The ups and downs of a girl in trouble at school.

By Rob Burton (Another new writer to us)

Gemma Attlee stood facing the wall just to the left side of the blackboard; in fact she could smell the chalk dust she was that close. The bell went to signal the end of the maths lesson. Gemma had been stood there for over twenty minutes. Twenty minutes and the embarrassment was not over as she knew the other pupils were smirking at her as they left the classroom whilst she waited for Miss Waldron to dismiss her. The maths teacher told to pack her things quickly and follow her.

Off they walked briskly down the corridor without an explanation of where they were going. Mind, it did not take long as they stopped outside the year tutor’s office of Miss Gladstone. Gemma was asked to wait while Miss Waldron went inside. She was a little nervous; she knew of the year tutor’s reputation for being strict on pupils who broke the rules.

Miss Waldron left the office a couple of minutes later and scurried off down the corridor. Gemma watched after her as she heard the voice calling her into the office. She closed the door and stood in the small room which housed a desk, a chair, two filing cabinets and a small table. Miss Gladstone sat looking at the pupil; nervous, she thought, just how she liked them to be. She proceeded to admonish Gemma for, not only her late arrival to her last class, but the persistent talking despite being told to be quiet.

Miss Gladstone stood up and opened the door allowing the pupil to leave. Gemma could not believe that she had been given a lunchtime detention today. Now she was to go and present herself to the lunchtime supervisor and stand on the stage, her hands on her head, until 12.45 when she would be allowed to eat her lunch.

Off she walked to face the humiliation of the entire school looking at the naughty girl who got detention. She also thought about the even worse news that she also had an after school detention tomorrow night in room one, the detention room next to the teachers staff room. The year tutor had decided as well as the lunchtime detention awarded by Miss Waldron she would award another detention for committing two offences in the same class.

After presenting herself to Miss Mackintosh, the games mistress, who was the lunchtime supervisor for this week, she joined the other two pupils on the stage facing the dining area. She was standing in the middle, three feet away from a girl on one side and a boy on the other. Gemma felt her face blushing as she could see all her classmates and friends queuing for their lunch pointing and some were giggling at her. She was not surprised she had done the same to some of them.

Her arms and legs ached by the time they were released to have their food. Not much choice and it was lukewarm by the time she sat on her own in a quiet hall listening to the clanking of the pots and pans being washed in the kitchen.

Thursday afternoon at four o’clock and Gemma was stood outside room one, her feet on the line facing the wall as instructed, awaiting the teacher who would supervise the one hour of detention. Gemma recognised the voice of Miss Gladstone. She instructed them to proceed into the class and stand behind a desk. She felt her stomach gurgle at the thought of spending an hour with the teacher whom she had been told often slippered one pupil at the start of detention so that she would get absolute silence during the hour. The class consisted of four boys and two girls, including Gemma, none of whom she knew as they were not from the sixth form.

They were eventually told to sit and Miss Gladstone proceeded to lecture them on her rules for this detention and of course the consequences of breaking them. Gemma squeezed her hands together very nervously as she looked at the teacher, not daring to look anywhere else in case she was caught. She feared the slipper, her friends who had been on its receiving end told about how much it stung and how sitting down was uncomfortable for many hours after.

The detention would consist of fifteen minutes of silent sitting, no slouching, no this, no that, just plain sitting up straight. It would be followed by a spelling test of ten questions. Any pupil not getting all ten right would be on the receiving end of further punishments, which would be determined by how many mistakes they made.

Gemma felt a little relief as she was good at spelling, but this was tempered a little by the phrase on the receiving end of further punishments.

After fifteen minutes, paper was handed out and the test began. Gemma felt silly; here she was in the lower sixth and she had to do a spelling test. Miss Gladstone stood in front of the blackboard holding a piece of paper.

She said: “NECESSARY, spell it.”

Gemma afforded herself a little smile as she knew how to spell the word, even down to the fact that she knew there was only one c not two.

The pupil felt the weight lifting from her shoulders as the words that were given she knew them and by question seven she was confident that they were all correct.

Miss Gladstone said: “Question eight. SUPERINTENDENT, spell it.”

Again Gemma wrote it down in her best handwriting quickly as she knew the answer. A casual glance around at the others and they seemed to have puzzled looks upon their faces.

After question ten the year tutor told them to put away pens, sit up straight and she would call out each pupil in turn to her desk and mark their answers. If they had all correct they could leave the room quietly.

The boys were the first called up and one by one they were told they could go. They collected their things, quietly of course, and left quickly before Miss Gladstone changed her mind.

Next came the other girl, Nadia, at least that was what Gemma thought was called out. A minute later and the girl turned, the look upon her face told Gemma that she was not leaving just yet. In fact she went to the blackboard and faced it with her hands on her head.

