tension in her shoulders.
She wanted to argue but did as commanded and lowered to her knees.
“The skirt touches the floor as required.” I flicked a finger. “Stand.”
As she rose, her eyes blazed with outrage. The intensity took me aback. This was more than annoyance about conforming to the rules.
“Get it off your chest.” I crossed my arms. “But choose your words carefully.”
“Okay, well, that thing you just did with the skirt? It’s like so…” She made a sound of irritation. “Patriarchal.”
“Go on.”
“It’s needlessly demeaning. I mean, you can clearly see the length of my skirt without making me kneel for you. It’s an archaic act of shaming so characteristic of a system controlled by men. If I were a male student, I wouldn’t have to kneel during a wardrobe inspection. I wouldn’t even have to wear a skirt. It’s total bullsh—” She took a breath and calmed her voice. “It’s an outdated, sexist practice, one I strongly suggest you discontinue. You know, in the best interest of the students.”
I lowered my arms and stared at her, stunned. In the nine years I’d been running this school, not one girl had presented that compelling argument.
“You’re right.”
“I am?”
“Yes, Tinsley. You asserted your belief confidently, respectfully, and convincingly. You convinced me, which rarely happens. I’ll see to it that the practice is ceased by all staff members at Sion.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” I cocked my head. “I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.”
“That doesn’t mean that shaming and humiliation won’t be used as forms of punishment.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows knitted. “Maybe I can assert an argument for that.”
Doubtful. “You can try. Another time.”
I led her out of the residence hall, and ten minutes later, we stood before the towering arched doors of the church. A choir of voices drifted from within, marking the end of the second reading. The service was halfway over.
With my hand on the door, I started to pull it open and stopped, looking back at my charge. “Have you ever been inside of a church?”
“I once took an Anusara yoga class in the house of a well-known witch coven.”
“Okay.” I breathed in slowly. “That’s not the same thing at all.”
“It sure felt churchy with all the stars and crosses engraved everywhere. Though they might’ve been inverted crosses.” She shrugged.
“Your goal today is to listen and observe. Follow my lead and sit, kneel, and stand when I do.”
I escorted her inside and spotted Crisanto at the pulpit, reading the gospel. Students from both campuses filled the pews from the front row to midway back. Boys on one side and girls on the other.
Dipping my fingers in the holy water, I made the sign of the cross. Then, to mitigate our disruption, I slipped into the last row with Tinsley at my side. No one noticed. At least, not right away.
As Crisanto moved on to the homily, one of the senior boys sitting a few pews before us glanced over his shoulder. He started to turn back and did a double take, his eyes locking on to Tinsley.
The little shit openly stared at her, stared harder, and continued to do so as his elbow rammed into the guy beside him. Within seconds, the entire row of senior boys was gawking at her.
I gave them the sternest look I had, but none of them caught it. They were spellbound by the Constantine princess. Maybe they recognized her from the press. But I knew it was more than that. The girl was a knockout. Stunning beyond anything these boys had ever encountered.
Out the corner of my eye, she held her palm out and blew them a kiss.
Some of them scrambled to catch it. None were listening to the sermon.
I angled toward her and growled in her ear. “This is your only warning. Do that again, and you’ll earn another strike.”
“Are these strikes given with a strap or a cane?” she whispered.
“Shut up and pay attention.”
Five minutes later, she was asleep, her neck hanging at an awkward angle, bobbing her head.
I grabbed a missal from the book rack and dropped the heavy text onto her lap.
She jumped, her arm flying out and nailing me in the chest.
“Sorry,” she mouthed.
Within minutes, her head bobbed again.
And so it went. Through what little of Mass she was actually conscious, she groaned between the kneeling and standing, yawned through the prayers, smiled and winked at the boys, and tested my patience. She did everything wrong.
But she would learn. By the end of the day, she would understand the meaning of a hard