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THE SWEET ACADEMY (Part 2) By Lisa Lovelace I woke up late on Monday, disoriented until I remembered where I was: in the Sapphire dorm at my new school, The Sweet Academy, on the first day of fall term. My gorgeous roommate Parvaneh was already up. I rose, showered, did my face, put on my schoolgirl's uniform, remembered to put my hair in pigtails. I finally opened the envelope that contained my class schedule. It was weird. A bunch of girly subjects, nothing like what you'd study in a normal high school: - 8 am: Deportment - 9 am: Dressmaking - 10 am: Hair & Makeup - 11 am: Cooking (Work Experience) - Noon: Lunch - 1 pm: Ballet - 2 pm: Science for Girls Science for Girls turned out to be an idiotic hodgepodge of a class that should have been called Housekeeping 101: how to shop for groceries (biology), how compare prices (mathematics), how to clean the house and do laundry (chemistry), and how to dust, vacuum and iron (physics). It was so insulting! One student in Science for Girls showed up not in her uniform, but in a pink party dress like one a six-year-old would wear, with big puffy sleeves, a white sash that tied in back, a full skirt, a built-in petticoat and a hemline that barely covered her Disney Princess panties. Her hair was in pigtails tied in pink ribbons, like a first-year student. I smiled inside as I realized it was Robinson, the girl who'd sneered at me when we entered the campus. She was being tormented by her friends, who were talking to her as if she was a little girl, and she seemed to be near tears. Now I knew what the punishment "six for a week" meant: being forced to dress and behave like a six-year-old girl for a week. At least she didn't have to wear diapers, plastic panties and a baby dress, the way someone who forgot to sit down to pee would have to. The good news was that classes only lasted forty-five minutes and were really easy, except for Ballet, which was brutal torture. Many classes met only four days a week, so on most days we had a free period for socializing and gossiping... or doing Work Experience, which was mandatory and which the teachers said was a good way to learn a future trade, but which I soon realized was just a clever way to make students provide most of the labor needed to run the school without being paid. My Cooking class turned out to be the Work Experience team that made lunch for all the students every day. I began to see that the school really consisted of a small staff of adults, including teachers, who loosely supervised dozens of Work Experience teams that cooked all the meals, washed the dishes, washed and dried and folded and ironed the laundry, cleaned the bathrooms, mopped the floors... all the drudgery traditionally done by housewives or servants. In return, student got Work Experience credits that were required to get a diploma, but were otherwise worthless. The school even rented out Work Experience teams to local businesses for janitorial and housekeeping services. A bus left the school every night at eight, filled with girls in cute little housekeeper uniforms who cleaned local offices and returned shortly before midnight. They, too, were paid in class credit instead of money. During my first week, like every other new student, I had an appointment with the school nurse. She made me strip down to my panties and training bra, took my vitals, asked a bunch of questions about my health history, gave me two shots in my bottom to boost my immune system, and two bottles of the daily vitamins that Nana started giving me after The Academy accepted my application. She said I'd need to come in for a series of booster shots, but otherwise I looked fine. I asked if they needed a blood test, and she said no. After my first week at The Academy, I began to feel like I was settling in at school. It was nice getting up and just putting on my schoolgirl's uniform instead of having to obsess over I was going to wear that day and would it make me look cute. I enjoyed the daily sight of two hundred girls in their Sweet Institute uniforms heading to their next class at the top of the hour, especially on brisk fall days when mischievous breezes lifted skirts and briefly bared pantied bottoms. Best of all, Parvaneh and I were besties. She was the one in charge, and I liked it that way. Sometimes she would outright order me to do some little thing - refill her water bottle, get her a pillow, rub her feet - and I would feel the thrill of having to obey. I sometimes wished she would order me to do something more difficult or embarrassing, and threaten me with discipline if I failed or refused. Nothing harsh I'd never been much of a student, but I must have been doing better than I expected, because a month after the term started, the Sapphire Head Girl summoned me to her office. I nervously checked myself in the mirror, redid my lip gloss, adjusted my blouse and knocked on her door. She told me to enter. I stood in front of her desk - there was no chair - and curtsied. "Yes, Head Girl?" I knew she didn't like being called Miss