Ever get that “I have you under my thumb†moment? Like, you could ruin someone's entire life with just one word from your mouth? Yeah… that’s where I’m at. I feel powerful. Too powerful. But maybe—just maybe—I’m wrong. Maybe I misheard what I thought I heard in the bathroom. No way a girl would be that desperate. Waking up early just to... relieve herself? Alone? Wait. It actually makes sense. We’re all girls here. Still… yikes. wail. The school bell chimes in on my thoughts. Normally that would mean class, but it’s the end of term—only a few days left. The school gives us “freedom†to chase our dreams. (If you didn’t catch how sarcastic that was, then you suck.) Instead of actual freedom, our “free time†is turned into mandatory study sessions. We’re not students—we’re livestock. And this place? My humble abode? Just a polished cage. I pull out my books. So does everyone else. The prefects take the teachers’ seats watching us like prison guards. The teachers, meanwhile, stroll in occasionally to inspect each “jail cell,†also known as a classroom. Prefects are supposed to keep things in order—quiet, clean, controlled. But since it's the last week, they act more like tired mall cops. You can see it in their eyes: “Please let it be over already.†So yeah, most people are texting under their desks. Those with phones, anyway. Others form hush-hush groups to stream movies on someone’s smuggled tablet. And then there's me. Actually reading. Speaking of prefects, it's been like… 20 minutes. Still no sign of ours. The class is unusually quiet, not because of respect, but because she’s more scarecrow than authority figure. Just something to keep teachers away. Still, weird that she hasn’t shown up. creak! The door swings open and panic follows. Everyone scrambles to look normal. In walks our homeroom teacher. “Where’s your class prefect?†he asks, eyes scanning the crowd. Silence. “She didn’t come today?†“Nooo,†the class answers in perfect sync. One of the few things we can do in unity. “Did anyone go to check on her?†Crickets. He sighs. “Fine. I’ll be back. Stay in order.†He shuts the door. Chaos resumes. Groaning. Complaining. Regret. The usual teenage symphony floads the room as a protest erupts on the teacher monitoring us I smirk to myself. Should’ve just gone to check on her guys. A few minutes pass. Then the door clicks again. He’s back—this time with someone trailing behind him. Oh no. No. No no no. “Turns out your prefect isn’t feeling well,†he announces. “So this is Jane. She’ll be filling in until Mary recovers. However long that takes.†I die inside. It’s her. The very horny , awkward-staring, I-hope-we-never-meet-again girl. Bathroom girl. And now she’s the class prefect. The universe hates me. She smiles politely. “Hi everyone,†she says sweetly, doing the whole good-girl intro routine. The class responds, trying to figure her out. Is she cool? Is she strict? Is she one of us? I just sit there, stunned. Still in disbelief that she’s here. That she’s her. That I might never un-see her face—or un-hear that sound.
Ever get that “I have you under my thumb†moment? Like, you could ruin someone's entire life with just one word from your mouth? Yeah… that’s where I’m at. I feel powerful. Too powerful. But maybe—just maybe—I’m wrong. Maybe I misheard what I thought I heard in the bathroom. No way a girl would be that desperate. Waking up early just to... relieve herself? Alone? Wait. It actually makes sense. We’re all girls here. Still… yikes. wail. The school bell chimes in on my thoughts. Normally that would mean class, but it’s the end of term—only a few days left. The school gives us “freedom†to chase our dreams. (If you didn’t catch how sarcastic that was, then you suck.) Instead of actual freedom, our “free time†is turned into mandatory study sessions. We’re not students—we’re livestock. And this place? My humble abode? Just a polished cage. I pull out my books. So does everyone else. The prefects take the teachers’ seats watching us like prison guards. The teachers, meanwhile, stroll in occasionally to inspect each “jail cell,†also known as a classroom. Prefects are supposed to keep things in order—quiet, clean, controlled. But since it's the last week, they act more like tired mall cops. You can see it in their eyes: “Please let it be over already.†So yeah, most people are texting under their desks. Those with phones, anyway. Others form hush-hush groups to stream movies on someone’s smuggled tablet. And then there's me. Actually reading. Speaking of prefects, it's been like… 20 minutes. Still no sign of ours. The class is unusually quiet, not because of respect, but because she’s more scarecrow than authority figure. Just something to keep teachers away. Still, weird that she hasn’t shown up. creak! The door swings open and panic follows. Everyone scrambles to look normal. In walks our homeroom teacher. “Where’s your class prefect?†he asks, eyes scanning the crowd. Silence. “She didn’t come today?†“Nooo,†the class answers in perfect sync. One of the few things we can do in unity. “Did anyone go to check on her?†Crickets. He sighs. “Fine. I’ll be back. Stay in order.†He shuts the door. Chaos resumes. Groaning. Complaining. Regret. The usual teenage symphony floads the room as a protest erupts on the teacher monitoring us I smirk to myself. Should’ve just gone to check on her guys. A few minutes pass. Then the door clicks again. He’s back—this time with someone trailing behind him. Oh no. No. No no no. “Turns out your prefect isn’t feeling well,†he announces. “So this is Jane. She’ll be filling in until Mary recovers. However long that takes.†I die inside. It’s her. The very horny , awkward-staring, I-hope-we-never-meet-again girl. Bathroom girl. And now she’s the class prefect. The universe hates me. She smiles politely. “Hi everyone,†she says sweetly, doing the whole good-girl intro routine. The class responds, trying to figure her out. Is she cool? Is she strict? Is she one of us? I just sit there, stunned. Still in disbelief that she’s here. That she’s her. That I might never un-see her face—or un-hear that sound.