Never Met a Girl Like Her | ✔️

(11)

L E O N I E

After exiting the classroom while the rest of my fellow peers taunted me with scandalous oohs and aahs - immature twats - I wandered down the vacant corridors in the direction of the school reception. Which was upstairs on the top floor.

You could mistake our office for an Apple waiting room. Floor to ceiling windows that offered a view over the entire school football field. White marble floors and an enormous circle shaped desk where the receptionists were stationed with their headsets in.

The desk was modern and sharp with charcoal fixtures and crisp white name plates to identify the women at work and their positions. The seating area offered a couple of comfortable leather couches and a glass table scattered with magazines and brochures about the school and what it offers.

Apparently I wouldn't need to sit down though because as soon as Gretchen - a short round German woman in her thirties - saw me, she pointed at the principles door and told me that he was waiting.

She had a thick accent and it made me smile whenever she spoke. She sounded terrifying, if you heard her voice without seeing her kind smile and plump overly blushed cheeks, you'd get a hell of a fright. But she was a teddy bear and we'd become well acquainted over the years.

It would have been hard not to considering how often I ended up in this office. It wasn't always to see the principle. There were multiple doors with thick platinum name plates screwed to the wood. The deputy principle. The head of behaviours council. The careers advisor. And a few others that hadn't applied to me so far. Mostly because I wasn't interested in sports or financial aid.

Without bothering to knock, I twisted the principles door handle and wandered on in. Mrs Sheridan, a thin woman in her mid sixties with white hair kept loosely back in a claw clip and bone structure to die for, was sat at her desk, staring absentmindedly out of her windows. Her office never failed to make me feel as if I was going to fall out of a plane or something horrific. Apart from the wall that the door was on, the rest of the office was windows. Just windows. The sort that she could see out of but no one could see in. She had a nice view that covered a decent portion of the grounds.

Her thin neck twisted, the tight skin pulling as she stared at me. Botox was keeping her from sagging too much. Her wry lips pulled into a polite smile. Mrs Sheridan was the sort of woman that could go from sweet doting grandmother to terrifying old witch in a matter of moments. I had experienced both. We had a complicated relationship.

"First thing on a Monday morning," I tutted as I let her door shut behind me. "This must be a new record. What have I done this time?"

She stood up, smoothing her royal blue pant suit which clung to her petite frame and clasped her hands behind her back. So that was the sort of conversation that she was going to be having with me. Mrs Sheridan had tells. She had specific actions that I had come to recognise in all of our meetings together. Her hands clasped in front of her, meant that she was feeling warm or welcoming. She wasn't going to throw me into detention and she might even tell me that she liked my hair or make up.

However, hands behind the back meant business and I became concerned, fluffing with the end of my thick ponytail which draped over my shoulder.

"One moment Leonie," she held up a frail finger and peered behind me as the door opened up, as if she had summoned the guest herself to arrive at that exact second. "Ah just who we've been waiting for."

I was about to suggest that we hadn't been waiting for anyone because I had stepped inside all of fifteen seconds ago. But when I peered behind me, I had to surpress an audible groan of objection at the tall orange barbie doll that was closing the door behind her. Of course, then I had to attempt not to wince when she turned around because damn, I hadn't been subtle about her beating.