Wright comes across as a dangerous predator with you his weak prey

"What a dump," you can't help but say, seeing boxes standing unpacked all around the room.

The office, surprisingly, isn't as small as you'd have assumed, and thinking back you realize that his office is at the end, the neighboring room being an empty meeting room of some sort. Shouldn't that mean this was the boss's room? And if so, does that mean you're really in trouble?

"That would be because I'm just moving in," a cold voice tells you. In spite of it being so frigid you hear the rich timbre of it, the deepness. Your head snaps around automatically to view the authoritative owner of it and you're struck dumb.

"Jenny Rainwood. Poor grades, apparently not very bright. Has a flair for making trouble, though not maliciously. Refuses to shape up, but has yet to be expelled. Well, I'd say that's due to Vice-President Wellesley being soft-hearted when it comes to you. Probably because he was teaching you in your past school before accepting his job here. I can tell you that you won't be getting any special treatment from me. I believe in a very firm hand and some rather old-school techniques. Understand?"

Your head nods of its own accord, though your brain is still struggling to catch up to the reality. Far from being the plain, fat and older kind of men that seem to populate the rest of the school Mister Wright - Jacob Wright according to the gold-plated name-tag on his desk - is their opposite in every way.

Possessed of the handsome looks of a male model, yet having the ruggedness and mean eyes of a brawler, Mister Wright towers over you. You're not short, being a bit above average for a girl of your age, but he's at least six inches taller. Unlike your skinny body with it's wiry muscles he has a lean but powerful body, possessing muscles like a prize-fighter and moving with a predatory grace. You can tell this last as he circles the large mahogany desk to stalk towards you.

Instinctively you step back, gulping, but succeed only in hitting a waist-high stack of boxes, falling onto them in a sitting position.

"Did I tell you to sit?" he demands, eyes narrowing dangerously. Your own pop even wider, if possible, giving you the look of a helpless doe about to be ravaged by the wolf stalking towards it.