By Zach Allen

Dear Diary,

Today SUCKED. Like, so bad. Worst day ever, I swear.

Look, okay, maybe I didn’t study quite enough for my French test, but this was so unfair. I got summoned to see Mrs. Sanderson. Like, it wasn’t enough for Mlle Renee to give me my test and ask me to see her. She could have totally handled it herself, right? So not fair.

So I had to get see Mrs. Sanderson right after my last class. There was another girl already there. I don’t know her, but she got called in first. I had to sit and listen and I couldn’t hear anything at first, but then I heard her, like, scream, and I got so scared. Then she screamed again. And again. And when she came out of the office a few minutes later, she was just sobbing and rubbing her bottom and it was awful.

Then Mrs. Sanderson called me in, and I could barely move, but she was just staring at me, and what could I do, Diary?

She shut the door behind me, and she looked so strict. She told me to sit down and then asked if I knew why I was there. I didn’t, I really didn’t. I mean, I kind of knew I had bombed my French test, but that doesn’t get you sent to the Headmistress, does it?

“Mlle Renee says that you are lazy, inattentive, and sloppy in her class. She tells me that she has thrice had you across her lap for these very reasons, and that nevertheless you persist in showing no effort. She tells me you make very simple, easy to fix mistakes on every homework assignment, and they all appear to have been done in less than 10 minutes without ever opening your text book, and that on the test this previous Friday, you only managed to answer 4 questions correctly out of 15, by far the worst performance in the class. Anything to say for yourself, young lady?”

Uh-oh Diary! I couldn’t think of anything to say, and I just squirmed a bit and whispered: “No ma’am.”

“Then let me ask you a question. How many hours a week do you spend in French class?”

“Four ma’am.”

“When you first enrolled at this academy more than 2 years ago, how many hours were you told you should spend studying for each hour you spend in each class?”

“Two hours, ma’am”

“Have you spent anywhere near 8 hours a week studying French?”

What could I say? If I lied to her, and she knew it was a lie, I’d be in even more trouble, but admitting the truth meant cooking my own goose.

“Well, Ms Jenkins?”

“No ma’am.”

“No what?”

“No, I haven’t spent 8 hours a week studying French.”

“I see, and I suspected as much. You are a bright girl, Kelly Anne, and you do fairly well in the rest of your classes. However, every single one of your instructors agree that you could do better, and that you should do better. But it is the worst in your French, where you are in danger of failing a class. I feel I should not need to impress upon you how serious that matter is.”

“No ma’am”

“Yet, clearly, I do. You are supposed to be spending 8 hours a week working on French. I will be extraordinarily generous with you, and assume you spend two hours. As such, I will be giving you one stroke for each hour you have been neglecting.”

Wait, Diary, she said “strokes.” Like, cane strokes. Oh no oh no oh no oh no. NOOOOO. Then it got even worse. She pulled out the senior cane, not the junior. I was crying before she even told me to stand up.

“On your feet, Ms. Jenkins, and kindly remove your blazer.”

Well, I couldn’t very well refuse to do what Mrs. Sanderson said, could I? I was shaking, I swear. But I took it off and folded it nice and put in on the chair. Then she told me to touch my toes, and I felt her lift my skirt, and then slide down my underwear to the middle of my thigh.

“I expect you to maintain a level of decorum, and to remain in place, girl. Is that clear?”

She had laid the cane right across my bottom while she said that. I barely managed to answer her, and then…

“OW! One ma’am.”

The pain spread slowly, and she let it build, let me tell you.

“OWOWOW! Two ma’am.”

“OOOOOOWWWWWWWW! Three ma’am.”

It was so hard not to stand up, Diary, but I couldn’t stay still. But she waited til I was back in place, and then went right across the tops of my thighs.


If that woman has any pity in her heart, she hides it well. I swear, she put the next stroke right on top of that one!


By this point, I wasn’t just crying, I was like a baby. It was terrible, and she wasn’t done yet. She waited, and waited, and waited. It was ridiculous. Felt like hours. Then she hit me so hard I thought I would die.


“I’m waiting for a number, young lady.”

A number? I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t breathe. I sobbed out something passable enough, I guess.

“Fix your clothes and return to your dorm. I do not want you out of your house until supper.”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you ma’am.” Ooooh, thanking her was the worst. I’m sorry, Diary, I’m getting tears on you. I know what you are thinking though. “Kelly’s right; that was the worst day ever.” But that wasn’t all of it!

So, I’m laying in my bed, just crying, you know? Because, right? Then someone knocks on the door.

“GO AWAY!” Because I really totally didn’t want to deal with anyone right then. “Is that how you talk to a prefect?”

Oh no no no no no, it was Morgan! And she’s usually super nice, but she is one of our prefects, and I just yelled at her. So I got up and let her in, apologizing and trying to dry my eyes.

“Ms Mitchell wants to see you at 6 sharp, before you go to supper.”

”What? Oh come on, I got CANED by the headmistress, do I really have to talk to my housemother too?”

“Yes Morgan.”

Then she gave me a big hug, and let me cry for a bit.

“You’ll be okay, Kelly. And I’m not mad at you, I know you’re having a rough day. But I need to tell you this.” And she kind of pushed me away and looked me right in the eye.

“If you ever answer the door like that again, I will come in without your invite, and with my ruler. Is that clear?”

“Yes Morgan. I mean, yes ma’am.”

“Alright, I know you are feeling sorry for yourself, but you should probably use the hour of so you have before you see her to do some homework. You certainly don’t need to be in more trouble.”

She was right, of course. So I tried to do my math, but pretty soon it was almost six, and I had to go see her.

I knocked on her door, diary, and she told me to come in.

“Sit down Kelly. Yes, sit. I know you don’t want to, but you will.”

So, I had to sit down, and she wasn’t pointing at her couch, either. But she wasn’t yelling and all mad, and she wasn’t cold like Mrs. Sanderson, at least.

“So, you saw the headmistress today?”

“Yes ma’am”

“Because you’re lazy.”

The way she said it, it definitely wasn’t a question!

“We’ve talked about that before, haven’t we?”

The memories flooded back, over her knee, promising to try harder.

“But that wasn’t even this year!”

“Oh, so I was supposed to forget because you had a summer break?”

Okay, yeah, that wasn’t my best answer ever.

“No ma’am”

I said “ma’am” SO MANY TIMES today.

“No, and I haven’t. And I don’t like when one of my girls gets the negative attention of Mrs. Sanderson. It makes me look bad. What’s worse, though, is when one of my girls cheats herself by not trying. You are attending a VERY good school, Kelly Anne.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And you are here because you passed the entrance exams and proved that you were more than intelligent enough to handle the workload here. Yet you remain content to pass by without trying very hard, and now you’ve found a class that you can’t get a “B” in just by showing up, haven’t you?”

“Yes ma’am” She was right about that. Stupid third year French!

“I know Mrs. Sanderson punished you, and I know you are probably very sore right now, but this isn’t something I can let go.”

I started to cry, Diary, I couldn’t help it.

Then she opened her drawer, and pulled out the slipper, and I started blubbering and apologizing while I pulled my underwear back down. She just didn’t care. Over her knee I went, my skirt came back up, and she brought that slipper down on my cane marks and it was the worst thing ever. EVER. I screamed and bawled and she just kept on spanking me over and over and over again. When she finally stopped, I was almost cried out already.

Then she helped me into sitting on her lap and hugged me and told me I was forgiven, but that I need to try harder, and said she’d understand if I skip supper and now I’m here.

See, worst day ever, Diary. Absolute worst.

The End

© Zach Allen 2015