New School Dress Code

Alex heads to work with a newfound spring in his step, his mind racing with possibilities. The mundane drive to Westwood Private Academy—the prestigious institution where he teaches literature to ungrateful teenagers—suddenly feels electric with potential. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, occasionally glancing at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

"I look the same," he mutters, studying his unremarkable features. "But everything's different now."

As he pulls into the faculty parking lot, he spots Principal Hoffman marching toward the entrance, her rigid posture and tight bun embodying the school's strict traditional values. Several students lounge near the entrance, uniforms deliberately disheveled in that calculated teenage rebellion way.

*Little shits think they're so clever*, Alex thinks, grabbing his worn leather briefcase. The same briefcase he'd been using since Diane bought it for him when he first landed this teaching job—a position that, as everyone loved to remind him, came courtesy of his father-in-law's connection to the board.

"Morning, Mr. Mercer," calls out Tiffany Rodriguez, the head cheerleader, with that same dismissive tone they all use.

"Good morning," he replies automatically, then pauses. Something about her tone triggers a flash of anger. Years of accumulated disrespect cascade through his memory—students openly mocking him, colleagues patronizing him, administrators overlooking him for promotions.

The Trend Setter power pulses in his veins.

"Actually, Tiffany," he says, turning to face her and her giggling friends, "I've been researching educational psychology lately. Did you know studies show that formal address creates unnecessary hierarchical barriers to learning?"

The girls exchange confused glances.

"What?" Tiffany asks.

Alex steps closer, confidence radiating from him. "The most progressive educational systems in Europe are implementing first-name basis for all faculty-student interactions. It's been shown to improve engagement by 37%."

"Really?" one of Tiffany's friends asks, sounding genuinely interested.

"Absolutely," Alex nods sagely. "In fact, I'll be proposing it at today's faculty meeting. So feel free to call me Alex from now on."

To his delight, Tiffany's usual smirk softens. "Okay... Alex."

He continues toward the building, a small victory putting a bounce in his step. In the faculty lounge, several teachers huddle around the coffee machine, including Jessica Winters, the young physics teacher who always treated him like furniture.

"Morning, Mercer," she says distractedly, not bothering to look up from her phone.

"Morning, Jessica," he replies, pouring himself coffee. "I've been meaning to ask—have you heard about the educational reforms they're implementing in Scandinavia?"

"What?" she glances up, clearly annoyed at being engaged in conversation.

"It's fascinating stuff," Alex continues, leaning against the counter. "They're completely rethinking the teacher-student dynamic. Breaking down unnecessary power structures."

Despite herself, Jessica's interest seems piqued. "Like what?"

"Like formal address, for one," Alex explains. "The data shows students respond better when allowed to use teachers' first names. Creates a collaborative environment rather than an authoritarian one."

Jessica furrows her brow. "That sounds... unorthodox."

"The research is compelling," Alex shrugs. "I'm bringing it up at today's faculty meeting. The schools that have implemented these changes are seeing dramatic improvements in test scores."

As he walks away, he notices Jessica typing something into her phone, no doubt looking up his bullshit claims. But he feels the strange hum of his power working. She'll find something that seems to confirm what he's saying. He's certain of it.