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The other girl, a pretty, lithe blonde with perfectly straight hair falling in an effortlessly regimented way around her shoulders, slides into the vacant seat next to Storm and makes a great show of trying to be nonchalant, and an equally great show of whispering more loudly than normal talking would be.
Storm can immediately tell that this girl is about the drama, and she is here for it.
“Is it true you ran away from school yesterday and had to be dragged back by security?”
The rumor mill works fast at a little place like this. There’d be no point denying it, even if Storm was inclined to, which she isn’t.
“Uh. Well, security didn’t do much dragging, but sure.”
“Is it true the new disciplinarian was involved?”
“Yeah. She found me.”
The girl’s eyes widen. “She must have beaten you terribly.”
“No,” Storm smirks. “She didn’t do anything.” She lets the wordyetremain silent in that sentence.
The girl seems confused. “I heard she’s formidable. You transferred here from her old school, did you not? The one in Basel? It’s a common school. There was much chat about her reputation before she arrived. And yours, actually, if you must know.”
Storm did not must know.
“Two new people from an ex-penal colony,” the girl continues. “Quite the scandal, actually. Some of us thought old Lotte had gone completely stark raving bonkers.”
New Zealand was never a penal colony, but Storm doesn’t feel like giving a history lesson right now. This girl has a mouth on her but doesn’t seem to know how rude she’s being. It’s ironic that in a place where people come to learn manners and refinement, so many of them are the rudest, most cutting people Storm has ever encountered in her life.
“Common school,” Storm repeats the phrase. She’s never heard it before, but it’s obvious what it means. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Fascinating,” the girl says. “I’m Penelope Boadicea Fortunum-Smyth, but you can call me Penners. Everybody does.”
“Penis?”
“Pen-ners,” Penelope Boadicea Fortunum-Smyth repeats.
“Alright, Penis,” Storm says.
“Colonial accents,” Penners bemoans. “Regardless, I must ask you, do you have any advice for dealing with her? I am supposed to see her today, and I simply cannot be beaten.”
Storm is about to answer bluntly, when an idea occurs to her. Something much more fun than telling Penis here the truth. She leans back in her chair and smiles winningly at her interlocutor. “I wouldn’t worry, she’s a softie. All bark. No bite. Now, she’ll talk a big game, and she has the props, you know? The canes and things, but it’s all for show. She won’t actually use them.”
“Oh. Good,” Penners lets out a sigh. “Old Lotte’s sending me to her after breakfast.”
“She might tell you to bend over the desk, but obviously you’re not going to do that. It would be so shameful, and you’re clearly a woman of breeding.”
Penners preens, running a wan hand through her pale hair. “One couldn’t possibly say such a thing about oneself, but yes. I have the distinction of being in line to a number of European thrones. Though, of course, one hopes one is spared a coronation, as it would mean such tragedy.”
“A possessor of royal blood.” Storm nods. “Miss Strict will surely know her place.”
That’s a hard sentence to get out, but Storm manages to hide her mirth as she hits her stride. “And if she doesn’t, just remind her of it. The penal colony thing is a nice touch. Sometimes people just need to be reminded of their roots, you know?”
Penners nods vehemently. “So you suggest staying a staunch character and refusing any attempts at punishment.”
“Couldn’t have put it better if I tried,” Storm says. “Just remember, resist everything. It’s the only way to earn her respect. It’s how I got to go to Basel yesterday consequence free. And look, would I be sitting here this comfortably if she was actually as scary as they say? No. You’ve just got to be firm, and no matter what she does, never, ever obey. Once you start doing what she says, it’s over for you. Remember who you are.”
“Thank you, New Girl,” Penners says.
“Oh, and tell her you only answer to Penis.”
“Penners,” Penis corrects her.
