That day, we had French in second period. Eunice Ndemba and Erin Morgan came in five minutes late when the lesson had already started. As I later learned this was not the first time that this had happened.

"Ndemba and Morgan." Our teacher Ms Mallet regarded them with a frown. "I have told you repeatedly that I will not tolerate tardiness in my class."

Both girls apologized profusely, but that did not seem to appease the teacher.

"Very well, for now. You can take your seats," she told them.

At the end of the period, when everybody was getting ready to leave, Ms Mallet announced: "Ndemba, Morgan: the two of you will stay in the classroom. We need to talk."

"Uh oh," Natty commented.

My roommate and I as well as the rest of my classmates went to the school's cafeteria. The girls positioned three tables and the respective chairs in such away that we could all sit together.  They had self-service in the cafeteria, so everybody got up and purchased their favorite beverages. Natty and I got ourselves cups of black coffee. The Turner twins shared one tall glass filled with a special kind of lemonade. Nancy just took a glass of water and Mallory Carmichael got a hot chocolate as did Helen Langden and Jessica Burns. The four rich girls  -- Barnett, Bradford, Lane and Mellon -- chose English tea.

We were all sitting together, taking sips from our beverages and chatting amiably when Eunice Ndemba and Erin Morgan finally joined us about ten minutes later, both girls looking none too happy. We watched as the African girl carefully lowered her butt onto the seat of a chair and winced. The Welsh girl followed her friend's lead and sat down beside her.

"Did you guys get a licking?" Debbie Turner asked.

Ndemba nodded. "Bloody Mallet," she muttered.

"Three strokes of the cane for each of us," Erin elaborated.

"That woman has got it in for me." Eunice made a face. "You may be a royal princess of the blood in your own country, Ndemba," she intoned, in a precise imitation of our French teacher's voice. "But this is England, and here you are subject to school discipline just like any other student. Is that understood?"

Everybody was grinning.

"She has got the weirdest ideas about my home country too," the black girl continued. "She says she is well aware of the fact that in my own country I could have her, quote, thrown into jail or worse, unquote, for disciplining me. But you know, fortunately for her, this is England."

"Could you actually do that?" Jessica Burns asked, intrigued. "I mean, have her imprisoned and all."

"I wish." Ndemba laughed. "I've got zero influence and even less power, back home."

"Aw, that's too bad." Jen Turner grinned. "Just imagine it. We could go there on our next school excursion and Ndemba could have old Mallet thrown in jail. Or worse.  Just for a day or two. Wouldn't that be something?"

"Well, as I said, this is not likely to happen," the black girl told her.

"Myself, I would love to go to Paris, just once." Nancy sounded wistful.

"The Lower Sixth always gets to visit Paris, for two weeks," Mallory Carmichael said. "You will just have to wait until then, Kerrington." She yawned. "Instead, we are taking a trip to London, on Friday. It's not like we didn't go there only six months ago."

"Why don't you go and talk to Headmistress Stuart about that, Carmichael. Use your famous charm to wrap her around your finger." There was a touch of malice in Eleanor Bradford's voice. "Why don't you convince her to change the destination of our trip to Brighton or something."

"You go and do that yourself, Bradford." Mallory shrugged dismissively. "Personally, I don't like Brighton that much. There's too many rich snobs all over that place, lately."

"I wouldn't mind going to Brighton, myself," Erin Morgan threw in. "I would love to spend some time on the beach. As for the rich snobs, I can handle those. Especially if they offer to buy me cocktails and ice cream."

"Maybe you could get them to buy cocktails and ice cream for all of us, Morgan?" Helen Langden suggested.

"Or, for that matter, just cocktails," Natty added.

That elicited a few laughs.

"Sounds like a plan, Nat," Mallory remarked.

This invariably confused me no end: how my classmates would address each other by their last names by default, while certain subgroups of girls were on a first name basis. I had figured out by now that only close friends called each other by their first names. But then, I did not think that Natty and Mallory were close friends. Or for that matter, friends at all. Bradford's jibe notwithstanding, Mallory used to hang a lot with the four 'rich girls' who did not appear to be overly fond of my roommate. Then I remembered that Natty and Mallory had shared a dorm room for a few months. So perhaps they still were on a first-name-basis because of that.

I must have looked a bit distracted, for Mallory Carmichael unexpectedly addressed me.

"So how do you like St. Albert's so far, Hart?" she inquired.

"It's mostly okay, I guess. I mean, the math and physics lessons are pretty high quality, I like that. What I don't like are all those rules and regulations and the strict discipline that is being enforced here."

"By that, Cathy means the spankings," Natty translated.

"Well yes, you are right about that," I admitted.

"Didn't you get spanked at your old school? I mean, not at all?" Helen Langden asked me.

"Nah, they didn't do that, back home," I replied.

"I am so considering a move to Nebraska," Helen remarked, to no one in particular.

Next period was PE. Usually, that meant we were going to either run laps or play games such as field hockey or badminton. Like most of my classmates, I did not enjoy running laps. But I also sucked at field hockey and badminton, having played neither of those games before I got enrolled at St. Albert's. Volleyball, however, was a different matter. I knew how to play volleyball and I was even fairly good at it. So I was happy to hear that we were going to play that particular ballgame today.

Normally, our PE lessons would be held in the old gym, a building located close to the castle-like main building of St. Albert's Boarding School for Girls. The school's relatively new volleyball hall, on the other hand, was located almost a mile away, on a large clearing in the nearby forest. A small path through the park that surrounded our school led to the volleyball hall.

It was one of the few times in my life that I actually enjoyed myself during a PE class. You could tell that my classmates were pretty impressed with my volleyball playing skills, too.

Afterwards, in the showers, I caught a glimpse of Ndemba's bare behind. Three almost parallel welts ran across the girl's ebony butt cheeks.

Her friend Erin Morgan was standing next to me. I glanced at the Welsh girl's backside. Sure enough, a similar pattern of stripes could be seen on her rear.

As it happened, Erin turned her head at that exact moment, and caught me looking at her butt. She gave me a curious look. I blushed.

"That must have hurt," I remarked, somewhat at random, indicating the welts on her backside.

"Yes, it did," she simply said, as she turned to face me.

Erin Morgan was without question the most beautiful girl in our class. Although strictly speaking the use of makeup was not allowed for students at St. Albert's, most of the girls in my class used a modicum of cosmetica. The Welsh girl never applied any makeup at all. Somehow, she managed to look beautiful without even trying. This could have been vexing for the rest of us, but Erin had such a friendly, warm personality that none of us could bring herself to harbor anything resembling a grudge towards her.

Erin smiled at me, perhaps waiting for me to say something. When that did not happen, she asked: "Would you like me to do your back?"

"Uh, my back?" For a second or two, I was flustered. Then I noticed the bar of soap she was holding in her hand. "Oh yes, sure."

"Turn around, then."

The Welsh girl proceeded to thoroughly soap my back, working her way from my shoulder blades down to my butt cheeks.

The touch of Erin's hands on my skin made me feel warm and tingly all over.

"There, all done," she pronounced.

"Thanks."

"You are welcome."

I stepped under the shower.

A small part of that warm, pleasant feeling stayed with me for the remainder of the day.

*******************************************************

A / N : Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter. Your thoughts and comments are more than welcome, please post them here or send me a private message.