Slipstrap. To my surprise, she asked if I wanted to assist her in her duties. "Doing what, Miss?" I already didn't like her. I'd heard by now that she was a rich bitch from the Upper East Side. Her parents probably sent her to The Sweet Academy because they didn't want their society guests embarrassed by the sight of their son sashaying around the apartment in skirts. "It's an important role," she said. "I want you to become my personal assistant. You would write my weekly social-media posts for the Sapphire group, with my approval of course, and you would, ah, assist me in other ways." "What kind of ways?" "Oh, all sorts." "I'm not sure what you mean, Miss." "Oh, don't be dense! You're beautiful, and I'm lonely. They say a Head Girl has no friends. I need a friend." "A friend to do what, Miss?" "A friend to be friendly! Someone nicer than the snotty little prefects who spend all their time trying to cut each other down. Someone to talk to, watch TV with... someone to keep our rooms tidy... someone to give me a hug when I really need one..." The job sounded more personal than assistant. I wasn't attracted to Miss Susan Slipstrap, but it presumably couldn't hurt my career to keep the Head Girl happy. "If I did that for you, Miss, what would you do for me?" "You don't understand, Lisa. You'll be my assistant! It's an honor, especially for a first year." "Won't the other girls be jealous?" "Let them! If you're already my assistant as a first-year, you could easily become a prefect next year, and maybe Sapphire Head Girl someday. I could put in a good word for you." I was a newbie. She was Head Girl of my Jewel. How could I say no? She was offering me a step up the social ladder at The Sweet Academy. If I refused, she would probably never offer it again. And if I had to cuddle with her a little bit as part of the job, well, she was cute even if I personally didn't care for her, and whatever we did would be nicer than being pawed by some smelly, hairy boy. I curtsied to Miss Susan. "Yes, Miss Susan, I'd love to be your personal assistant, and I look forward to having you teach me." "Wonderful," she said. "Let's start by moving your room closer to mine." Did this mean I would be separated from Parvaneh? Did Miss Susan Slipstrap somehow know the two of us were BFFs? Was she trying to break us up? Did she want me for herself? I instantly regretted saying yes, but it was too late. ~ ~ ~ Parvaneh and I cried when I told her I was moving. I found myself in a tiny bedroom off the mini-kitchen in the Head Girl's ground-floor suite, where I found out what my real job was. I was now Miss Susan Slipstrap's lady's maid. She never called me that, and I wore my school uniform instead of a maid's dress under my apron, and occasionally even went to class, but I did for her what a lady's maid would do. I rose before Miss Susan and served her tea in bed. I laid out her clothes for the day - a pointlessly humiliating task, since she wore the same uniform as the rest of us, except for a gold-plated HEAD GIRL badge above her left breast. She put on her own makeup, but I learned to set her hair in the adult styles that seniors were allowed to wear, and wished I could wear them instead of the stupid pigtails and ribbons we first-years had to wear. Between classes, I tidied her bedroom, cleaned her bathroom, ran errands for her and took care of her clothes. She had me launder and iron them by hand rather than subjecting them to the tender mercies of the Work Experience students toiling in the school laundry. At night I helped her undress and brushed her hair a hundred strokes and gave her a goodnight curtsy. I slipped away one day to have coffee and a lovely chat with Parvaneh. Miss Susan asked afterwards where I had been, and discouraged me from seeing her again. "Oh, I know who she is. Paris, the refugee girl. I'm not sure what she's doing here, to be honest. The Academy normally caters to a different class of people. In any case, it won't do you any good to be seen with her. She's not one of us, dear. Remember that your time belongs to me, not her." Her words were totally unfair and made me angry. Who did Miss Sissy Queen Bee Slipstrap think she was? Parvaneh had told me her story. She was indeed of a different class of people than Miss Susan. She was born an upper-class Iranian boy, heir to an ancient business dynasty, and grew up wanting to wear girls' clothes. When she was thirteen, her father found her dressed as a girl, gave her a beating and threatened to turn her over to the mullahs' morality police. She fled her family home that night, disguised as a young woman, wearing a small fortune in her mother's jewels and hiding another small fortune in her backpack. A fabulous pearl necklace got her a ride in the back of a truck from Tehran in the north to a small port on the Strait of Hormuz and a risky night crossing to Dubai in a boat too small to have a radar profile. A matching choker, pendant, bracelet and earrings secured her a first-class ticket to JFK despite her Iranian passport. Upon landing in New York, she immediately claimed asylum as a