There was an air of nerve-shredding tension in the office and no-one usually spoke or even made eye contact as they sat in misery on a short row of seats outside the principal’s modest study.

Sally-Ann couldn’t stand it though. She just had to speak. It was her propensity for jibber-jabber in class when she should be silent and the unfortunate capacity to talk back which usually got her into trouble.

“What you here for?” she said to her neighbor in a hushed whisper, clutching her pink discipline slip.

Ava looked uncomfortable as she too fidgeted with the ubiquitous and much-despised document. They weren’t supposed to talk and she didn’t want any more unwanted attention.

“Tardies,” she whispered back after anxiously looking around to check none of the administrators was within earshot.

“Me as well. Says here I’m going to get three.”

Fortunately, Ava didn’t actually need to speak to respond and offered Sally-Ann a glimpse of her discipline report, sucking in the corners of her mouth and with wide eyes as she gestured with the paper.

The forms were very similar. “CPx3” it said in a hasty scrawl and clearly written by someone who had become bored with filling in pink slips for misbehaving youngsters.

Sally-Ann detected her neighbor’s anxiety with their conversation.

“Sorry. It’s just that I’ve never had swats before and I’m totally freaking out. The silence. The waiting. It’s actual hell.”

Ava shot her a sympathetic look and then felt she ought to offer something by way of consolation. She clearly remembered her first paddling, and it didn’t get any easier.

“My second time this semester,” she whispered whilst simultaneously looking away from her fellow tardy offender in an effort to go unnoticed.

“Try to anticipate and lean forward when you get it,” she added. “Go with the swat. It takes some of the sting.”

It was the same advice she’d been given before her first time and she still didn’t believe it made the slightest bit of difference. To be honest, her own heart was also racing with near panic as she knew precisely what was coming. The paddle really sucks. It hurts like blazes. She knew her bottom would soon be suffering the unbearable burning brand of the board and would be hot and sore for about an hour afterwards. The only glimmer of light was the fact that it was over relatively quickly instead of the drawn-out suffering of hours and hours of in-school suspension.

“OK. Thanks,” hissed Sally-Ann.

They both flinched as they heard the unmistakable sound of a paddle crack striking someone’s unfortunate butt in the adjoining room. The pair of them fidgeted their bottoms on the hard, austere, school-issue chairs and fussed with their pink slips. A little whimper escaped from a frightened Sally-Ann, but her experienced colleague also gulped hard with fear as another loud pop escaped the principal’s office.

“Oh God,” Ava gasped at the third, rocking on her chair and looking around the room for miraculous salvation. “Mr Cooper’s hitting hard today. I’m only wearing leggings,” she whispered in a voice close to despair.

It didn’t help Sally-Ann’s demeanor to see the effect on someone who’d actually had the paddle. She, too, was in stretch pants today. Her knee bounced with excess energy. She fretted with her hands. Was it too late to change her mind in favor of suspension? She suspected it was.

Another loud splat breached the office wall and both girls’ chins started to quiver. Ava blew hard through flushed cheeks and then gulped hard again as the door opened.

A boy emerged, his back arched, clutching at his backside. His face was a picture of pain but he managed to hide his distress as soon as he spotted the two girls waiting their turn. He tried to walk away with as much dignity as he could muster but the tell-tale deep moan of a boy whose voice had broken escaped his throat in a pre-cry as he hurried towards the rest room where he might be able to steal a few moments in a stall where he could sob and rub the hurt in his burning behind.

To their horror, it wasn’t Mr Cooper who then appeared at the office door but the vice-principal, Mrs Albany. The word on the street was that she paddled harder than anyone and her swing was much discussed and indeed dreaded.

“Ava Beatty,” the middle-aged woman announced sternly.

The girl stood, reluctantly. Sheepishly she complied with the gesture to enter the room.

“Check your back pockets. Come on. Hurry up. You know what to do. Get in position. Elbows on the desk. Bottom out. Three swats.”

Sally-Ann caught the curt instructions to her new friend before the unseen witness shut the door on any more dialogue.

Moments later a loud slap and a squeal breached the silence. Sally-Ann grizzled on the chair as the beastly paddle did its work. The admin staff looked up as they heard Sally-Ann’s tearful whines, briefly studying the girl’s panic-stricken face, once again appreciating that the remorse and intention to reform began from the moment they took a seat outside the principal’s office to wait their turn over the desk.

The End

© Davis Marks 2025