Her name was called at last and she went to the desk. Handing over her paper she tried not to look at the teacher. Picking up her pen, Miss Gladstone studied the paper for a moment and then proceeded to put red cross marks next to each answer. Gemma felt herself go white, she wanted to say that the answers were right but all she could say was: ‘but, but’. Miss Gladstone looked at the shocked pupil, smiled, and said no buts. This was followed by an order to face the blackboard, hands on head. The shattered pupil dragged her body next to Nadia and awaited the consequences of ten red cross marks.

Two minutes passed before the teacher stood and told them to turn around. They was no long lecture, just a few simple words that ended with another detention tomorrow evening in room one. Gemma heard Nadia breath a sigh of relief. Then they were dismissed.

Gemma stopped in her tracks as the voice behind abruptly curtailed her run to the exit. She turned to see who had shouted for her to stop. The headmistress stood outside her door, beckoning her towards the office with the open door. Following her inside, Gemma stood in front the desk as Miss Ward took her seat. She asked the pupil for an explanation as to why she was running in the corridor at 4.30 in the afternoon. Gemma told her she had had detention and was hoping to catch the bus due shortly as the next one was thirty minutes later. The headmistress nodded and offered that was also why Gemma was using the bridge even though it was forbidden for all pupils to do so. Gemma replied it was and added an apology.

The headmistress opened her drawer, removed a large black hardback book, opened it and began to write something which Gemma could not quite make out. She finished, put down her pen and opened another drawer. She withdrew a large white plimsoll, stood up and walked around to stand by the now anxious girl. Gemma could not take her eyes off the object in the head’s right hand.

Without a word, Miss Ward put her hand on Gemma’s shoulder and eased her down so that she was bent over, her bottom sticking up in the air. Gemma knew what was about happen, her first school punishment, her first sore bottom. Some of her friends had received the slipper from Miss Ward and Penny Dale had said she had three strokes of the cane. But no one really believed her as she was always making up tales to try and impress them. Her navy pleated skirt was flipped up on to her back revealing her white panties too.

Then WHACK, the plimsoll hit her right cheek hard, it jolted her forward in surprise, her arms left where they were on her knees as she wanted to rub the sting it had caused on her bottom. The head’s hand on her shoulder steadied her. It had hurt, worse than she could have ever imagined. WHACK, this time on her left side.

“Oww,” she groaned; her body tried to move but once again the hand held her in place.

The third WHACK caught her right in the centre of her now hot and stinging bottom.

WHACK, WHACK, this time there was two almost together. Gemma squealed after each one, her bottom trying desperately to avoid the stinging smack of the rubber soled plimsoll wielded with precision by Miss Ward.

Number six was not delivered until the pupil was back in position, her legs shaking as she sniffled back the tears. WHACK, the traditional last stroke. The hardest one of all. The one any naughty pupil would remember if she even thought about misbehaving ever again.

The headmistress released her hand from Gemma and walked back to her seat. Gemma rose slowly, she felt her warm hurt bottom and rubbed it through her panties. She stopped whilst she signed the punishment book, and then rubbed a little more over her skirt which had now fallen back down into place. All she wanted now was to get home.

The room went silent as Gemma watched the head write something else in the black punishment book which had remained open on her desk as she spoke. The pupil was puzzled and alarmed, but surely she had had her punishment and would be dismissed momentarily. Perhaps she is making notes or teaching her a lesson by making her wait, she thought.

Miss Ward stood up again; this time she headed to a cupboard in the corner behind her desk. Unlocking it, she opened the door but Gemma could not see properly what was inside. She got the shock of her life when out was pulled a cane, a three foot golden brown one with a crooked handle.

Gemma stood shaking, not really believing what was about happen as the headmistress walked around the desk and leaned against it in front of the frightened tearful pupil. The headmistress lectured about running over the bridge and it came with a warning that any further indiscretions during the term would see her back in the office for six of the best, and this time it would be the cane, this cane, directly after morning assembly.

Gemma walked all the way home. The thought of sitting on her sore bottom, on a bus full of people, as she cried was not appealing. It took her an hour to get home, it took all night for the redness to recede and three days for the marks to disappear.

All her friends wanted to know the gossip about the detention when she got to school, she had thought about lying about getting another detention but she decided to confess. The comments were one of shock, and then one of them said at least it was better than getting a whacking. Gemma nodded to agree, but also blushed as she thought if only they knew.

Her form teacher Miss Walker asked her stay behind after class. She said she knew about the punishment from Miss Ward and hoped she had learnt her lesson. She tried to explain about Miss Gladstone and how she was certain all of her answers were correct. Her teacher smiled and asked when the question was read out did she always say SPELL IT after the word. Gemma nodded. Again the teacher smiled, explained it was an old teacher’s trick, and that the answer to every question was IT. Gemma was mortified that because she was not in on the joke that had made her late, so she ran, and the consequences were six of the best.

The End