transgender person likely to be imprisoned or killed if she returned to Iran - or even Dubai, where homosexuality was illegal. With the possible assistance of a five-carat diamond ring that no longer appeared on her finger, she was granted asylum and immediately enrolled herself at The Sweet Academy, a school she'd heard about in the Tehran transgender underground. Her story sounded like a movie, with herself as the heroine, and I told her so. Miss Slipstrap's attitude toward Parvaneh was almost enough to make me resign as her personal assistant, but when I cooled down, I realized I had everything to lose and nothing to gain by quitting. So I kept on piling up the brownie points. In any case, it didn't matter for long. Two weeks later I became Miss Slipstrap's personal assistant, Ms. Abercrombie, the Dean of Girls, summoned me to her office. Like so many of the staff, Ms. Abercrombie was a tall, athletic genetic female in middle age. I stood in front of her desk and curtsied. To my surprise, she invited me to take a chair. I was careful to sit gracefully, as we were learning in Deportment. "Lisa, how do you like being Miss Slipstrap's personal assistant?" I swallowed. Her tone of voice suggested that Ms. Abercrombie was not Miss Susan's biggest fan. I tried to play it safe. "She told me it was a great honor, ma'am." "Do you think it's a great honor?" I squirmed on the seat. How much of the truth could I tell? "I don't know, ma'am. I know it's a lot of work. She uses me more as a maid than a personal assistant." Ms. Abercrombie smiled. "Do you like being her maid, Lisa?" "I'd rather be a personal assistant, ma'am. A proper one, not a... a maid." "You're not wearing a maid's dress." "I'm doing maid's work, ma'am, and she makes me wear an apron." I described what I did. "Well, Lisa," Ms. Abercrombie said, "would you rather work for me than for our precious Miss Slipstrap?" "Doing what, ma'am?" "I've been looking for a personal secretary. I could excuse you from any class of your choice to let you attend to your secretarial duties." "Could you excuse me from Ballet, ma'am?" I loved wearing tutus and dance skirts, but even basic ballet was the hardest work I'd ever done. I preferred social dances, where I could wear a formal gown and just had to follow my partner's lead - albeit backwards and in high heels, as someone once said. "Yes, dear." "What would I have to do, ma'am?" "You would sit at a desk outside my office, wearing a cute little secretary's outfit, and you would take my phone calls, check my emails, keep my calendar up to date, greet visitors, that sort of thing. How does that sound?" "Better than being a maid, ma'am." "Very good, Lisa. I'll need you to dress as a secretary, of course, in a very short skirt, a very tight blouse and very high heels." "Yes, ma'am. Do I change back into my school uniform when I go to classes?" "The more I think about it, Lisa, the more I wonder if you really need to attend classes. Maybe Deportment, to make you even more graceful and feminine." "But how will I ever graduate, ma'am?" "How important is it to you to graduate? We're not exactly an academic institution! We're a finishing school for boys who want to be girls. You're already more feminine than a lot of our juniors or seniors. Your hours working for me will count as Work Experience, and you'll learn more from me than you'll ever learn in class, even if you're just bending over to file documents or dust my office furniture." "Oh, ma'am! Would I have to bend over in my very short secretary's skirt?" "Of course! You'll be a delectable sight! I hope you won't have a problem if I caress your ever so caressable bottom." I blushed. "Oh, please don't, ma'am, that would be so embarrassing." She rose, circled her desk, bent me over it and stroked my rear end over my pleated skirt and full slip. "Is it embarrassing if I do this?" "Yes, ma'am," I said, breathing hard, afraid to resist. She slowly pulled up my skirt and slip, pulled down my panties, and caressed my naked bottom. A shiver ran through me. "And this?" I pulled away from her. "Please don't do that, ma'am." "Then I won't." She let me go. I pulled up my panties and let my skirt and slip fall, thankful that no one else had witnessed my humiliation. I'm sure my face was scarlet. "Well done, Lisa!" Ms. Abercrombie said. "I was testing you to see if you would set limits and tell me to stop. You passed! Will you become my personal secretary? I assure you it's a more important and higher-status job than being Miss Slipstrap's personal assistant. It'll be like a real job, except unpaid, of course." I was glad to hear that Ms. Abercrombie had been testing me, not just groping me. When I said stop, she stopped. Surely it would be better to work for the Dean of Girls than for one of the five Head Girls. Learning some office skills would prepare me for the kinds of clerical jobs that an inexperienced girl like me was likely to get. And I'd get to wear something besides my schoolgirl uniform. "Do I need to talk to Miss Slipstrap first, ma'am?" "No, Lisa, I'll take care of everything. Don't you