She continued her plan

Relief washed over Melissa, a cold, clammy wave that did little to quell the churning in her stomach. Mrs. Helen might have found the book, panties and all, but with any luck, the teacher wouldn't know who they belonged to. The humiliation would sting, but it was a risk Melissa had taken. Now, the mission had to go on.

Steeling her nerves, Melissa peeked out from behind the sofa. The room was empty. With a shaky breath, she crept towards the door, every muscle screaming in protest. The hallway stretched before her, a silent sentinel. Her next move had already been planned, a **** gamble born out of defiance. The first floor, the very bottom of the school, housed a vending machine alcove – a secluded spot, or so she hoped. But the thought of leaving her clothes there, exposed and ****, sent a fresh wave of anxiety coursing through her.

Melissa descended the stairs, each step echoing in the sterile silence. On the first floor, she scanned the hallway, her heart hammering against her ribs. Tucked away in a corner, a lone vending machine offered a sliver of hope. Approaching cautiously, she crouched down, her movements sharp with urgency. The space beneath the machine was tight, barely enough to accommodate her hidden cargo. With trembling hands, she shoved her skirt beneath the machine, the meager gap swallowing it whole. The vulnerability of her act sent a fresh wave of panic through her, but there was no turning back now. Her plan, audacious and fraught with risk, was set in motion.

A wave of thirst washed over Melissa, a cruel irony considering her predicament. A cold soda from the vending machine would be a godsend, but her money was locked away in her backpack, miles away in class. Then, a flicker of hope. Her crumpled shirt still clung to her hand. Desperation fueled her search, her fingers scrambling through the fabric's pockets. A jingle of coins! Relief flooded her – enough for a drink, at least.

With trembling hands, Melissa shoved the money into the vending machine, her movements jerky and frantic. The buttons clicked under her touch, selecting a can of Coca-Cola. It tumbled down the chute, a metallic clang echoing in the empty hallway. She snatched the cold can, the condensation a welcome chill against her heated skin. But just as she reached for the pop-top, her heart hammered a frantic tattoo against her ribs.

“What are you doing ?”,

A voice, sharp and unexpected, ripped through the silence. Melissa froze, the can slipping from her grasp. Naked and exposed, every nerve in her body screamed with terror. Had she been caught? The hallway, once a deserted landscape, now felt like a cage, the vending machine a flimsy shield against the approaching footsteps.