing all the students had a perfect view of her freshly spanked bottom.
The bell rang.
She listened to the sound of the students packing up their belongings and exiting the classroom. The room grew quiet as she waited, staring at the empty corner. Hope began to trickle into her thoughts as she realized with the class dismissed and no further classes for the day, Professor Harris had no real reason to keep her displayed in the corner much longer. Her arms ached to fall to her sides.
Professor Harris said, “Well it certainly seems you got more of a story than you bargained for.”
Tiffany blinked at the corner. How was she to respond to such a statement and what on Earth did he mean?
“I guess,” Jason said, “I was just lucky to be in the right place at the right time. The story and pictures ought to get me front page.”
Tiffany flushed hot pink all over again. How long would they leave her standing in the corner while they talked about nonsense?
Professor Harris chuckled. “I imagine they will.”
Jason asked, “Do you mind if I get a close-up of her in the corner?”
“Be my guest,” Professor Harris said.
Tiffany squeezed  her eyes closed and wished to become part of the wall.
The camera whirred.
Professor Harris said, “You know your brother Scott had a knack for being in the right place at the right time too.”
Jason laughed. “It must run in the family.”