worry about Miss Susan." Ms. Abercrombie told me that if I accepted, I would start working for her next Monday, and before then she would have me moved from Miss Slipstrap's suite into a new room in the Administration dorm, near her office, with a closet full of cute secretary's outfits. I didn't want to leave the Sapphire dorm. Parvaneh would be unhappy, my Jewelmates would resent me, and I had no other friends in the other Jewels. But Ms. Abercrombie insisted, saying she had to be impartial toward all the Jewels, and if I were to work for her, I would have to become a Sapphire alumna, not an active member. "How can I be an alumna?" I said. "Don't I have to graduate first?" She smiled. "You want to graduate? No problem. That is to say, I will recommend to the Headmistress that she award you an honorary degree in Feminine Arts in consideration of services rendered to The Sweet Academy. If you like, I can have the diploma say you graduated with honors." "Oh no, ma'am, that wouldn't be true. If I'm to become an alumna, all I want is the diploma." I curtsied. "Thank you, ma'am." She never let me return to my room next to Miss Slipstrap's. I spent the night on a sofa in her boudoir, and the next day I moved into a room next to Ms. Abercrombie's in the Administration dormitory. It was larger and nicer than any of the rooms I'd occupied so far. It held my clothes and everything else from my old room, plus a week's worth of sexy secretary outfits. There was also a new Sapphire pendant for me, the smaller one that alumnae wore. On the Sunday before I started work as Ms. Abercrombie's secretary, I tried on my new outfits in my new room. They all had short, tight black skirts - some with a back vent or kick pleat, some without - and feminine, semi-sheer blouses in various colors and designs, worn over a black full slip, bra and panties. The skirts weren't quite as tight as I expected, for which I was thankful. The black slip was visible through the blouses, giving me a naughty look. Under it, I wore black lace panties, a garter belt and nylon stockings, with four-inch pointy-toed black patent stilettos that would kill my feet hours before quitting time. On my nightstand I found rhinestone-studded, black-framed girls' glasses with fake lenses, to make me look smart. I quickly discovered that my duties as her secretary were quite light. There were few phone calls and little correspondence. There weren't many disciplinary cases for Ms. Abercrombie to handle, either, partly because Sweet Academy girls quickly learned to behave perfectly at all times, but also because the Head Girls and prefects in each Jewel were allowed to dish out punishment for minor offenses without notifying the Dean's office. Most of my work consisted of re-filing folders of student or staff records in their proper place in a long row of file cabinets. I was never sure why the folders had been pulled out, since they seemed to have nothing to do with the other work of the office, but mine was not to question why. I'd been Ms. Abercrombie's secretary for two weeks when, late one afternoon, a cute clerk from the Headmistress' office said Miss Backstitch wanted to see me. Ms. Abercrombie seemed taken aback, but sent me on my way. I walked the short distance down the hallway to the Headmistress' office, my four-inch secretary heels clicking on the wooden floor, my steps shortened by my tight, thigh-high secretary skirt, my black slip and bra straps showing through my sheer baby-blue ruffled blouse. I saw something leaving the Headmistress' office that I'd never seen before: a student who'd been turned into a baby. That was the penalty for standing up to pee and various other offenses. She was crawling down the hallway on her hands and knees, sucking on a pacifier and wearing lace- trimmed kneepads and mittens, with her hair in pigtails covered by a white pleated baby's bonnet. She wore a light pink baby's dress in her size, all frilly and lacy and decorated with ribbons and bows. Its skirt was very short, too short to cover her bulky diaper and Disney Princess plastic panties. From what the Headmistress had told us, babies had to crawl everywhere and were not allowed to use the toilet for the duration of their punishment. They had to use their diapers instead, and had to beg other students to change them afterwards. It was a painless but utterly humiliating punishment, and I was always extremely careful to use the toilet the way girls were supposed to. The secretary waved me into the Headmistress' office. I curtsied awkwardly in my short, tight skirt. "How may I serve you, Headmistress?" She looked me up and down. "You're out of uniform, Lisa. Don't you like your pretty uniform?" I curtsied again. "Oh yes, ma'am, but please, I'm on Work Experience as Ms. Abercrombie's personal secretary, and she requires me to dress like this." "Does she? I wonder if those clothes belonged to the secretary she fired last week. They're a size large on you." I didn't know Ms. Abercrombie had fired her secretary. Did she do it just so she could hire me? Why? "Tell me, Lisa, are you attending