Lessons in Sin

“Fifty seconds.” I entered the stairwell and leaned back against the wall, seeking the coolness of the bricks.

As I lingered there, my thoughts tried to twist in a dangerous direction. Fifty seconds was too long to stand idle while surges of hot lust became reacquainted with my body.

My reaction to her made no sense. There was nothing even remotely attractive about the little imp.

The lie pricked my heart. Tinsley Constantine was inconceivably beautiful from every angle, unpredictable at every turn, and had a mouth on her that wouldn’t quit. She challenged me, shocked me, and twisted me up. Even if she was just a child.

She’s eighteen. Legal age of consent. Technically, an adult.

That meant Caroline’s parental rights were nonexistent. Tinsley could leave Sion Academy, screw every male in the state of Maine, and there wasn’t a damn thing her mother could do about it. Except cut her off. Caroline could and would take away Tinsley’s trust fund, financial support, and the roof over her head.

Maybe her mother wouldn’t disown her if she were expelled from Sion, but she was taking a huge risk trying to find out.

I refused to be part of it. She was my student, and it was my job to educate and discipline her. Anything else was an abuse of power.

At the sound of her approach, I realized I’d forgotten to check my watch. Had sixty seconds passed? Five minutes? We were already late. At this point, the only purpose in going to Mass was to teach her a lesson.

She couldn’t manipulate her way around the rules. I was far better at this than she was.

When she reached the stairwell, I inspected her uniform. The shirt was tucked in, the buttons closed from throat to waist. Her knee-high socks were pulled up tight, her loafers the appropriate style and color. In the winter, they wore school-issued cardigans. But it wasn’t necessary today.

“Kneel.” I walked a circle around her, noting the 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.