14 | Oops!

**SIENNA**

How many times could I possibly be unlucky for one day? It’s like my stars were all fucked up.
“So, where were we in the last class?” Miss Skinny Blond Freya Harvey addressed the class. How come nobody pointed out that her accent was off-putting?
As soon as she has entered class, she flung me a censorial look before moving onto her subject. To my right sat Eva Porter, the girl who had openly declared it her mission to ruin my mood and exact her futile revenge of middle school prom rejection.
“We will start from Chapter three, Miss Harvey,” someone chirped from the first bench as I lazily dragged the book out.
“Right.” The teacher flickered me a glance while flipping pages. “I know some of you have joined late, so it will be better to pay very close attention to the class. Am I getting through you, Miss Emerson?”
When I looked up from the book under my nose, she was gazing at me with a shade of hatred in her eyes I didn’t understand.
“It won’t be a problem,” I murmured.
“I am sorry, can you be a little louder?”
She wants a scene? Fine. I will gladly give her that.
This time, I stared boldly and faked a smile. “The missed classes won’t be an issue.”
“It is always great to see confident students in my class. I just hope you are not very misplaced about your opinion about yourself. Nevertheless, I’d be happy to help if you wish to reach out.”
“No, thanks. I will manage,” I shot back.
The dagger look was all she could do manage before picking up the book from the table and turning to the rest of the class. “Right. Let’s turn to page sixty-two, then. Clara, could you give us a brief recapitulation of the previous chapter?”
A geeky first bencher nodded enthusiastically, and by the second sentence, I was yawning. I drowned out the rest of the class, ducking my head and minding my business.
Before I had dropped out of school, my attention in the class had never faltered. But now, I could not even get through one page without being distracted by everything that my life has become.
Call it hormone, unfortunate circumstances or asshole parenting—I was still figuring out my life in slices.
A small wad of paper dropped on my lap as I looked up and then to my right. Eva wore a vicious smile and nodded at the paper ball. I unfurl the thing with a scowl and found the words scribbled: Missing your mommy, baby bird?
Fuck her.
Baby bird. The nickname my mother used to call me, and somehow during our school days, Eva knew about this. It was a shame that I let her get under my skin, but it was already too late.
Grabbing the pen, I doodled a dick and scribbled a few decorated profanity in her honour and was about to throw at her when…
“What do you think of the answer, Miss Emerson?” Miss Harper’s fake accent rang out, bringing the entire class’s attention to me. “Do you agree with Clara?”
I quickly tucked the paper ball into my lap in the pleats of my skirt and blinked up. “Umm…what?”
“Miss Emerson, were you paying attention in the class? Or, do you consider yourself as a supreme intellect that has completely shut us out?”
I was completely at my wit's end. “I agree…yeah…she formulated it well.”
A wave of snickers and smirks rippled around the classroom. It was a dick move.
The skinny teacher shut the book in her hand and marched towards me, stopping right in front of the desk. “Nice try. Do you think I was born yesterday?”
I had a feeling she would not let it slide peacefully or silently.
“Sorry. Okay?”
Her palm slapped the desk as she leaned down in an effort to intimidate me. “I know it is your first day, but you should better get it through your head. We are not like other private schools of this country, where you can behave like a brat and get away with it. Where was your attention?”
“Nothing, it’s…” I shifted a little, trying to appear casual, and that was the big fucking mistake on my part. The paper ball slipped right between my legs, rolling down to the floor and touched her peep-toe ballerina.
Shit.
Before I could move, she picked it up. “What is this?”
*Oops*.