any of your classes?" I curtsied yet again, hoping to placate her, doubting I could. "Please, ma'am, only Deportment and Dressmaking. Ms. Abercrombie said my secretarial duties are more important than my other classes." "What secretarial duties? How many letters did you type today?" "One, ma'am, to the state Department of Education, explaining that we can't send them last quarter's reports because of a data loss." "First I've heard of it. How many phone calls did you answer?" "Today, ma'am? Two. One from the caf? saying Ms. Abercrombie's lunch order was ready, so I picked it up for her, and one from a woman who wouldn't identify herself and said she'd call Ms. Abercrombie later." "Did you do any filing?" "Oh, yes, ma'am. I do filing for Ms. Abercrombie every day, after I bring her coffee in the morning. There are usually at least twenty files a day that I have to re-file accurately." "I see," Miss Backstitch said. "By any chance, are your files all stored in the bottom drawers of the file cabinets, so that you have to bend over and let her stare at your pantied bottom?" I knew exactly why Ms. Abercrombie made me do filing the way she did. I didn't mind, as long as no one else saw me. "Um, yes, ma'am. I mean, I do have to bend over, and I'm sure my... my panties show, but I don't know if she's staring at them." "Good answer, Lisa. It sounds to me as though you don't have quite enough work to do as Ms. Abercrombie's secretary. Would you like to serve as my deputy student liaison instead?" "What's a deputy student liaison, ma'am?" "Every year, I designate one student as my liaison to the student body as a whole. If a student has a complaint, or knows of someone breaking the rules, or knows of something bad that might happen, or knows something else that I should hear about, she can tell my student liaison instead of coming to me, which some students are afraid to do. Once a week, I meet with my liaison, to hear the things she's been told that I need to know. My liaison this year is a Miss Twirls. You would be her deputy, a new position. If Miss Twirls is injured, disabled or seriously ill, you would take over for her." My goodness, this sounded like an important job! Much more important than being Ms. Abercrombie's bored secretary. Why would Miss Backstitch offer it to a first-year like me? For that matter, why did Ms. Abercrombie make me her secretary, and why did Miss Slipstrap make me her personal assistant? There was nothing special about me or my parents or grandparents as far as I knew. Other girls told me I was very pretty, even beautiful, but there were lots of cute girls at The Academy. Since I had the Headmistress' attention, I decided to ask. I curtsied. "May I ask you a question, Headmistress?" She nodded. "I'm finding things a little strange here, ma'am. Almost as soon as I got here, Miss Slipstrap took me away from my roommate and made me her personal assistant. Then Ms. Abercrombie took me away from Miss Slipstrap and made me her personal secretary. Now you want to take me away from Ms. Abercrombie to do another job that I can't possibly be qualified for. What's going on? Out of two hundred students, why am I getting all this attention? It can't be because I'm anyone important, or a particularly good student." Miss Backstitch sighed. "I'm sorry, Lisa, but I can't answer your question. Not now. All I can tell you is that at some point we will be able to answer your question, and when we can, we will." "That's not fair, ma'am! Am I in danger or something?" "No, Lisa, you're in no physical danger. But it would be best if you accepted my offer. You will certainly be safe living in my house." "Oh, is deputy student liaison a live-in position, ma'am?" "Yes. You've worked as a maid, correct?" Why was she asking? "Yes, ma'am." "Good. On days when my new deputy student liaison isn't busy liaising, perhaps you can help around the house." My heart sank. "Yes, ma'am." "Dressed properly, of course. I assume you have a maid's uniform?" "Yes, ma'am." I sighed. Back to being a household servant. At least I worked for the Headmistress now, not the Sapphire Head Girl. And maybe deputy student liaison was an important job after all. ~ ~ ~ I moved into the Headmistress' rather luxurious residence and quickly learned that my so-called job as deputy student liaison was meaningless. I was never trained on how to be a liaison, was never asked to do any liaisoning or liaising or whatever it's called. Instead, because I'd foolishly agreed to help around the house, I became Miss Backstitch's household maid. I did my assigned chores and waited for something to happen, for some clue to what was going on. It was not a good time. I was unhappy, nervous, angry, and Miss Backstitch noticed. "What's bothering you, Lisa?" I shook my head. "I could tell you if you would tell me why I'm here, ma'am. It's obviously not to be a deputy student liaison." