—-
She sat arrogantly and her eyes conveyed an unspoken challenge. At eighteen years old she was my junior by fifteen years but, for her, it counted for nothing; I represented authority in name only.
She wore her blonde hair in a pony tail scraped back severely from a face that had a natural beauty which she seemed determined to disguise with crudely applied cheap cosmetics. It seemed perverse, therefore, that she was dressed in a manner that was guaranteed to draw attention.
When she walked in the room her skirt was so short that it threatened to reveal her underwear with every step she took and a blue lycra top strained to hold her ample breasts in check. I could have taken issue with her and cited the dress code but I did not want a confrontation before we had even started. She was my very first and I was determined to get it right.
I kept my expression impassive but my heart was beating fast and I looked down at my paperwork to hide my momentary anxiety. After a count of three I looked up again.