*******

In my very short stay at Mount Carmel, I have already lost the number of times I found myself standing before this man.
*Father Sullivan*.
Unlike the other times, it was not the office chamber of the priest. I was now standing amidst an empty classroom. Father Sullivan sat behind the teacher’s desk with a MacBook opened in front of him. For an old-fashioned priest, he sure as hell knew how to use modern gadgets.
“I have seen many a brat in this school, Father Sullivan, but somehow she managed to top the list on her very first day,” Miss Skinny Harvey complained in her whiny voice while I stood beside her—bored and pissed.
The crumpled piece of paper sat on the table as he lazily reached for it with two of his fingers, read and then discarded. Unlike the last two times, he was completely unfazed. Amused, if I was not wrong.
It was a good thing he had very low expectations when it came to me. It was either that, or he was thinking of wicked ways to punish me.
“Second day, technically,” I interrupted their conversation, earning myself a harsh glare from the blonde teacher. On the other hand, Father Sullivan only looked at me briefly before turning his attention to her.
The language arts teacher sighed. “I could have handled this by myself, but I really don’t have time. I have three more classes, lesson plans to prepare, and paper corrections. You know I don’t like to stall things. So, would you mind dealing with this?”
I wanted to run my smart mouth and say that it was her bloody job to do all those things, but as soon as his eyes locked in with me, I refrained.
“Miss Emerson. Apologise, now.”
Oh, I did already. Too bad she didn’t take it then.
I dragged my gaze to hers. “I am so sorry, Miss Harvey, for failing the hide the paper. Next time, I’ll do better.”
“Sienna.” His dark voice rumbled, bouncing around the empty classroom. He rarely addressed me with my first name, and whenever he did, he meant to establish some kind of control over me.
“Girl, you are playing with fire,” seethed the woman.
“I have been told that I am hot,” I smirked. “And, thank you for confirming.”
Her blistering glare was now directed at the priest, who wore his calm demeanour as if nothing can ever affect him. “She has not been broken in yet. I can’t wait to watch that happen, Father Sullivan.”
Way to go, feminism.
“You are just not a terrible woman but a toxic teacher,” I voiced. “Break-in? What do you think I am, a wild horse?”
She opened her mouth to retort, but Father Sullivan beat her to it.
“Miss Harvey, did you say that you were swamped with classes? I am afraid I can’t let this girl hold you back. By all means, carry and let me deal with the situation. I can assure you that Miss Emerson will deliver her heartfelt and profound apology in words or through her contrite actions.” He spoke the last sentence with his eyes directed over me.
“Uh-nuh.” I shook my head. “That’s not happening.”
“Say another word, and I will double your punishment,” came the silky smooth threat in a masculine voice.
“I think it’s better you deal with this brat. By the way, are you free in the evening?” Miss Blond Harvey hauled back his attention to herself. “I was hoping you could show me that first edition book collection you were talking about the other day.”
“I will have someone send the set of books to your residence for your perusal.”
“Oh, please don’t bother, Father,” she smiled flirtatiously, tucking back her blond strands behind the ear. “I will help myself. See you in the evening.”
*What an idiot*.
She shot me a look that translated to: you will suffer and marched out of the classroom as my eyes followed her footsteps and then towed back to the man in black.
“I think she just calls you ‘Father’ because it turns her on.” I just could not bottle up my disgust. “I mean, c’mon, who the hell uses first edition book collection for flirting?”
The blue of his intensified as he nodded at the crushed paper. “You have bigger problems than her untoward advances.”
“I don’t need to figure out anything. Anyone with half a brain would see that she practically drools at the sight of you.”
“And you are as predictable as hers,” he accused, souring my mood.
“Sorry?”
He picked up the paper, crushed and threw it into my lap. “This is a deliberate action, Miss Emerson. But how many times do I need to explain that behaviour like this will only get you punished and not expelled?”
I shrugged. “I have iron-willed perseverance, what do you know? I might wear you down.”
“That’s a provocation which would work with the silly boys of your age, but not with me. So be very careful with your words.” A sliver of dark promise underlined his words.
“How old are you, by the way?”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“It’s a simple question. I want to know your age.” He looked older to me, way older, but that hot bod beneath the black made me all the more curious. My nineteen-year-old brain was itching to know the exact number.
“I am your teacher.”
“So?” I walked up to him, having only the wooden table sitting between us as a frivolous barrier. “Is it an offence to know the age of the teacher? I am just curious.”
He stared at me for a long moment before ripping himself away from the chair and stood. “We will shelf this conversation for later. First things first.”
I was just about to protest when he cut me off and strode towards the door, shutting the damn thing and spiking my heartbeat by another level.
“Wait…what are you doing? Why are you locking the door?”
I was more angsty than intimidated.
“I am not locking it; I am simply closing it,” he clarified, turning around and took long strides back to me. “Unless you want others to witness your punishment? The theology batch of girls will finish their class in approximately ten minutes and pass by the door. And believe me, you will be one great of humiliation.”
I scoffed. “Is that your whole point?”
“As much as you disagree, humiliating you is not my goal. It is just a means to an end, and the end is your reformation.”
I did not know if he was delusional or plain ass annoying. “I have no regrets for what I have done because I was provoked.”
He stopped to crowd my space with an impassive look. “Galatians, chapter six and verse five says that: For each will have to bear his own load.”
“It is really creepy when you keep on quoting the Bible before delivering the punishment, you know. It is like you are one step away from joining the fanatic group on Facebook and quote Jesus with a twisted mind.”
He shrugged off my taunt. “I have given my word to Miss Harvey that you will be delivering that apology.”
I made a wincing face. “Yeah, well, here’s the thing: For each will have to bear his own load. Galatians, chapter six and verse five. You made the promise, so it’s your problem.”
“Touché.” He tried his best to smother the smirk but failed.
“You and I, we both know that I am not going to apologise to her. So, can we please stop beating around the bush?” I said with a bored expression.
There was something deeply rooted between us. I was eternally grateful for being thrown out of her class while my punisher did not seem to be bothered by my presence at all.
It’s like he was itching to punish me.
“Alright, then.” He feigned sternness, clapping his hands. “Let’s get straight to the punishment then. I can’t let this misbehaviour slide.”
He went back behind his desk to retrieve a few sheets of paper and a pencil and pushed them towards me. Clueless, I took them with a quizzical look.
“I want you to take a dictation.”
“That’s punishment?” I barked a laugh.
“Just write.”
*This was getting uninteresting now*.
I complied as he went on to recite the words. “I, Sienna Emerson, will not disobey the teachers and behave like a good girl.”
I paused midway to look up to him. “Is this a joke?”
“Do I look like I am laughing? Show me the words.”
I huffed, scribbling the rest of them and thrust out the paper. “Fine. Are we done now?”
He settled down behind the desk as if it was his throne, with one of his legs resting on the other knee and body leaned back. For a priest who vowed to dedicate his life to God, he sure as hell knew how to behave like an Almighty.
Father Sullivan nodded at the desk on the first row. “Sit down, Sienna. We are not done until you complete one hundred lines of that same sentence. The penmanship should be impeccable. If it is not satisfactory, I will make you rewrite them again. Have I made myself clear?”
*Did I say it was boring? Now it was a fucking blast, and I was at the receiving end.*
“You fucking did not."