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I still can't. But I can tell you that there will be a formal dinner for four people at a private residence off campus in a week, and I want you to serve the dinner in your very prettiest maid's uniform. I strongly recommend that you do a perfect job and impress them, because they are important people." "Who are they, ma'am?" "They were at the Debutante Ball," Miss Backstitch said. "You wouldn't know their names." It was a long week, during which the Headmistress did nothing to make me less nervous about the upcoming dinner party. On Monday, she called me to her office and gave me a new French maid's uniform, one that was much nicer than any of the ones I had - a lace- trimmed black satin dress with a very full, short skirt, a pair of petticoats that peeped out from under the skirt and gave it just the right fullness, a corset and other lingerie, stockings, four-inch black patent stilettos and accessories, including a matching apron, cap and lace wristlets. On Wednesday, she took me to a seamstress for a fitting and decided to take in the dress another inch at the waist. I whimpered, and she told me to be quiet. On Friday, the day before the dinner party, she took me to the salon for a shampoo and highlights, and decided on the spot that I needed extensions as well. An hour later, I had hair down to my shoulder blades, gathered into much prettier pigtails with bouncy curls. On Saturday morning, she took me back to the salon for makeup, a mani/pedi and a blowout. She was leaving nothing to chance as far as my appearance went. We returned to her house, where I dressed for the evening. First, the corset, which she laced an inch tighter than usual. She toyed with my breasts, which had started growing soon after I enrolled at The Sweet Academy but were still barely an A cup. I felt my nipples erect. She smiled. "Let's make a good first impression, and worry about truth in advertising later," she said. She slipped a pair of silicone breast forms into the cups of my corset and adjusted them until I had realistic perky little boobs, almost a B cup. "That's more like it - it gives you some curves without overdoing it, they'll like that." Next, she drew black seamed nylon stockings up my smooth legs and clipped them to the corset's garters. Over them she slid a pair of lacy black panties with rows of white lace sewn across its seat. "A little treat for anyone who sees you bend over," she said. I blushed. She handed me a white full slip lavished with more lace than my other slips. I pulled it down over my head and let it fall to just above my knees. Miss Backstitch tugged and twitched at it until satisfied, and then had me step into two petticoats with elastic waistbands that she pulled up to my corseted waistline. She fluffed them out so they were as bouncy and full as possible. The inner petticoat was three tiers of net crinoline lined with soft nylon and trimmed with ruffled lace. The outer petticoat was made of taffeta that made a rustling frou-frou sound as it swished around me. Its tiers were bound with white ribbon, and the hem had three narrow tucks and a narrow row of taffeta ruffles trimmed with more lace. And then came the black satin dress, with ruffled white lace trim at the neckline, hem and the lower edge of its puff sleeves. Its duchesse satin slithered enticingly over the underlying petticoats and slip. Over it went a full bib apron in white georgette with lace-trimmed ruffles over the shoulder and around the skirt of the apron, tied in back with a big bow. I pulled lacy wristlets over my hands and slid a matching Alice band decorated with ruffles, ribbons, lace and seed pearls into my hair. "Here." Miss Backstitch handed me a wedding-style garter laced with blue ribbon and told me to slide it up my thigh. "Just for a bit of fun." I did, knowing it, too, would be visible if I didn't move carefully in my skirts. I slid my feet into my four-inch black patent stilettos and I was done. My feet would be in agony before the evening ended, but I had to admit they looked fabulous. They turned me from a girl in a frilly dress into a budding young woman advertising her vulnerability by taking tiny steps that click-click-clicked on the floor and made her hips wiggle back and forth and made it impossible for her to outrun or evade a would-be ravisher. I was ready for - what? I asked Miss Backstitch to at least give me a clue to what was about to happen. "Just a dinner party," she said, and smiled. I was so frustrated I almost stamped my stilettoed heel, but I knew that if I did, I'd probably land on my plump bottom. We drove to the house where the dinner would take place, a stately, symmetrical Georgian Colonial in a well-manicured neighborhood of older homes a few miles north of campus. A pretty maid wearing an Amethyst alumna's pendant admitted us and took us to a drawing room. On a sofa sat a mature woman with a superb figure - was she corseted? - and an old-fashioned hairstyle, wearing a classic narrow-skirted boucl? suit in the same pattern as The Academy's tartan. She wore a single strand of large, perfect pearls that were worth more than I would ever be. I curtsied to her. She spoke to Miss Backstitch. "Thank you for letting me borrow Lisa." "Happy to help, Mrs. Sweet. I'll