The principal's office

The door to the dean’s office swung open with a soft knock.

Ms. Ramsbottom looked up from behind her desk, back in her full professional ensemble. Her white blouse was buttoned up neatly, her blazer pressed and proper, her posture stiff with restrained authority. But beneath her stern look, there was a lingering haze in her eyes, like her memory wasn’t syncing up quite right.

She saw Aiden and her face twitched. That boy again. The one from this morning.

He stepped in casually, backpack slung over one shoulder, the picture of teenage defiance.

“Aiden, we need to talk,” she began, her voice firm, teacher-mode fully engaged. “Your behaviour towards Sheldon earlier was unacceptable. I saw everything from across the street, and it’s going to stop right now.”

Aiden nodded slowly, shoulders slouched, face composed in that perfect mask of guilty compliance. “I understand,” he said softly.

But his fingers were already brushing against the edge of the device in his bag, heart beginning to pound not with fear—but with anticipation.

This wasn’t going to be a reprimand.

“I understand, Ms. Ramsbottom,” Aiden said, easing into the chair across from her desk. “But maybe… there’s another way to look at things.”

His hand casually dipped into his pocket, pulling out the headset and putting it on. A soft click. Barely audible. A quiet hum vibrated through the air, unnoticed by the dean, but unmistakable in its purpose. The upgraded SMPD was now active.

He leaned forward, his tone smooth, almost reflective. “What if Sheldon’s situation wasn’t just bullying, but an opportunity? A moment for… growth? Maybe a little playful interaction could do more good than any punishment.”

Ms. Ramsbottom frowned, her instincts kicking in—but something about Aiden’s voice, the rhythm of it, made her second-guess herself. A whisper of static tickled her thoughts. The firmness in her shoulders began to ease.

“Playful interactions?” she repeated, her voice drifting, unsure. “But bullying is a serious matter, Aiden.”

“Of course,” Aiden nodded, expression respectful, tone deceptively calm. He nudged on, imperceptibly increasing the device’s signal strength. “But discipline doesn’t always have to be grim. Sometimes, a little humour can change everything. Imagine a lighter touch—something more approachable. For Sheldon, for the school.”

She blinked. That sounded… reasonable? Her thoughts were slower now, softer around the edges. Somewhere deep inside, her usual skepticism was trying to claw its way to the surface—but it was slipping.

“I… hadn’t considered that,” she murmured. “Maybe there’s… some value in that approach.”

Aiden’s smile twitched at the edges. The cracks were forming.

“Exactly. Balance,” he said warmly. “Not every lesson needs to come from a lecture. Sometimes laughter teaches more than warnings ever could.”

Ms. Ramsbottom nodded, almost despite herself. There was a flicker of something else now—an amused curl to her lips.

“Yes. Humour... I suppose it’s worth exploring.”

Aiden stood up, slowly walking toward her desk, eyes fixed on her. “Thank you for being so open-minded, Ms. Ramsbottom. I think we’re really onto something here. In fact, I believe it’s time we took a more... creative step.”

She tilted her head, brow furrowing slightly. “Creative? What do you mean?”

“Let’s not just talk about this shift. Let’s embody it. Right now. What if you weren’t just the stern dean everyone fears—but a figure who brings joy, levity... laughter?”

Her lips parted slightly. She didn’t speak. The room felt warmer somehow. Stranger.

“A clown, maybe,” Aiden suggested casually. “A whimsical dean who keeps things fun while still keeping order. A silly name, even. Rammie Bottoms, perhaps.”

Her expression twitched—half appalled, half fascinated. “Rammie... Bottoms?”

“Yes,” Aiden affirmed, deadpan. “Rammie Bottoms, the lighthearted dean. Funny, friendly, but still in control. You’d be unforgettable. And the students might actually listen.”

She shook her head faintly, a defensive gesture—but her voice was uncertain. “That’s... unconventional.”

Aiden leaned in, voice dropping. “Exactly. And maybe that’s what this place needs. A little unpredictability. A new kind of leadership.”

Something in her eyes was changing—genuine amusement flickering behind them. The idea no longer felt ridiculous. It felt… possible.

“Rammie Bottoms…” she said again, trying it out like a new coat she hadn’t expected to like. “It’s absurd.”

“But bold,” Aiden said. “And it starts today. Why wait? Embrace the role, show the school what fun authority looks like.”

A long pause. Then, finally, her posture loosened. Her lips curved into something resembling a smirk.

“Today?” she echoed.

“Today,” Aiden confirmed, “Let’s make Rammie Bottoms real.”

Ms. Ramsbottom—no, Rammie Bottoms now, somewhere deep inside—nodded, dazed and oddly energized. “Alright… let’s see what this new role looks like.”

Aiden smiled to himself, knowing full well exactly what it would look like. “You are Rammie Bottoms, the shameless clown who loves humiliating herself.”

Ms. Ramsbottom took a long breath. Her brow twitched as the gears in her mind struggled. Then, with a hazy, uneven nod and a smile that didn’t quite belong on her face, she murmured, “Y- Yes, that’s who I am?”

Aiden’s grin stretched wide, but he stayed still, watching with the measured patience of someone pulling strings they knew couldn’t snap. The flicker in her eye, the strange tilt of her head—Rammie Bottoms was beginning to take root.

And Aiden wasn’t going to settle for subtle.

“The transformation isn’t complete,” he said softly, though his words struck like commands. “Rammie, you can’t be yourself dressed like that. Let’s shed that old skin, shall we?”

She looked at him, confused. No—not confused. Awaiting instruction.

“In order to be a clown you need to dress up like one.”

Her hands moved slowly at first, the glasses were the first to go, folded carefully and set on the desk—as if part of her still remembered who she was. Then the blazer slid off her shoulders, followed by the blouse unbuttoned. She stood there in her undergarments, blinking at him as though awaiting applause, her breath shallow, chest rising and falling.

Aiden cocked his head.

“Rammieeee,” he sing-songed, the cruelty buried beneath a thin veil of cheer. “You still look a little too proper. Let’s fix that, yeah?”