Not bad at all

Ms. Naylor tries to turn the doorknob, but her small hands just slide on the smooth brass.

"Is it locked?" You ask, but the Headmistress shakes her head immediately.

"There are very few locks on this campus, Mr. Hawkfeather." Ms. Naylor lectures you patiently. "Our young ladies know which rooms they are allowed in and they respect the privacy of the doors even without locks." You do your best to hide your surprise, well your disbelief, but Ms. Naylor doesn't miss much. "I told you, Mr. Hawkfeather, you don't know anything about this school and her traditions." She steps back and gestures to the door.

The latch on the door is stiff, but the heavy brass doorknob turns with a groan when you put a little muscle into it. You may not know all the peculiar customs of this academy, but sometimes it takes brute **** to get the job done. You step back yourself, deliberately mimicking her gesture, letting the intriguing Ms. Naylor be the first into the room.

The heavy curtains block nearly every bit of the afternoon sun, but when you pull the thick velvet drapes back you can see the thick layer of dust that coats every surface of the floor, furniture, and bookshelves that line the room. Ms. Naylor had not lied when she told you that no one had been in this room for years. It is, you realize more evidence that she wanted nothing to do with you or the board's decision to reinstate this position. She could have at least had the custodial staff air out this office even if your request to sleep in the adjoining chamber caught her by surprise.

The office is almost fully furnished. It includes a large oak desk and matching chair as well as a straight-backed chair similar to the one you sat on in Ms. Naylor's office. All that is missing is a computer, but you've gotten used to using your laptop and you don't really need a big computer taking up a big chunk of your desk. Sitting on the desk like its been left specifically for you is a small paperbacked book titled Code of Conduct, and a wireframed box holding a stack of yellowed paper and over a dozen perfectly sharpened yellow pencils.

A leather couch that is surprisingly comfortable sits on the side of the room under a bookcase which holds an eclectic collection of books. You run your fingers across the bindings of twenty three consecutive yearbooks from 1983 to 2006 that almost fill one shelf. There is a collection of law books, with worn well used covers as well as over fifty history books including the 20 volume Durant History of the World and several different biographies of past presidents. On a different shelf is a complete Shakespeare in delux red leather bindings, a half-dozen or so Jane Austin novels and finally more than a dozen books in Latin that you couldn't even begin to read.

A startled intake of breath form Ms. Naylor draws you attention and you see her holding a polished wooden paddle. The dark wood is worn smooth from use and there is an inscription carved into the wood around the grip.

"Is that what I think it is?" You ask, surprised to see a paddle like that in an elite school such as this. Both your father and grandfather were strong believers in the 'spare the rod, spoil the kid' philosophy of child rearing, for that matter your mother and grandmother had given you their fair share of whoopings when you deserved them. However, that was in West Virginia thirty years ago, and you were a headstrong boy who got into trouble on a regular basis. It comes as a shock to think that the pretty little backsides of these wealthy debutants might have been tanned by this very paddle.

"I'm afraid so." Ms. Naylor hands the paddle to you to examine. "Mrs. Marshall's office was one of the most feared places on campus when I was a student."

"Oh?" You raise your eye in inquiry and risk teasing her a little. "Where you on good terms with this paddle?" You are delighted to see the blush on Ms. Naylor's cheeks; she really is a fine looking woman.

"No Mr. Hawkfeather," the Headmistress tries to recover the cool, proper reserve that you remember from her office,"I was a model student; I never broke the rules." You bet she was.

"Where is the bedroom?" You ask in an attempt to lighten the mood, setting the paddle down on the desk next to the old rulebook.