be back later," Miss Backstitch said. She left. Sweet? As in the name of the school? "So you are Lisa Little," Mrs. Sweet said. I curtsied again. "Yes, ma'am." "I see why we have a problem," she said. "Ma'am?" She did not reply. She introduced me to the barmaid and caterer and left us to arrange details. They assured me everything would be perfect, there were only five courses, all I had to do was carry plates from the kitchen to the dining room and back, and they were serving only one wine, a Sauvignon blanc from New Zealand, so I merely needed to refill wine glasses at the beginning of each course. I hoped they were right. I would be serving important people I didn't know, and I didn't know why, and I didn't know what would happen if I messed up. The doorbell rang. I answered the door. On the doorstep stood a tall, rugged-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair. He wore an immaculately tailored business suit. I didn't know who he was, but I placed him: He'd been in the audience the night of the Debutante Ball. I remembered him checking me out during the Grand Promenade, with the same glint in his eye as he had now. "Good evening, Lisa," he said. "You look superb in that uniform." I was surprised he remembered my name. I curtsied. "Yes, sir, thank you, sir. Please come in." He smiled a little too widely. "With pleasure. Do a turn for me." I did. He asked for a spin, no doubt to catch a sight of my undies. I gave him one. I was just a maid, following a guest's orders. I took him to Mrs. Sweet in the drawing room. I could feel his eyes on my back, and took care to walk as femininely as I could. He hadn't told me his name. "Your guest, ma'am." Mrs. Sweet held out her hand. He took it and began to raise it to his lips, but she firmly turned the gesture into a handshake. "Mr. St. James," she said. He gave her a polite bow. "I see we are formal tonight," he said. She gave him a thin smile. "Geoffrey." The doorbell rang again. I curtsied and went to answer it. There stood a strikingly handsome lady, thirtyish, with short, attractively rumpled blonde hair, wearing a gorgeous little black pantsuit and carrying a black patent clutch. Her gleaming stilettos were as tall as mine, but the red soles told me she'd paid a lot more for hers. "Good evening, ma'am. Please come in." "Good evening, Lisa," she said, and entered. I didn't know who she was, but I remembered seeing her at the Debutante Ball, too. She ran her eyes over me as thoroughly as Mr. St. James had. "You are utterly gorgeous as a maid." "Oh, thank you, ma'am. I love your outfit." "You want to get back into trousers, do you, Lisa?" "I'd rather wear my school uniform, ma'am." That seemed safe to say. She smiled. I led her to the drawing room, entered and curtsied to Mrs. Sweet. "Your guest, Miss." "Ms. Moreau." Mrs. Sweet shook her hand. "Maxine," said Mr. St. James with a nod. He offered his hand, but she did not take it. I curtsied and returned to wait by the front door. Miss Backstitch had not yet returned. Five minutes passed, during which I wondered if I should be taking drink orders or something. I decided that if they wanted me to serve drinks or anything else, someone would tell me, so I just waited. The doorbell rang. It was Miss Backstitch. "Have they started?" she asked. She hurried to the drawing room. Moments later, I heard a bell chime and went to see if it was for me. "Come in, Lisa," Miss Backstitch said. I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. She faced the others. "You've seen her before, but may I introduce Lisa Little, who will serve us tonight." I felt dreadfully embarrassed. Why on earth would Mrs. Sweet introduce her maid to her powerful guests? "Lisa, may I introduce Mr. Geoffrey St. James, Ms. Maxine Moreau and Mrs. Stephanie Sweet," Miss Backstitch said. "They are the board of directors of The Sweet Academy. Mrs. Sweet is the great-great-great-granddaughter of Sarah Sweet, who founded The Academy in 1869." Oh my God. From complete ignorance to information overload in an instant. An important audience, indeed! But why would they be interested in me? On an impulse, I performed a full court curtsy. Mrs. Sweet gave me a nod. "Nicely done, my dear. We'd like drinks served here immediately, and dinner in half an hour." "Yes, ma'am." I curtsied and withdrew. An animated conversation broke out on the other side of the door, but I couldn't make out a word. I spoke to the barmaid, who immediately set off for the drawing room with a nicely stocked drinks cart, and the caterer, who told me not to worry, half an hour was perfect. I decided to wait in the kitchen, where I could keep an eye on things, until Miss Backstitch or someone told me what to do. Half an hour later, the barmaid emerged from the drawing room and told me the guests were ready for dinner. I thanked her, checked with the caterer to make sure, returned to the drawing room and announced dinner, desperately hoping that no disasters lay ahead. To my great relief, none did. The table in the small dining room was perfectly set. Mrs. Sweet had ordered a simple