The Center of Higher Education for Younglings, run by the tyrannizing Headmistress Hedsley, is a place of sorrow and grey hopelessness, until one day, the new kid in the Level 9 class dares to speak up.Chaos ensues.
Her hair was pulled in a deathly tight blonde bun at the back of her head. Her shrewd, clear blue eyes narrowed and she looked about her, as if to say, I'd like to see you try.
A cluster of Level One boys were playing a game in a corner which consisted of ripping off each other's boots while shouting out nonsense words.
A whole class of Level Twelves sat quietly gazing at their mathematics textbooks together, in a self-organized study group. Occasionally a girl would brush back her hair and ask a friend for help with working out a problem, and the friend would take a pencil and whisper back. Then both would look up to see her leering in their faces, and neither would be especially surprised. The loud clunk of books was a dead giveaway, along with the tangible stench of onion breath.
Headmistress Hedsley was hot (not to mention stinking) on their trail.
At this moment, as she pondered the ups and downs of slapping the Level One boys, a Level Twelve decided to whisper again. In the future, he would always look back on this moment with a mixture of humor and great regret.