menu: a spiced lentil and butternut squash soup, cold smoked king salmon, roast Cornish game hens, a Mediterranean salad and a simple lemon sorbet. The food was excellently prepared and the courses arrived at perfect intervals. I served and cleared food plates from the left side, proceeding counterclockwise, and served wine the opposite way, from the right side and clockwise, the way a proper maid does. When not serving, I retreated to the wall with my eyes lowered and my hands folded over my apron, doing nothing to call attention to myself, standing perfectly still so as not to make my taffeta petticoat rustle loudly. The conversation during the meal was stilted, as might be expected with a servant present, so I got no inkling of why the directors were meeting, or what if anything I had to do with it, or what would happen later. It did seem to me that they deliberately kept me busy at table, dropping utensils or napkins and asking me to pick them up, or tapping their glass for more water or wine. They all watched me closely - it was unnerving. I began to wonder if I had lipstick on my teeth or something. After I cleared the dessert plates, Mrs. Sweet beckoned to me. "Lisa, thank you for serving us so capably and, may I say, attractively. Please serve sherry and port in the drawing room and then wait in the kitchen until I ring for you." She tinkled a little silver bell sitting on a side table. "It may be some time." It was. I served the drinks, did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen and dining room while waiting for the bell, watching the hands of the old-fashioned clock slowly advance. I couldn't make out anything they were saying in the drawing room, but more than once heard raised voices. I waited, not knowing what I was waiting for. The entire board of directors! I couldn't imagine what they were debating. While the wait seemed endless, by the clock it was only an hour later when I heard a man's and woman's steps in the hallway, and then the front door opening and closing. If those were guests leaving, I felt guilty for not properly showing them out. But I'd been told to stay in the kitchen until Mrs. Sweet rang for me. Just at that moment, she did. I entered the drawing room. Mr. St. James and Ms. Moreau were gone. Mrs. Sweet and Miss Backstitch remained. I curtsied. "You rang, ma'am?" "Yes, Lisa," Mrs. Sweet said. "Miss Backstitch and you will remain here tonight. I'll need both of you in the morning. Miss Backstitch will use the guest suite, and you can sleep in the trundle under the bed. Please tidy up in here and take yourself to bed. I'll ask my Yvette to find nightwear for both of you." "Yes, ma'am," I said. "May I ask a question?" She sighed. "The answer is, we had a discussion that will resume in the morning. Please serve a light breakfast at eight. I expect Ms. Moreau and Mr. St. James to return around ten. Please show them into the drawing room, serve coffee, and then do your regular chores. If you hear my bell, report to me in the drawing room." Arghh! I still had no clue to what was going on. "Yes, ma'am." I picked up glasses and empty bottles in the drawing room and took them to the kitchen. I was about to load the dishwasher when someone knocked on the back door just outside the kitchen. Who would be in the back yard at this time of night? I peeked out the window. It was Mr. St. James. I unbolted the door, let him in and curtsied. "Is there anything you need, sir?" "Yes, Lisa," he said. He was breathing hard, from strong exertion or emotion. "I need you to come with me. At once." An alarm bell went off in my head. "Come with you? Where, sir?" "To a safe place," he said. "I want to offer you a job, but first I want to warn you that you're in danger from Ms. Moreau and Mrs. Sweet. They're going to take you captive and keep you in that maid's dress." "Why? What have I done wrong?" "What you've done is become the most beautiful girl in the recent history of The Academy. Do you not know this, Lisa? They're fighting over you. Everyone from Ms. Moreau down to your own Head Girl wants to own you, lock you away and keep you as her own private toy. Everyone except me. I'm offering you a job, a proper job in a place where you'll be safe from them. But you need to come with me now, to escape before it's too late." I frowned. No one had tried to lock me away, and I wasn't anyone's private toy. I thought of Parvaneh and blushed. I wouldn't mind being her toy... Mr. St. James wrapped a large hand around my upper left arm and pulled me toward the door. My skirts swished wildly. "Are you listening, Lisa? You need to come with me." I instinctively pulled away from him, but couldn't break his grip. "No! Let go of me!" He pulled me outside. I almost tripped on the back steps in my heels. A black car loomed on the driveway. "Mr. St. James, what are you doing? Let go of me! Help! Help!" I cried. "Be quiet, Lisa!" He opened the back door of the car and tried to push me in. I twisted away from him and banged my hip painfully on the side of the car. He grabbed me again. "Help! Help!" I shrieked. End of Part 2